🦾🥚

Saitama - to his retrospective surprise for having noticed - had already grown accustomed to the scents that made up Genos. Granted, he’d only realized that on the day Genos came home and their small living space was… almost spiced up? It was spicy, but not the kind he liked Genos adding to their hotpot type of spice. The cyborg typically smelled faintly like their laundry detergent, metal, whatever he was cooking for them, gear oil, and joint grease.

What was up with this recent scent though??? He’d caught wind of it a few times before realizing the smell was something completely abnormal to anything they encountered during their everyday routine. It certainly wasn’t the smell of monster guts or takoyaki…

Despite not intending to, Saitama’s eyes had settled on the cyborg a while ago. He was always changing his parts around like Mr. Potato Head, and it looked like Genos had just finished swapping his arms out again.

“Oi, Genos?”

As if the cyborg knew he’d been under surveillance, which Saitama knew by now that assuming otherwise was stupid, he turned to face the older man in a fraction of a second.

“Master!”

He hadn’t meant on making his prompt seem like it was that worthy of attention, but now Saitama felt a bit awkward for wanting to ask a simple question.

“Do you use different brands of oils and stuff?”

“Yes, sensei. I have many different sets of parts that operate better with–”

The bald hero really did feel bad, but he couldn’t stop his brain from switching to autopilot whenever Genos started talking about things that needed more than one burnt out brain cell to understand. He’d gotten his answer, so all was well. Genos was just using a new type of cyborg lube that smelled… insanely good. Not tasty good but… Saitama just hadn’t been able to place what was different about this scent - it sure wasn’t that God awful cologne that Fubuki had drenched Genos’ jacket with, thank fuck.

______________________________________

Saitama did his best to somewhat catch bits and pieces of Genos’ lecture about wanting to put him on a balanced pescatarian diet, but he decided that the slickest way out of the rambling was to get up and pour their after dinner tea. Genos was too busy hunched over his notebook to stop his speech and insist he’d do it. As the older man breezed towards their kitchen, a faint whiff of The Scent™️ found its way into Saitama’s nostrils. He paused and observed his surroundings. On the table to his right - next to Genos’ laptop - was a strip of paper.

But it COULDN’T be from one little flimsy piece of paper. He’d caught whiffs of the scent in the morning (and he was sure his singular crispy brain cell wasn’t THAT dehydrated or confused), during battle, in S-class meetings he seemed to unspokenly be granted entry to every single time (Saitama is certain that Genos had said something along the lines of only showing up as a package deal).

What frustrated him the most from this constant search, was just how much space Genos took in his mind. The blond, to his astonishment, somehow managed to make their physical place feel cozy and organized… but the blond inside his mind was driving him absolutely fucking insane. Yes perhaps he was being really rude by sniffing Genos so often, particularly so because his disciple had stiffened up on multiple occasions. The cyborg had yet to bring it up or overexplain himself like he typically did. Genos was nothing if not the nosiest person he’d ever met, and it was yet another belated realization that maybe he was making his cyborg pupil uncomfortable. Maybe Genos didn’t overly care for the smell of his oil being judged so heavily.

Saitama employed the use of serious critical thinking and stopped himself from sniffing the strip again; he’d been doing too much sniffing recently and the last thing he wanted was to make his disciple experience body dysmorphia from the alienation he’d likely been feeling from his sensei’s actions. Genos was regularly THE most confrontative guy, but Saitama surmised that in a situation that could compromise his studying (i.e. he doesn’t want to be kicked out), Genos would weigh the statistics of his options, and choose to keep quiet.

He wasn’t used to being this hypervigilant outside of his honed combative senses. Those stayed dormant unless something threatening was nearby, but presently, Saitama was looking and listening and sniffing. Clinking their tea cups together by accident, the bald hero caught the immediate cease of pencil on paper. Moments later, Genos was at the kitchen entryway.

“Please let me finish the tea, sensei! I didn’t mean to get carried away with my notes.”

Genos always got carried away with his notes, but Saitama knew it wasn’t the time for that… because why couldn’t he tear his gaze away from his disciple?

Good lord…

Genos was GORGEOUS. It was truly no wonder that his fanclub was so extensive. Without realizing it, he’d gone serious in the face as he approached the slightly frazzled cyborg, sticking his nose into the crook of Genos’ neck.

“Whatever oil you’re using makes you smell nice…”

To Saitama’s shock, metallic hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back. His blood ran cold as he realized he’d overstepped… and then it burned hotter than lava as soft lips were on his own, deep but chaste. Genos was red in the face as he pulled back like he’d been burned, and Saitama was certain he was wearing a matching shade of red.

“Master I am so, so sorry!!”

Genos made to bow on the floor, but Saitama’s lightspeed reflexes caught him by the forearms.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one up in your grill sniffing you like a dog.”

“Sensei… do you like my eau de parfum?”

Genos sorely wanted to replace the last four words with ‘me’.

“… Huh? So it’s not lubricant?”

“I was approached with a proposal to be a model for a perfumer’s new line. Ordinarily I’d have refused… but, sensei… I was greedy and thought perhaps the commercial would attract your attention.”

Saitama couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his normally expressionless face.

“Well even without the commercial, you caught my attention; the smell is nice and you’ve been occupying my teeny cranium for a while now… I think it’s you I really like, between you and the perfume.”

In the same manner that Genos had sprung a kiss on him, Saitama’s lips were on Genos’ again.