elderflowerfishcandy
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Yamato took a sip of his beer when he saw a sight he did not want to see right now—or ever, really—Yuki. He was standing there, talking to Momo, and he couldn't understand why this seemed to bother him. Whatever they had going on was none of his business, and, frankly, he didn't care. Despite that, though, he couldn't shake this weird sinking feeling whenever they were talking. Only when off camera, but the feeling was still there. Why the fuck did he feel like this? Why did he care? This was Yuki, the guy was his worst nightmare at the best of times.
He had been staring at him for longer than intended.
OR
Yamato sits alone at the BEYOND THE PERiOD after party, and Yuki makes a move.
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"It’s rare for us to get time alone like this,” The observation is hummed against the rim of the can waiting at Mitsuki’s lips. “It feels so empty here.” He leans back on his palms, stretching his legs beneath the kotatsu. The brush of Mitsuki’s outstretched legs against the denim of his pants prompts a tense swallow from him, and he raises his can to his lips to play it off before he realizes it’s been long emptied. He sets the can down on the table and furrows his brow.
Yamato and Mitsuki share beers and maybe some feelings over a meal.
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The beautiful thing about Rin going all out during a match, crawling and lunging and drooling and growling, wasn’t just the spectacular destruction he wrought on the field, or the orgasmic rush of trying to corral him or match him or work around him; those were pretty great, but the way he acted just after the match, when Isagi got his hands on him, was just as good.
it's locker room sex
Bookmarked by elderflowerfishcandy
15 Feb 2026
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"You don't need to, like," Mitsuki swallows and from this angle Yamato can see it travel down his throat, "drag it out."
"Shh," he says, a facsimile of comfort, a crude consolation as he wraps his fingers around Mitsuki's neck. That pulse he saw is now thrumming fast in his grasp, like a rabbit in a trap. "Let your big brother do this."
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“Time to get up. Seriously,” Sogo said, lips brushing against Yamato’s with every movement. Another kiss. “Do we have to do this the hard way?”
Yamato didn’t say anything. He hummed. He was rather interested in Sogo’s version of ‘the hard way.’ It changed every time. Sometimes it meant the banging of a frying pan and a metal spoon, sometimes it meant more soft kisses pressed to Yamato’s face. Sometimes it meant something dirty.
Yamato really liked it when it meant something dirty.