The Painter's Blood

Brushstrokes

Reproduction.

It was something that Genos was familiar with, in the sense that all of his creations were mimics of living things. Production was something he'd done his whole life; weaving the various colours he brought forth into something more tangible and alive.

He was still completely shocked at the fact that he hadn't known the most common meaning for that word- or rather what it implied.
"It's something that's done between... well, typically a man and a woman." The Doctor said, looking a bit embarrassed as well. He hadn't figured Genos would ever need to use this knowledge, but he could see his failure to communicate like ink on parchment now that it was brought up.
"And this is where babies are made?" Genos asked. He was awfully confused. "But why would someone get my words confused? I'm not a man or a woman. I am just me."
"Like I said, it's typically between a man and a woman. Not always." The Doctor said, then began fiddling with a few things on his desk to alleviate the odd atmosphere. "You are... very convincingly alive, Genos. Things like you... they aren't common. People won't know that you aren't capable of that."
"Oh." Genos said. He pondered on this. 'Aren't capable? Yet another thing that sets me apart.'
He wasn't sure if he liked this or not.

He arrived back to the palace more shaken than when he had left. He didn't know if he could face the Count after what he'd said. Then again, knowing what he knew now, he was sure an apology would suffice. Yes, he was sure that apologising immediately was the best course of action.

Saitama had been spending his day in blissful silence. Tornado was away on an errand and Mumen was in the stables, so he had the place mostly to himself. He commended himself yet again on his genius in forbidding any other servants from entering his throne room, sighing as he moved a bit to recline his back against one of the armrests. His legs dangled off of the other, an uncomfortable position for sure, but better than sitting up straight all day with a heavy crown on his head.
He was staring up at the ceiling, his mind preoccupied with the plan to stop his impending murder and the man who had pledged to assist him.
No, Genos wasn't a man. He was something else entirely; and Saitama repeated this in his mind, letting it bounce around and gain weight as if that would tamp down the feelings blossoming in his chest.
Genos had awfully soft, delicate hands for something that was made of metal. And he was so wonderfully clever. And so pretty, too.

Saitama jumped slightly as the doors opened, sitting up and glancing towards whoever walked in. He was ready to brush them off disinterestedly until he saw that it was Genos. He pulled a knee to his chest, stretching out his other leg and resting his chin on his knee. "Oh, I wasn't expecting you. Was I supposed to let you touch my face some more today or something?"
"No, I was meaning to apologise for yesterday. I didn't realise that what I said sounded improper. I promise I will not speak as if I want to reproduce with you." Genos said.
Saitama leaned back in his chair so fast the back of it dented, his eyes wide and his face turning red.
"What?!" He asked incredulously, trying to get his heart to slow down. He didn't offer Genos an explanation as to how he'd dented the throne, instead taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as he exhaled. "Genos."
"Yes?" Genos asked, tilting his head slightly. Saitama ran a hand over the top of his head, looking away briefly.
"Never say anything like that ever again. Got it?"
"Why not? I only meant to assure you that I don't want to-" Genos began, but Saitama cut him off.
"Ah ah, don't say it again! I didn't think that at all." Saitama lied. Of course he'd had a little suspicion. Who wouldn't?
"Let's just forget the whole thing happened." Saitama said quickly, then clapped his hands together. "Now. While you're here, we may as well get in some proportion practice."

Genos ran his thumb smoothly along Saitama's cheek, leaning in as he focused on the way the Count's eyes moved. He noticed that Saitama's breathing was shallow, and his eyes often drifted away from Genos' face. When he was looking at him, his eyes seemed to be drawn to his lips.
Genos let his hand slide down Saitama's face slowly, running it along the curve of his jaw. He stopped at Saitama's chin, his eyes darting down to look at the Count's lips as well. He ran his thumb over Saitama's lower lip absently, his gaze moving to meet Saitama's as his breath hitched.
Saitama leaned in a bit, and Genos' gears began ticking a bit louder as he felt the breath against his own lips.
He was awfully confused. Had they not just confirmed that Saitama didn't have feelings for him? Had they not gone through an entire conversation about how Genos didn't fully understand stuff on that deep of a level?
He saw Saitama's eyes begin to drift closed, and he felt as if he were about to break. Steam rose from his chest piece, although Saitama didn't seem to notice. They both noticed, however, when the dagger zipped by and embedded in the wall behind them. It had missed Saitama's head by mere centimeters.
They sprung apart, Genos wide eyed and panicked and Saitama plain faced and unimpressed once more.
"And who the hell are you?"

There was a glint in the shadows as the assassin smirked, drawing another blade. "I'm the hand of the people, and I'm here to choke the breath from this Imposter King!"

There was silence for a moment before Genos turned to Saitama. "King? I thought you were only a Count?"
"A poor choice of words, I guess." Saitama said, shrugging as the assassin let out a low growl. "Plus, you're using a dagger. A choking pun is a bit out of place here. And I saw you coming from a mile away."
Genos glanced at Saitama, who seemed incredibly bored. He wondered how a man faced with death could be so calm. The Count was surely a strange man.
"Sh-shut up! I am a fearsome shinobi from a hidden clan in the forests bordering your land! I'm not to be taken lightly!" The assassin shrieked, stepping into the light. His dark hair was put up in a messy bun, and his cheeks were streaked with purple makeup. He looked absolutely feral.
"You say that, and yet you've just told me where you've come from. Aren't you guys supposed to be secretive?" Saitama asked, clearly unimpressed.
"I- I'm going to kill you, you wretch!" The assassin screeched, lunging. The movement was almost too fast for Genos to see, and his eyes widened as he heard the singing of a blade. He blinked as bits of metal shot through the air, the assassin left clutching the hilt of a broken dagger and the Count's fist smoking slightly. The assassin retreated quickly, disappearing through a window before anyone could pursue.
"Does this happen often?" Genos asked, then glanced to the door as guards burst through.
"My lord, are you okay?!" One asked, and Saitama waved them away.
"I'm unharmed. What about-" He cut himself off as he looked to Genos, his eyes widening just slightly. "Oh."
Genos looked down, blinking in slight shock at the shard of metal sticking out of his chestplate. Paint leaked from within, mixing together to create vibrant splashes against the stark metal. He felt himself sway slightly, unable to properly process what had happened. He heard Saitama yell for a doctor, wondering if Saitama knew of the man who had made him. Surely... surely he did, right?
He gazed up at the high arching ceiling, not sure when he'd hit the floor. He heard his gears ticking impossibly loudly, as if their noise filled his head entirely. He saw Saitama speaking frantically to a guard. He saw... an angel in the rafters above, flying in slow circles around the chandelier.
He closed his eyes.

Is this what it felt like to sleep?

//1398 words! 100% plot!
//you guys thought they were gonna kiss, huh? Nope! I hope to not leave you guys hangin' for too long this time around. I plan on updating When You Said You Love Me or Male!Reader Inserts next, so keep an eye out!
//stay tuned and stay safe!