Saturday.

Weekend.

Chilling.

Brain-racking after another night of hard thinking.

Slowly, he could no longer convince himself that Deku hadn't become suspicious of his intentions. Yesterday's action? Pre-December, Izuku would have rather nibbled off his fingertips than let their hips grind together so hard that they could feel the warmth of each other's bodies. That was sinful. That had been on purpose. 

Katsuki turned to the side, buried his face in his pillow and growled against the growing arousal and the narrowing space in his pajama pants. His blanket had been pushed aside and was hanging halfway off the bed, so he pulled it up, rolled back onto his back and let his legs fall apart under it.  

He wanted to ... but he couldn't, could he? It was ... fuck ... but he wanted to, desperately. Just to get it out of his system.

Deku had left the apartment a few minutes ago to go who knows where, so he was all alone.

So why the fuck not?

He tucked an arm under his head, closed his eyes and tried to relax, his hands running over the soft skin of his stomach.

...

But it was less fun when he had to be creative himself. 

It was Deku he tried to fantasize about. Izuku, everybody's darling, innocent cutie-pie ... who made his blood boil. 

But everything sexual he thought of turned into buttercups and vanilla as soon as he wove his best friend's face and body into the fantasy. And still, ...he put a hand on the waistband of his shorts, trying to remember the heat he felt when the nerd came close enough to count his freckles. Most of the time it was the unpredictability, the sense of surprise that spiced up things. Or... old-school but efficient - his tears.

His sheets rustled as he straightened his legs, two fingers already in his pants - CLICK

The sound of a door lock clicking open stunned him, and his face twisted in mortification. Oh no. No no no no no no no. 

"Kacchan, are you awake?"

"Oh my fucking God," he jerked his hand back and pressed his thighs together, "why don't you fucking knock, asshole?" his face was on fire, shame tingling in his neck. 

A bag was lifted through the small gap, "I, uh, bought us croissants."

"Why?"

The door slid open. 

Deku was surrounded by Black Whip, juggling various breakfast utensils. He held the bag from the bakery in one hand and an empty tray in the other, "I was wondering if we could eat in bed... and, um," his eyes slid to the small TV in the corner of his room, "watch a movie?"

He had been seconds away from jerking off to his best friend's tears while Izuku, that motherfuckin' saint, had gotten breakfast for them both. 

"...my God," he repeated, ran his hands through his hair and sat up, crumpling the blanket in his lap. He was the worst.

"We don't have to."

Katsuki was about to impulsively jump out of bed, grab the coffee from Deku and then slam the door in his face. But he still had... well, still had a little bit of an erection. 

"Okay, I'll uh- I'll just leave."