Chapter Text
Nobody ever told King that Saitama and Genos were a couple, but he'd kind of assumed it from the first time he came over and Genos bristled subtly at him. Since then Genos had accepted he was only Saitama's friend, not a threat, and calmed down.
But Genos wasn't here today, and the atmosphere in the apartment was heavy.
“Is Genos off doing... something?” If it was S Class business, King would know.
“He was. Now he's getting repaired.”
If King hadn't already figured out there was something more than teacher-student relations, he would have now. Saitama was unshowered, replied mostly in grunts, and overbrewed the tea. He didn't speak a full sentence until King cut him off in the racing game they were playing.
“Dammit, let's do that track again!” Saitama demanded. “I know the secret path now!”
“Sure,” King bit back a smug smile. “But hang on, I need to-”
The door opened and Saitama dropped his controller in almost the same moment. He was on his feet faster than King could see.
“I'm home, sensei.”
“Welcome home.” Saitama still sounded casual, but King and Genos both knew him well enough to tell he was tense.
Without a word, King shut off the system and started packing it away in his bag.
“Your shoulders look different.”
“Yes sensei, just a minor upgrade. The metal is backed up with kevlar.”
“You were gone a long time.”
“I'm sorry, there was... a lot of damage.”
“I know! I was there.”
King coughed carefully. “I uh, I should get going.”
“Oh?” Saitama was hovering over Genos as he took his shoes off, but he frowned as King squeezed around them. “Weren't we gonna play again?”
“I just, um, realized I should get home before dark.” King met Genos' eyes, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Anyway, see ya.”
“Mm, okay, bye.” Saitama's attention was already back on Genos.
Before he was down the steps King could hear them "reuniting," and didn't regret his rush to get out in the slightest. It was still early, and the bullet train from Z City to M ran every half hour this time of day. It only took ten minutes, one of the reasons King felt comfortable visiting so often.
The other one, well... It was nice going somewhere he didn't have to fake anything. It was nice hanging around someone he could trust, someone he felt safe around. Both with his secret, and from monsters.
Currently, walking through the abandoned neighborhood and knowing Saitama would be too distracted to sense anything, King didn't feel fantastic. It didn't help that he'd been about to ask to use the bathroom before Genos got home. Now he needed to pee and the bathrooms at the train station were always full of people. King was just awkward and anxious enough that he wanted to avoid that if at all possible.
A little beyond the station was a small park. There was probably a restroom in there somewhere, and school wasn't out yet, so it wouldn't be crowded. King had time to kill before the next train. Going slightly out of his way to relieve himself wouldn't be a big deal.
By this point in his life, King really should have known better than to put such thoughts into words.
He was halfway down a shady tree path when a shadow flickered in front of him. He glanced up automatically, saw nothing, and when he looked back a man in tight black was holding a sword to his neck.
If his whole body hadn't tightened up, he probably would have lost control of his bladder. Thankfully his pants stayed dry this time, but his heart was pounding out of his chest.
“Who are you?” the man demanded. “How do you know Saitama?”
It took a few seconds before King could manage to speak. “What?”
“Saitama! You came from his place, I've been following you.”
“Why?”
“Isn't it obvious? I have a sword to your throat. Tell me about Saitama.”
Some distant part of King's mind was musing on the fact that for once Saitama was getting the recognition he deserved, but somehow, ironically, King was still facing the danger.
“He's my friend. That's all.”
“He must have weaknesses.”
“No. None.”
(Cats. Genos. His finances.)
“Well maybe you know how he got so fast!”
“Fast?” King repeated. It was true, but he'd never really thought about it. Saitama's strength seemed to be the impressive thing.
“Is it a trick? Training? You must know something if you're his friend.”
“I...”
He didn't, actually. He really didn't. Saitama had said something about training once, and encouraged King to do the same, but he had no idea what the source of Saitama's power was.
“I...”
Something large crashed through the trees, the skin a mottled green color that had hidden its approach. The man in black drew his sword away with a dismissive sound, and King took off running without waiting to see the fight.
He could hear crashing, and a muffled swear, and a monstrous roar that only got louder. King ran faster, but he knew from far too much experience that he was being chased. He barely managed to stop in time as a branch from a tree snapped off and fell on the path in front of him, and a split second later the monster landed beyond it.
King stumbled backwards, felt the ground beneath his feet turn to dirt and grass, and as the monster snuffled in his direction he tripped on a bush and fell on his ass.
The man in black appeared in a blur, sword singing through the air. He blurred again, thin cuts appearing on the monster's hide, and when the man solidified the cuts opened wide, spraying blood. As King watched, the monster fell apart into chunks.
Blood on his face and shoulder, tears falling from his eyes, as the man in black turned toward King his bladder finally gave out. He was sitting in a puddle of urine when the man pointed his bloodied sword at him.
“Really?” the man said. “This... this is just sad.”
“I don't know anything,” King said, not caring about anything but living through the next few minutes. “Please.”
“Oh my god,” the man sighed and pulled down his mask. “Do you want to come to my place?”
“What?” That seemed like a non sequitur.
“To wash your clothes. Unless you'd prefer walking home in pissed jeans?”
“N- no.”
The man offered him a hand, and even though this whole situation was insane, King took it. He helped King to his feet without any visible effort.
“I'm Sonic.”
“I... I'm King.”
“I live right over here. No one will have to see you.”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah yeah. You're just lucky I have a dryer. And this is the saddest thing I've ever seen.”
King followed him, soaked in assorted fluids, glad the park was still empty. They left the monster carcass where it was.
(The little cynical part of King's mind noted he could have taken credit for the kill, if he stuck around long enough to be seen, but he couldn't be seen like this.)
The man in black, Sonic, led him through another wooded area, to a narrow street full of old buildings. Most of them were dark and boarded up, only a noodle shop at the end showing any movement. Sonic glanced around, then ducked down an alley, unlocking a door to a drab gray building that looked like it used to be a laundromat. The windows were boarded up on the outside, and when King walked in, he saw they were heavily curtained.
“Bathroom's there,” Sonic gestured to a door. Mostly the building was an open room, with a futon folded up in one corner, and weird wooden dummies standing at random intervals. The washer and dryer were next to the bathroom, but King hesitated.
Should he take off his clothes here? Wash first? Everything needed washing.
“Oh just strip, will you?” Sonic snorted. King turned and saw him unwrapping his scarf. Sleek muscles shifted under his black suit. “Don't drip on my floor.”
“Sorry.” He set his bag carefully on the floor and took his clothes off as fast as possible, dropping them in the machine. He felt so exposed, he barely measured the soap before twisting the knob, and shutting himself in the bathroom.
It had pretty clearly been a customer restroom at one point, but one of the stalls had been turned into a shower, a makeshift hole in the wall for the showerhead and the toilet still there, which King understood. Why bother removing it?
There were three kinds of shampoo and two body washes on top of ordinary soap. King stuck to the latter, scrubbing hard to get the blood off his cheek and neck. There was blood in his hair too, and he used the shampoo with the least number of words in its name to wash that out.
Sonic knocked on the door before opening it, though King was still in the stall, so at least he had some privacy. “Brought you some clothes. We'll uh... we'll see if they fit.”
Once King was clean, or at least as clean as he was likely to feel before the memories of this day faded, he took a look at what Sonic had brought. The black shirt would be okay, maybe Sonic liked them baggy, but the sweat pants were... small. Very small. King could barely pull them up his hips, and the cuffs were around mid-shin. There was still an inch or so of skin visible between the bottom of the shirt and the top of the pants.
He opened the bathroom door cautiously. The washer was still going, no mass of bubbles or any other disaster. And Sonic was going to town on one of the dummies, limbs blurring with speed. Every time he paused King found his eyes drawn to his back and ass, practically vacuum-sealed in that black suit.
“You done?” Sonic turned, and King immediately jerked his gaze back up to his face.
“I, um, I... yes.”
“Hm.” King began to feel a degree higher of uncomfortable, but it took him a moment to realize it was because Sonic wasn't looking at his face. His gaze was fixed on the bare strip of King's stomach, something almost like a smile playing about his lips.
“A little tight.”
“Um. Yeah. But thank you.” King swallowed hard. “For all of this.”
“You shouldn't thank me.” Sonic started walking toward him, knife held lazily in his hand, hips swaying as he moved. “After all, I still have an objective.”
“You... what?” King moved his foot back. Not a step, not quite, but close.
“You know things about Saitama. Things I want to know.”
“N- no I- I don't know anything. Anything useful.”
Sonic raised the knife, smiling wide. “Then tell me everything.”
King took a real step back now. And another. His knees were wobbling, and he barely stayed upright. “I can't... There's nothing to tell.”
“Bullshit.” The grin only got wider. “Come on, big guy. Don't you want to walk out of here? Tell me how Saitama got so fast. Tell me how to distract him. Tell me what makes him tick.”
“I can't. If there was anything, I...” He bumped into the wall and pressed himself against it for support. “He's too strong.”
Sonic cocked his head, the smile fading. He looked annoyed more than anything else. “I'll kill you, you know. I will do it.”
“I know.” King let himself slide down the wall, down to his knees. “I'm telling the truth, please.”
Sonic made a dismissive click with his tongue. “What a waste. You look good in my pants.”
The knife was coming closer. King stared at it with tears in his eyes.
And then... it stopped. “You are telling me the truth, aren't you,” Sonic sounded thoughtful, but King couldn't look away from the blade only a few inches from his face. “That bastard. Of course he doesn't have a weakness. Aside from the usual pathetic hero things, like his friends, and civilians.”
The knife was tucked away in his belt. Now that it was out of sight, King started breathing again.
“Will you quit crying? Come on. I didn't think I could feel bad for other people any more. You are just that sad.”
King wiped his eyes with the shirt collar. Before he could get up, the washer buzzed, and Sonic crossed to it to check his clothes.
“Blood stains,” he said, surveying the damp hoodie. “Those are a bitch. Ammonia works the best, or wear black next time.”
“N- next time? I... I don't... want a next time.”
Sonic smiled down at him. “You picked the wrong friends, then.”
“Are you going to... come after me again?”
“Waste of time.” Sonic tossed the hoodie into the dryer. He frowned at the rest of the clothes in the machine. “Why am I doing this? Come here, do your own laundry.”
“Y- yeah, okay, sorry.” King pulled himself to his feet. His knees still felt like rubber, but he could walk a few steps and stay upright long enough to transfer the clothes. Aside from the bloodstains it looked fine, and even those could be mistaken for coffee. He'd probably have to consign it to an indoor hoodie. Sonic's cleaning tips were all very well and good, but King's housework skills were barely subsistence level.
Somewhere behind him he heard a television turn on. When he looked, Sonic had a tiny TV set on the table and was pouring water from an electric kettle. The TV looked like it was made for travel, it even had a handle, and the table and cups all looked like he'd gotten them secondhand.
“Gotta dry, right?”
“Huh?”
“Your clothes.” He rolled his eyes. “Come here, if you don't have any information for me, I don't want you just sitting there and ogling me while I train.”
King decided not to argue the “ogling” part, and joined Sonic at the table. It was the news, and Sonic snorted at monster stories while King pretended to drink his tea.
Five minutes ago, he'd been threatening King's life. Now he was expecting him to act like this was a normal visit. And King went along with it, because he didn't have much of a choice.
Sonic kept looking at him. Those eyes, sharp and cold, focusing on his stomach and waist. King tried to sit politely, especially considering how tight the sweat pants were, but he could never manage seiza for more than a few minutes.
As the awkward silence stretched on, King trying to pay attention to the news (but it was a story about local sales tax increases and he could barely follow it), Sonic leaned closer. His eyelids lowered and he began to smile again.
“Hey.”
“Wh- what?”
“There's still time to kill.”
“Y...eah?”
“Wanna fuck?”
King nearly choked on his tongue. “What?”
“I saw you checking me out.” Sonic put his hand on King's knee, and King completely froze up. “And I've seen what you're swinging. Come on. You're having a shitty day, shitty life looks like, wouldn't you like to feel good for a while?”
As if in a dream, King heard himself say, “Sleeping with someone who keeps threatening and insulting me wouldn't make me feel good.”
Sonic blinked. Leaned back. And burst out laughing. “So you do have a spine!”
King had been tense for so long he was starting to feel sick. He clenched his shaking hands around the cooling mug of tea. “Was that a test or something?”
“No, I meant it. Kind of sucks to be turned down by someone with no better prospects.” He stood up and stretched slowly, obviously expecting King to appreciate the view (which he did, but he'd never admit it).
“I can do better,” King said, defensively. “I...” He got all kinds of offers from fans, female and male, but he'd always been too afraid (and guilty) to follow up on them. But he really shouldn't mention he was a hero, should he? Sonic obviously didn't know, since he'd only identified him as 'Saitama's friend.' “Anybody who doesn't want to kill me,” he finished, lamely.
“Right,” Sonic snorted. He went back to wailing on the training dummy, leaving King to stare blankly at the TV and wait for his clothes.
Ten of the most awkward minutes of King's life later, the dryer finally buzzed. Without asking, he took his clothes into the bathroom to change, carefully folding the borrowed ones and putting them on top of the dryer on his way out.
“Hey,” Sonic called. King froze in place for the third time today. “Don't tell Saitama about this.” His voice was low, threatening.
“I- I won't.” He tugged on the door, futily, and nearly yelped when Sonic appeared at his shoulder.
“It's locked.”
“Oh. Right.”
Sonic flipped open two deadbolts and a chain, and stood back to let King out. Without another word, King dashed out the door and down the alley, to the lingering sound of Sonic's laughter.
He was on the train and halfway home before he realized his shirt was inside-out.