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“Aw, shit, it’s all melted,” Satoru pouts, scowling at the soupy mess of chocolate biscuit and ice cream swimming in the package. It was meant to be an ice cream sandwich, but, well - it’s more a milkshake than anything now. He steals a peek at Suguru’s popsicle - it’s still deteriorating, though decidedly more solid than whatever he has.
“Trade?” He offers hopefully. Suguru just sticks his tongue out and takes a bite.
“I told you it would be melted.”
“Yes, but I wanted an ice cream sandwich. Not - what did you even get?”
“Cherry popsicle. The basics are always the best.”
Satoru huffs. “You’re mean, you know that? You won’t even share with me.”
“Just get another. Or ask for a spoon or something, I don’t know. I’m not responsible for your bad decisions.”
“Shoko would share hers with me.”
“No, Shoko would laugh at you and video you struggling with it. You’re lucky Shoko decided to remember she was a med student and actually study today.”
“We both know she’s not actually studying.”
Satoru gives another exaggerated sigh, one that Suguru cruelly ignores to take another lick of his popsicle, traitor that he is. It feels almost obscene; his throat bobs as he wraps his lips - nope, bad train of thought. He finally decides to give in and try to find a way to eat the damn thing.
He could ask for a spoon, but that would be admitting Suguru was right, and he will not give him that satisfaction. So instead, he tries squeezing the slushy mixture to the top of the packet and licking it off.
That turns out to be a horrible idea; it gets all over his face and almost spills onto his uniform. He catches it in his hand, licking the excess off. Guess he’ll be using his fingers.
He curls them into the packet, scooping out a clump of melted biscuit and vanilla ice cream, and licks it off. His hand will be sticky, but at least his uniform should escape relatively unscathed.
“Haha. See, Suguru? I found another solution. And you doubted me~”
His friend does not respond; his eyes are fixed firmly on his popsicle, and he’s far too focused on it for Satoru’s liking. That focus should be on him , actually.
“Suguruuuuu. Pay attention to me.”
“Suguru. Are you good?”
***
Suguru is not, in fact, “good”. Because Satoru is - fucking - fingering an ice cream sandwich packet, dipping his stupidly long, slender fingers into that melted slop, which he told him to get rid of, and licking the ice cream off like if he’s getting paid for it. His fingers are dripping in vanilla ice cream, and it covers his mouth too. Suguru finds his mind wandering to what Satoru would do if it were some other white liquid decorating his face.
Would he clean his fingers with as much abandon? Would he bring them to his mouth, swirling his tongue around as he did now, almost moaning as he cleaned every inch? Would he-
“Earth to Suguru. You’re really red.”
He chokes, jerked (hah!) out of his fantasy. “Yes, I’m- I’m good. The heat, you know.”
Satoru wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, yes. The heat. Anyways, what do you think of my foolproof method?”
As if he hadn’t seen enough of it before, Satoru decides to demonstrate again, scooping out more melted icecream with his fingers; it makes a stupidly obscene shlick against the packet, and all but slurping it off his fingers. He has got to be doing this on purpose.
Suguru wants nothing more than to replace those fingers with his own, that ice cream with - fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about this, not when Satoru is right in front of him. So instead, he says, “That’s nasty. You’re spilling it all over yourself.”
“You’re just jealous~”
“Pssh. Jealous of what? You look like an absolute dumbass right now.” Jealous of the fact that those fingers aren’t inside me, that those lips aren’t wrapped around me.
“Uhm, FYI, I always look good.” He can’t dispute that. So he rolls his eyes to avoid agreeing, and balls up his now empty popsicle wrapper.
“Whatever, you loser. I’m gonna go wash my hands. Please get rid of that thing before I’m back, you’re grossing me out.”
Satoru rewards him by yelling ‘loser’ at his retreating back, but honestly he couldn’t care less. Right now, all that’s on his mind is getting to a sink so he can splash some water onto his face and splash the obscene image of Satoru out.
The water does little to quell the heat in his abdomen. Instead, it just brings to mind Satoru in the communal showers; the stolen glances at him while his eyes were closed and water trailed down his body like rapids down mountain crevices…the way he’d force himself to wrench his eyes away and jump out of the shower as quickly as possible.
Fuck it, he thinks. He’s painfully hard now. He slips into a stall, undoing his pants and taking his dick in hand. The bathroom is more stuffy than usual - were the walls always that close together? He tries to ignore how absolutely pathetic it is that he can’t even wait till he’s alone, that he’s in a dingy bathroom stall about to frantically jerk off over his best friend doing something as innocent as eating an ice cream sandwich.
His hand being wet makes the slide of his hand against his dick slightly better; at least he’s not doing it completely dry. Not that he’d care; the only thing in his head right now is Satoru, Satoru, Satoru .
Satoru, vanilla ice cream smeared all over his face.
Satoru, basically deep-throating his own fingers, tongue moving as if he was starving and that stupid ice cream sandwich was his first meal in days.
Satoru in the shower, groaning with pleasure at the hot water.
Satoru on his knees, wrapping those beautiful, beautiful hands around Suguru’s dick as he stares up at him, leaning forward to take him into his mouth. Maybe even gagging as he overestimates himself, his shockingly blue eyes tearing up. He’d look so pretty like that - fuck, he was always pretty - speechless for once as Suguru would thrust forward -
He moans, the sound echoing in the cramped stall. He’s close, so very close, and he thrusts into his hand frantically-
- and then the bathroom door slams open, and the source of all his problems is calling out “Sugurruuu~” in a sing-song voice, and shamefully, shamefully , that’s what sends him over the edge, Satoru’s stupid, stupid voice filling his ears as he comes into his hand.
Post-nut clarity hits him with all the force of a truck slamming into an isekai protagonist, and he grabs for tissues.
“Suguru! What’s taking you so long?” Satoru whines.
“Can’t a guy have five minutes to himself?” Suguru responds, praying his voice sounds normal and not like someone who rubbed one out while thinking about his best friend.
“It’s been wayyy longer than five minutes. I thought you’d fallen in the toilet and died or something.”
He dumps the evidence down the toilet, pulling his pants back up and hoping that his face isn’t flushed. “Alright, alright. I’m coming now.” (He winces internally at his unfortunate choice of words.)
He opens the stall door to see Satoru lounging against the sink. It seems like he’s finished his ice cream, as his hands and mouth are mercifully clean. Well, mostly. As Suguru washes his hands, he notices a smudge of chocolate across the other’s upper lip. “You’ve got something right there,” he points.
Satoru peers into the mirror. “You’re right! Thanks, Suguru.” Instead of washing it off , like a normal human being, his tongue darts out to lick it off.
“All good?”
“Yep,” he sighs. Satoru is going to kill him one day.