Work Text:
Saitama had been working at the hospital for five years now. Recently, it had taken up more of his time than he had intended. He felt good about the work he did, regardless of whether or not he received the proper credit. Being an ICU nurse hadn’t been his first idea of a career, but it fell into his lap after his military service transitioned him back into society from field medic to nursing school student. He was used to saving lives. He was used to high stress situations. He wasn’t used to leaving having anyone to come home to, which made him perfect for double shifts and weekends.
All that had changed over the last year though. He had met someone, completely on accident. It was a fluke that he had been there the night of the car crash. It was raining, the first big storm of the summer, it was a cold rain. Most of the road was covered in water. Saitama remembered seeing it as it happened. The car turned the corner, tried to stop, but instead it hydroplaned into a tree. The sound of metal smashing into wood was muffled by the thunder of the storm. Saitama had been walking down the street a few blocks away, carrying his beat-up black umbrella under the assaulting wind, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He dropped everything.
He remembered being soaked to the bone, his fingers numb as he attempted to pry the bent door away from the twisted frame of the car. A blonde haired young man sitting in the driver’s seat with blood pouring down through his hair from a gash in his forehead, his legs twisted oddly under the dashboard.
The blonde still insisted he could remember Saitama from the night of the crash, even though Saitama knows that most crash victims don’t remember their rescuers. After his rehab the young man had sought Saitama out at the hospital, which was embarrassing enough for him. He insisted that Saitama let him treat him to a meal, as a thank you, a gesture of good-will. Saitama hadn’t expected a home cooked meal in the small apartment of a high school math teacher. He hadn’t expected to drink sake until 2 in the morning with the young man recounting stories of his service and wondering about the future.
Saitama had never given much thought to where his life was going to lead him. He knew he wanted to help save people, and that’s all he did, his work, until he met Genos. Now every shift seemed to be hours longer than they had ever been before. Now he ticked down the minutes left until the end of his shift, giddy at the prospect of returning to the snug apartment they shared with each other, a warm meal ready on the stove and a warm couch ready to be shared.
Saitama looked out through the large glass front doors of the hospital. It was another rainy night. His phone buzzed in the scrub pocket. He reached down, keeping the phone in his pocket and tilting it to read the message on the small screen.
It was from Genos…
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His thumb hovered over the “send” button. Genos held one hand over his face, one glowing, cybernetic eye peeking through his very human fingers. Very sweaty, shaking human hands.
Genos knew there was nothing that Saitama could do about his work schedule, he knew that it wasn’t like Saitama was trying to avoid him or something now that they had moved in together. Or, at least his rational brain did. His crazy, irrational, emotionally needy side wasn’t so easily convinced.
It was that side of him that needed this, no matter how much the pounding of his heart protested in his ears.
But still…
Oh god, this was so forward. Would Saitama be disgusted by something like this? Would he laugh it off? Or worse maybe, would he just ignore it?
Somewhere, at the edge of this internal battle, Genos felt the phone slip from the buildup of moisture in his clammy hand. His stupid, totally human hands that of course instinctively reacted, trying desperately to grasp the phone as it began it’s descent.
And in the process pressed that ever-looming “send” button.
Genos was pretty sure his heart stopped. He was 100% his breathing did.
Really, Genos was secretly proud of the image. It had taken several attempts to make sure he got all the essentials in the picture. Bare chest? Check. Pajama pants teasingly low on his hips? Oh yeah. And just a dash of ‘oh’ face to top it off? You betcha.
A not-so-innocent picture of himself followed by an innocent enough message, “Won’t you come home soon?”
The cold sweat Genos had been in before quickly turned into a hot furnace burning beneath his skin. Each second the message went unread felt like an eternity. Each eternity added more fuel to the fire building inside him.
Oh no what had he done?
If Genos had blinked, he would have missed it. A second after the message switched to ‘read’, the three dots signifying a reply was in progress danced on the screen.
“HOLF ON”
Well, Saitama was never that great at texting.
Not even a minute later, the dance of the dots began again.
The image that appeared made every shred of doubt from earlier disappear.
His boyfriend had apparently rushed into a bathroom from the pale tan background on the photo. But that wasn’t what attracted Genos’s attention. Saitama knew just what buttons of his to press. He had pulled up the shirt of his scrubs to reveal his perfect washboard abs, the hand pulling up his shirt purposely tense to show off his boyfriend’s rippling forearm and bicep muscles. His chocolate brown eyes bore into his soul in the form of pixels, tongue teasingly licking his lips. The pants of Saitama’s scrubs hung loosely from his hips, but below the waistband Genos could clearly see the shadow of a hard-on.
“Be there soon, just a little longer, kay? <3”
No, not ‘kay’. Very much not ‘kay’. One hit, K.O., super effective.
Genos covered his face in embarrassment, his whole body curling up in reaction to the way too sexy reply. The heat from his face burned beneath his hands. It wasn’t fair how Saitama could tease him, even from halfway across the city.
Admitting defeat, Genos uncurled himself and grabbed his phone in one hand, and reached down his pants with the other.
It would be a pity to waste such a good picture, right?