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Saitama ducked into a crouch, frowning flatly as Sonic sailed over his head. The ninja landed silently in front of him, unsheathing his sword.
“Saitama!” he barked from behind his mask, holding his weapon out. The blade gleamed as it caught the afternoon sun, reflecting the shine directly into Saitama’s eyes. He winced and glanced away, an annoyed grimace pulling at his features. “I have trained rigorously since our last encounter! I am prepared to finally end your pathetic life, and cut you down where you stand,” the ninja prattled on, pulling down his mask to show off his manic smile after he finished speaking.
“Oh, really?” Saitama said from the ground, crossing his arms atop his bent knees. “I’m kind of busy…”
“There is no better time than now to die,” Sonic announced dramatically, before lunging. His blade clanged against the ground, cutting through Saitama’s afterimage. He leaned against a light pole a few feet away, crossing his arms.
“I don’t think you’re training very efficiently on your own,” he said. The ninja whirled toward him and swung again, embedding the sword in the pole. He grit his teeth and pulled, but it was thoroughly stuck.
“What does your loner ass know about that?” Sonic bit, putting a foot on the pole to gain some leverage as he once again yanked. Saitama leaned against the other side of the pole, giving a full body shrug.
“I dunno. Genos seems to be improving since we started sparring together—“
“If this is some roundabout way to get me to be your disciple,” he grunted, glaring ahead. “I’m not interested—!” The sword suddenly gave way, sending him falling backwards. He braced to hit the ground, but it never came, two arms catching him instead. He cracked his eyes open, glaring up at Saitama, who was backlit by afternoon sun.
“Nah, I need another disciple like I need a hole in the head,” Saitama spoke as he smiled. Their eye contact was dizzying, so Sonic thrashed in his arms, kicking his legs and pushing him away, turning his back to him as soon as he dropped to the ground.
“You could do with one of those ,” he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. Something bumped his side, and he looked down to see the hilt of his sword being offered to him by that ostentatiously gloved hand.
“I’m offering to spar with you,” Saitama said behind him, tapping his hip again with the sword handle. He blinked a few times, before finally snatching the weapon back.
“To the death,” he stipulated.
He heard a chuckle behind him, and it nearly made him snap. His hand tightened on his weapon, tight enough to make his knuckles ache.
“To the death,” Saitama agreed.
An hour later had them in a large, open quarry, the space having been abandoned for quite some time now. They’d ran here after Saitama had decided on the place, and now they faced one another, only about ten feet between them.
Saitama’s hands went to the clasps at his shoulders. Sonic scowled at him as his cape fell to the ground. He stared at the pile of white fabric for a moment.
“I don’t trust you not to mince it,” the hero explained. Sonic smirked. At least he assumed he’d get close enough.
“Don’t hold back,” he said as he squared his shoulders to his hips, bending his knees slightly. He slowly pulled out his sword, the drag of metal against sheath loud and satisfying. Sonic held the handle with both hands, poising the blade near his face.
“This is a spar,” Saitama said, putting his hands on his hips. “Not a duel.”
Sonic would have to make him take this seriously.
He could do that.
In an instant he was in front of the man, swinging this sword across his open stance, openly grinning as he waited for fabric to tear, for blood to spill.
He gasped when the dust cleared and he was alone. A lock of his hair on the back of his head was pulled loose from his bun and gently tugged. This made him grit his teeth and whirl around, cutting through the air behind him. Saitama was already ten feet away again, so much more than one step ahead of him, taking steps before Sonic could even think to take his own.
He charged at him, a sonic boom echoing through the quarry and kicking up a dust storm. Saitama didn’t move this time, instead holding up his arm to block Sonic’s katana. The weapon bounced off his forearm, making a terrible clang noise. They both looked up at the sword as the blade cracked and shattered like glass. The metal fragments fell to the ground unceremoniously. This was not the first time Saitama had broken one of his swords, but it was still shocking. It was still frightening.
“Sorry,” Saitama said, so infuriatingly carefree and nonchalant, like he hadn’t just broken a sword by essentially looking at it
Sonic tossed the now useless handle to the side and once again threw himself at the hero, throwing a punch with all his weight that was brushed away at his wrist. He tried again, and the same thing happened, Saitama using the back of his hand to push Sonic’s away like it was nothing.
Sonic brought one leg up, kicking Saitama in the center of the chest, causing another sonic boom where his foot met the hero. He’d distracted him enough to land a hit! He cracked his eyes open, blinking a few times, the dust around them still settling. His heart was beating so fast he could hardly hear himself think.
His ankle was suddenly grabbed, and he looked down to see that Saitama had not been blown away. Not completely. Sonic realized a large portion of the front of his suit had been obliterated on impact, leaving him with what could only be described as a boob window .
“You look better like this,” he couldn’t resist, couldn’t stifle his grin.
Saitama tossed him, but was very obviously holding back, as Sonic only went about twenty feet. He tumbled in the dirt a few times, finally coming to a stop and springing up, defensive and waiting for another attack to come.
The hero stood exactly where he’d been, staring down at his chest, and pulling at the edges of the new hole, as if he could pull it back together, as if it didn’t span the entirety of his chest.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Saitama pouted, putting a hand on his chest and looking up at Sonic, who mustered a glare to cover up his blush.
Why was he blushing?
“Have I made you angry?”
“A little,” Saitama admitted.
“Fight me, then.”
“What kind of hero would I be if I let my emotions rule me?”
Sonic made a show of rolling his eyes. Saitama cracked a smile.
No, he didn’t want this to devolve into banter. He sprang to his feet and rushed at him, hoping to lunge at him, hoping to tackle him into the dirt. He growled as he pounced at nothing but a dirt cloud. He took a harsh breath in through clenched teeth, looking around the still settling dust, blinking a few times.
Saitama was just a few steps away, arms crossed tight over his chest, a brow quirked at him. Sonic stanced up once more, raising his fists and narrowing his eyes.
“Why won’t you take this seriously?” he gritted out.
Saitama shrugged.
“I don’t want to kill you.”
“I think you’re just scared.”
“Of killing you? Kinda.”
Oh, Sonic hated him.
He kicked off and appeared behind Saitama, looping his arm around his neck and yanking him down, tightening his hold. He didn’t fight it, moving willingly with the action. Sonic felt pitied and it was maddening. He let out a frustrated growl, still holding Saitama in a headlock, an awkward position to be in with their lack of height difference.
“Fight back!” he growled, an exercise in petulance.
“I don’t really want to hurt your feelings,” Saitama replied simply, which only served to make him angrier, until he felt hot and itchy with it. He leapt onto Saitama’s back, wanting to bring him down but having no idea how to obtain the leverage to do so.
“Hey—agh, what are you doing?!” Saitama groaned, staggering slightly as Sonic wrapped his legs around his waist, circling his neck with both arms and leaning back, tightening his grip as much as he could.
“I’m gonna make you fight me,” he hissed in the hero’s ear. “I don’t care what I have to do.”
“...Okay,” Saitama replied. “You should know that…” he paused, bringing his hands up to Sonic’s crossed arms, pulling them down slightly, tilting his head back so the fit was more snug, more secure. The back of his head was practically resting on Sonic’s shoulder, his mouth was so close to his ear. “This is more effective.”
Everything about Saitama pissed him off, from his outfit to his baldness to his stupid, blank face. What especially pissed him off was how hard his heart raced when he touched him. They were pressed front to back, no room for anything to get between them, no room for Sonic’s denial. All he could think about in that moment was how gentle he could be, how careful he was with his movements, how he made it a point to treat Sonic with mercy— kindness , even.
It made his blood boil. It made him see red.
“Ow!” Saitama gasped, and Sonic nearly fell off of him. “Did you just bite me?!”
Sonic’s jaw dropped as he stared at the man’s exposed neck. Sure enough, there was a shallow bite mark there. It hadn’t been enough to break skin, he’d surely break his teeth before he drew blood, but it was there all the same.
“I…” he trailed off, a brilliant blush overtaking his features, his own mortification stamping out all the rage and fury he’d just had. “I don’t know… why I did that.”
“Oh my god,” Saitama laughed out. “I can’t believe you just bit me!” he laughed more, leaning forward slightly, bringing a hand up to cover his face.
“Quit it!” he hissed.
“You’re—you’re supposed to be some badass ninja,” he snorted, suddenly, which just made him laugh more, until he could only breathlessly gasp out his next words. “ And you just bit me!”
Sonic ground his teeth, covering his face with both hands, still holding onto Saitama’s waist with his legs. He could feel the heat of his blush against his hands. Stupid, stupid, he couldn’t believe himself, was he five years old?!
Saitama had an ugly laugh and Sonic liked it all the same, which was almost more embarrassing than biting him in the first place.
Saitama was nearly doubled over by now, still coming down from his fit of laughter. He clutched his stomach as his shoulders shook with another round of chuckles. Sonic glared down at the back of him from between his fingers, the flame of his anger reigniting the longer he was laughed at.
“I’m sorry,” Saitama finally wheezed, waving a hand helplessly. “That was just… unexpected.”
“Hurt me back,” he demanded, beating his fists against Saitama’s back. The hero was quiet for a moment. He stared down at him, brows furrowing, confused at—
Saitama grabbed his wrist and pulled him over his head, tossing him to the ground in front of him.
For a full five seconds, Sonic couldn’t register anything.
The first thing that came back to him was the brightness of the sky, too bright for his wobbly vision, so he squinted his eyes until the brightness was blotted out by… something.
He couldn’t breathe. He could hear himself taking in strained wheezes, a painful spasm in his gut keeping him from retaining any oxygen. Sonic attempted a deep breath in through his mouth, but again nothing came. It was panic inducing. Had Saitama broken him?
Saitama, that’s right, Saitama. He was leaning over him, a worried expression on his face. One hand was on the back of Sonic’s neck, the other was on his abdomen. His hand was warm against his skin, he’d taken his gloves off.
“Relax,” he said quietly, and his tone made his brows knit up, it was so soothing, worryingly soothing. He’d broken him. He looked down, expecting to see all of his ribs poking out of his skin, expecting to see everything lower than his chest absolutely eviscerated. However, that wasn’t what he saw. His body looked normal, his clothes were intact, just a bit dusty. He took another few shallow breaths that kept stopping midway.
“Seriously, chill out. You’re just making it worse,” Saitama said above him.
“W-what—“
“The wind got knocked out of you,” he said. “You should sit up. Take deep breaths.”
Sit up? Take deep breaths? He was about to suffocate!
He obliged anyways, Saitama guiding him into a sitting position, leaving his hands where they were as Sonic slowly but surely recovered.
“I can’t believe you’ve never gotten winded before,” Saitama said after a moment, once he could finally take a full, but still shuddering, breath.
“People don’t usually catch me,” he replied quietly. Saitama chuckled. Broken him.
“I’d believe that.”
Saitama finally took his hands away and Sonic instantly missed them. He leaned back on his hands, posture open, seemingly unguarded. He knew the truth though, knew it would be absolutely fruitless to attack him. Broken.
“This was fun,” Saitama said with a smile. Sonic scowled at him out of the corner of his eye, taking a few slow breaths. “We should do it again.”
“Are you propositioning me?” he asked, flashing a tired smirk. Saitama just huffed a laugh again, heaving a shrug.
“I guess,” he said.
It pissed Sonic off how casual he was all the time.
But that wasn’t a new realization.
He stared out into the open space around them, finally relaxed enough to breathe. His lungs were still sore, and the sun was now too hot now that they’d been sitting for a while. But he was alive. And that was more than most could say after fighting with Saitama.
But he was broken.
“I am sorry about your sword,” the hero said suddenly.
“Mm,” he hummed, pointedly not looking at where the remains of the weapon lay.
“I’ll… buy you dinner to make up for it.”
The offer hung in the air, heavy and stilling above them. Sonic didn’t really want to be seen with him… but then again, it wasn’t as if people knew either of them. They’d just look weird, but together, which… seemed fine. It was fine.
“Sure,” he sighed.
“Okay,” Saitama replied, and stood, offering a hand to Sonic. He stared at the hand for a beat, hesitating. But finally, he took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Sonic crossed his arms over his chest as Saitama collected his discarded gloves and cape. He stared at the hero as he clipped his cape back on.
The chest of his suit was still blasted off, Sonic realized, a detail that he’d forgotten in the midst of their fight. Saitama’s chest flexed as he pulled on his gloves, and he quickly shifted his eyes away, staring at the horizon.
“You look ridiculous,” he announced.
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Yours!” he snapped, glaring sourly at him.
“Oh, yeah? For being so kickable?”
“Yes!”