Chapter Text
Deku POV:
“Please hand your tests in when you’re done with the questions.” Izuku Midoryia, U.A’s latest homeroom Teacher, pushes his chair back from the desk and slumps into it. He’s tired, and sore all over, and his students have done nothing but talk for the last 2 hours. Finally, they are settled in their seats, silently passing the test papers amongst them.
“You have 1 hour starting…” Izuku raises his eyes wearily to the clock on the wall, “now.”
Izuku lets out a relieved sigh as the sound of papers shuffling and pens scratching fills the room. He hasn’t slept well in weeks, and it’s starting to catch up to him. He isn’t sure what brought his latest insomnia on, but whenever he closes his eyes he remembers the fight. THE fight. He remembers his friends fighting for their lives. He remembers those who they lost. He remembers Katsuki’s body. No amount of sleeping pills or counting sheep can shake the memories.
He leans back in the chair and stretches his legs out, shaking his head to forget the memories. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, so he reaches for it, making sure to keep it hidden below the desk.
Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight reveals new suit during latest mission...
Izuku doesn’t remember exactly when he turned his notifications on to receive alerts on Katsuki. It’s become part of his routine now. He scrolls a little further down and adjusts slightly in his seat. There’s a photo attached to the article. It’s a little blurry, but he can see the outline of Katsuki, arms extended, manic grin on his face as he appears to be falling through the air. The space around him sparkles with what Izuku recognises as droplets of nitroglycerin. He squints his eyes and zooms in a little. Is he wearing?... No, surely not.
Izuku lifts his head to check on his students, all of them have their heads down while they write frantically.
Izuku’s thumb hovers above his phone for a few seconds as he second guesses what he wants to do. He chews nervously on his bottom lip. Fuck it, he thinks. He exits the article and loads up his texts. He finds ‘Kacchan’ pinned to the top of his threads and clicks on it. He types out a message. Then he deletes the message. Then types again…. And deletes again. He doesn’t know what he wants to say.
The bell rings, startling Izuku to the point of almost dropping his phone. He looks up at the sea of students lifting their bags over their shoulders. They each come up to his desk and drop off their test paper before heading out the classroom, most wishing Izuku a nice weekend.
Izuku's eyebrows knit together as he looks up at the clock. 50 minutes? He looks back at the phone in his hand, the screen still open on his texts with Katsuki. How have I sat here for almost an hour and not come up with a single thing to say?
Embarrassment courses through Izuku’s body. He’s embarrassed that time slipped away so easily, and embarrassed that he worried over a single text for so long. Frustrated, he lifts his phone and types again.
SMS 3:06PM From <me>
New suit?
He shuts off his phone and drops it in his bag, focusing on packing up his things and gathering up the test papers. He stuffs them carelessly into his bag and heads for the door.
Izuku pushes into his apartment, tripping over shoes carelessly left at the front door. The journey home had been exhausting, and hot. It was one of the hottest weeks of the year, and he could feel it. The train had been suffocating. Hot bodies all crammed into the small metal carriage, the smell of sweat clinging to him in much the way his shirt did.
He tosses his keys into the bowl and kicks off his shoes, making a b-line for the shower. He won’t feel better until he’s clean. He leaves his bag on the floor of his bedroom before pulling off his clothes. He tosses them into the hamper, though his shirt hangs half over the rim. He ignores it. He's quick in the shower, thorough, though his arms ache from the effort of holding them up.
Izuku sits on the edge of his bed, one towel hung around his neck, the other wrapped around his waist. He can feel the pull of sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to get any. He never can. He grits his teeth in frustration, worrying that he won’t be able to go on like this much longer. His colleagues had already noticed his mood lately, the bags under his eyes, they’ve just been too polite to say anything.
He hears his phone vibrate, and his eyes scan the room for it. He hears another buzz, and this time his eyes snap to his bag on the floor. Blackwhip curls out from him, snaking its way across the floor, opening the satchel. His phone is pulled back to him, dropping into his hands rather unceremoniously.
SMS 5:29PM From <kacchan>
Yep.
SMS 5:29PM From <kacchan>
Like it?
Izuku stares at the messages, his mind going blank. He’d forgotten he’d even sent the text after all his hesitation, let alone did he imagine he’d get a response.
He’s about to reply when the phone vibrates in his hand.
SMS 5:31PM From <kacchan>
IMG.233 attached
Izuku draws in a gasp as a photo of Katsuki fills up his screen. Katsuki is standing in his apartment in front of a tall mirror. He’s wearing his suit, but it’s different. Izuku’s mouth opens slightly as he gawks at the image. Katsuki holds the phone with his left hand, his right hand flipping off the camera. His suit, for the most part, looks the same, however the most striking difference, the thing Izuku can’t stop staring at, is the slip of skin at Katsuki’s waist. His black vest top, which usually reaches the waistband of his trousers, is now cropped. It sits an inch above his belly button, pale skin on display for all -Izuku- to gape at. Katsuki’s trousers are sat low on his hips, as though they've been pushed down, and Izuku’s face flushes as he traces a ‘V’ of muscle on Katsuki’s lower stomach.
Izuku shifts, feeling hot again, despite his shower, and only then notices that he’s hard. Fuck. He wants to look away. Wants to shake his head. But he can’t stop staring at the image. He notices Katsuki’s digital clock in the background, displaying the date and time. The current date and time. Did Kacchan take this photo… for me?
Izuku sucks in a breath again as his stomach flips. Before he can think better of it, he gently palms himself through his towel. A low groan rips it’s way out of his mouth, startling Izuku. He throws the phone onto the bed and pulls his hand away. Shame rises, competing for attention over his throbbing erection. Don’t do this, Izuku thinks, not again.
But he can’t stop himself. Before he’s even finished the thought, he’s crawled onto the bed toward his discarded phone, and is leaning back on his pillows. The screen is glowing once again, and Izuku’s other hand drifts down to the edge of his towel. He pushes it aside and gently grips his cock. He sucks in his bottom lip as his fist makes its first pass. He sucks harder when it makes the second.
He’s losing himself, he can tell, but he can’t do anything to stop it.
He fists his cock harder, groaning into the quiet room, eyes glued to the photo. To Katsuki’s messy hair that Izuku wants to run his fingers through. To the exposed shoulder muscles that Izuku wants to sink his teeth into. To the slither of skin at Katsuki’s waist that Izuku wants to run his tongue along.
The thought causes Izuku to jerk forward, hand pumping furiously. He’s close, already, and the thought sends a new wave of embarrassment through him. A groan rips from him as he climaxes, cum shooting out from his cock and landing on the screen. He pants through the wave of his orgasm, fist slowing but not stopping, dragging it out for as long as he can.
He reaches for the towel, sighing with the effort, and wipes his hand, then his phone. His stomach churns as he looks at the photo again. Fuck.
SMS 5:36PM From <kacchan>
Oi, shithead. Don’t leave me on read.
SMS 5:29PM From <me>
Sorry! Yes, it looks great!
Izuku shuts off his phone and tosses it to the side, again. He lays his head back on the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as though only just realising his actions. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He tells himself this is the last time, that he really means it this time. It’s wrong. So fucking wrong. Kacchan is my best friend!
His eyes flutter as he sighs. He intends to just rest for a moment before making some dinner, doing things that normal, regular people do, rather than wanking off to an image of their bestfriend, but he's asleep before he realises it.