Summary:
It also didn't help that the cyborg had gone stock-still after releasing a noise reminiscent of a circuit breaker blowing a fuse. And with Genos just standing there, slack-jawed, mouth hanging wide open, and eyes practically flashing error messages, the only reasonable thing Saitama could do was this: absolutely freak. "For the love of god, this isn't a free show! GET THE FUCK OUT!"
Saitama knew he was going to get stabbed in the back one day. He just didn't think it'd be by his local pharmacy.
In a purely metaphorical sense of course—in the physical sense, it left him with was an ache in his body, a spike in his temperature, and a string of semi-incoherent thoughts that ravaged his mind. Oh, and speaking of ravaged—he wouldn't mind getting fucked over and sideways right now, yeah that'd be real nice—
See? Exactly what he meant.
"Goddamn…cheap-ass pills—ah-ahhn!" Screw the pharmacy. They must've sold him defective suppressants. He squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of arousal coiled in his gut, a very annoying part of him begging for release to ease the heat.
Heat.
God, he was going through a rough one. After months of staving them off through medication, it finally came to bite him in the ass; he hates them. He hates how they made him feel like fire was thrumming through his veins, burning the vessels beneath his skin as his body greedily lusted for someone, anyone, to fill the emptiness that seemed to amplify with every flash of desire to be taken and claimed—preferably with a thick, long—
"F-fuck!" A mewl escaped his lips, the fingers in his ass and the hand on his cock no longer enough to bring him towards satisfying relief. Sweat clung to his skin, hazy eyes with a feverish daze narrowing in annoyance as he scrambled out of his sheets and towards the closet. Along the arduous journey across the room, Saitama caught himself along the fine lines of pulsing excitement and crushing mortification. Don't get him wrong—he never hated being an Omega.
He just hated the things that came with it.
Still, heats were circumvented with the right preparations although not totally unavoidable, at least for the sake of his reproductive health. But like Saitama gave a shit about that. Social hierarchy should have been a major factor in his train of thought, but even that didn't matter much to him; as a male Omega, he hadn't stuck out, remaining unbowed to Alphas and often mistaken for a Beta with his slighter stature. He never felt the need to correct them, not because he wanted to bury his nature away out of shame but merely because he hadn't cared about what he appeared to be in their eyes.
(However, no matter how minuscule the matter, his heart did race a few times when his new roommate ordered and arranged the closet, something akin to the unease of the certain awkwardness to follow if Genos ever caught his little…arsenal in the unsuspecting box near the back.)
No…those things weren't what he hated about being an Omega at all. And when Saitama retrieved the box buried behind old shirts he hadn't worn since before his debut as a hero and his one suit that never lived to see an office desk, he still couldn't tell whether the flutter in his stomach was from anticipation or nausea.
His mouth went dry at the too-familiar feel of ribbed silicon as his slick-stained fingers traced the outline of the large black phallus inside. Saitama groaned as the rapid and delicate sensations in his stomach kicked it up a notch and started banging his kidneys to get his ass in gear to quell the annoyance that was his sex drive.
Down to business it was.
He searched the box for a condom and once he found one, he tore the packet and rolled it over the head of the dildo in such mechanical efficiency despite having been moments away from writhing for desperate release. But still, the clinical approach to it was for the best; it was the only way to ease himself into the unwanted but familiar practice. No, being an Omega was who he was.
But during his heats, he just didn't like what he became.
By the time his "partner" had been properly situated (tip pressed against the rim of his twitching hole, slick running down his thighs, and a shaking hand teasing the head slowly into his entrance) "Saitama" officially left the building.
In a purely metaphorical sense, anyways.
Because now, in his wake was a desperate Omega panting and moaning as his lonely excuse of a love-life burned and stretched his walls at a sinfully delicious pace, friction and size filling him so wonderfully as he hit his sweet-spot in practiced, impatient frenzy mere seconds after mewling at the sensation of being completely full, hips moving in a sloppy and powerful rhythm against the toy, the primal thoughts of more, more, please, Alpha—give more, harder, harder, feels so good, don't stop, don't ever stop, claim, mark, yours, yoursyoursYOURSYOURS—! as a conjured voice in a deep baritone mindlessly praised him for being such a good little Omega, opening up for him so nicely, body tight and greedy as it hugged his cock so well, making such lewd little noises as his pretty little hole was violated and worshiped at the same time for his Alpha's use, teasing him for being aslut for the pleasure only an Alpha could provide, the salacious bliss of being wholly claimed, owned—
Mated.
And he ached for it: the rough hands pushing him down, the guttural groans and hisses against his ear, the scorching heat of a body above his, the sensation of surrender pulsing from the marrow of his bones to the feverish rouge on his cheeks as their bodies would move in animalistic want, teeth digging into the flesh of his shoulder and neck, bites and bruises littering his skin as a claim for all to see—fingers teasing and tongues playing and lips kissing like sparks of lightning across the planes of his body, the sensation of being dominated, cared for, loved—
Belonging.
And in that damn moment, Saitama started to regain himself. Because no. It never mattered, not once, that each heat left an empty ache in his chest (and his ass) at his status as an unmarked and untouched Omega. It didn't matter that he had been too ordinary, too average to be picked from a crowd, never an Omega whose attention Alphas would clamor for because it was fine; he never gave them the time of day either. None of that mattered because Saitama didn't need an Alpha, didn't need anyone to take care of him during the worst of heats or hold him through the bitter loneliness that crept like shadows and choked him like hot coals down his throat as his hormones betrayed his body in the most unforgiving ways. He didn't need someone to hold him at night and make him feel safe through a wordless touch, a comfortable warmth. He grew strong enough to be independent, to be able to protect himself through dangers and disasters, through chaos and storms. He didn't need to tie his existence to anyone else.
He never had that sort of connection to begin with so it was obvious it was something he could live without.
He could have also lived without the terrifying sound of the door opening and the call of "Sensei, I've returned from my repairs," echoing through the room with the dramatic effect of something straight out of a grade-B horror flick. And it all happened so quickly that Saitama wasn't sure whether to stop what he was doing or to curse every deity he knew.
The appearance of his self-proclaimed disciple before him should have also been prolonged to fit the mood of inexplicable dread that Saitama was currently registering; or at the very least, Genos should have stalled long enough for Saitama to stop fucking himself with a dildo.
Oh…he was still masturbating wasn't he.
Damn it all.
It also didn't help that the cyborg had gone stock-still after releasing a noise reminiscent of a circuit breaker blowing a fuse. And with Genos just standing there, slack-jawed, mouth hanging wide open, and eyes practically flashing error messages, the only reasonable thing Saitama could do was this: absolutely freak. "For the love of god, this isn't a free show! GET THE FUCK OUT!"
Had Saitama been any other man, he would have missed the way Genos had all but rocketed out of there due to the sheer speed the cyborg had to be going to clear the premises. And had Saitama been any other man, he would not have made a sizeable hole in the floorboards where his fist slammed down as he asserted his right to whack off in peace.
Goddamn it all.
=-=-=-=-=-Extra-=-=-=-=-=
"Uh…yeah, sorry. I've been meaning to tell you…about that." Man this was awkward; so very awkward.
"No, it was my fault for barging in as I did. My sensors indicated read your increased vitals and so I had thought you were in need of…" A small cough; did cyborgs even need to cough? "Assistance." Besides for modesty, that was.
Saitama gave an inward sigh of aggravation as another spike of arousal tingled all the way down his spine. "No…I had it covered." Not well enough though since he probably traumatized Genos for life. "I mean, I took care of it myself."
"…would you like any future assistance?" Whispered (wanting).
Wait, what? "Eh?"
"Is there any way I can be of assistance?" Firmer now; certain and determined.
Saitama hated himself for letting his knees get weak at the sound; this heat was really taking a toll on him. It was fine though; he could live without Genos's cleaning and cooking for a few days. "Nah, but I think it would be a good idea for you to stay with your Doctor for now…until my h-heat blows over."
"Understood. When is the best time for me to return?"
"It should be three days or so…but my cycles are…weird." He nearly winced at the direction of the conversation. "Come back in a week or so." A beat. "I mean…if you still want." Softer; reluctant and mumbled.
"Sensei, your nature changes nothing of how I see you." There was a quaver in Genos's voice and something in Saitama shifted. "I still want to learn from you, live by your teachings, and become stronger. I want to stay by Sensei's side." Crumbling, piece by piece.
"Yeah, yeah…" His throat was dry and the chuckle that he tried to make tripped on its way out of his mouth. "Keep it to less than twenty words, remember? You went over by one."
"I…apologize, Sensei. I shall keep that in mind when I return."
Saitama swallowed. "Sure. Yeah. Bye."
"Goodbye, Sensei."
And by the time the footsteps faded from his ears, a bitter chuckle rose from his chest. Didn't change, huh? Right.
Saitama ought to tell Genos he was a shitty liar one of these days.
Notes: For simplicity, the heat suppressants can be seen like birth control pills but I'm not going into the intricate details of how they're going to differ (i.e. the effects on mood from birth control, the mechanism of it, and the rigid schedule to keep when taking them, mostly because I can't really see Saitama abiding by the latter's strict guidelines).
"Slick" is the term I've seen most used for the natural lubricant Omegas excrete during sexual arousal [usually only during heats] to ease penetration, akin to vaginal lubrication.
Also, I wanted to point out something: heats are focused, not just on sex, but on breeding too—something that Saitama really has no care for. And although Saitama believes that he 'loses' himself and becomes a whole different person while undergoing heat, his 'primal' wants are not towards reproduction but are focused on the psychosocial effects of being mated.
Ah…more of Genos's side in the next chapter c: Hope you enjoyed reading this one!