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Yamato hears the latch of the front door open and the creak of its hinges from across the dorm. His eyes flutter open, blearily staring across the darkened bedroom, lit only by the forgotten television. Light dances across the walls, reflecting against the surfaces with each flash of late night talk shows and thinly veiled product placements.
Yamato sits up in his chair, back cracking with the effort. If he strains his ears, he can also hear footsteps through the main room. It's late and most of the kids should be asleep by now. It would have to be Sougo out there; he’d been out late at a wrap party for his latest drama. Yamato eyes the television; how long will it be before the program airs?
There's a funny fluttering of happiness and pride, undeserved and buried deep in his chest. Sougo's acting improves with every project. Obviously, Yamato doesn't have any right to take credit for that; Yamato knows he's not a good teacher, acting has never been something he puts much work into. But Sougo works hard in everything he does. He probably stayed out late to please the director and his co-stars, not because he wanted to. Sougo puts everything into what he does, and Yamato's not selfish enough to think he's had even the slightest impact on that.
Yamato scrubs a hand over his face. His breath tastes sour in his mouth. He probably shouldn't have had so much to drink while he’d been waiting for his talented and hardworking boyfriend to come home.
He hears the door to his room open, barely audible over the discordant sounds from the TV.
"Ah, Yamato-san?"
Yamato closes his eyes again, lets his body slump back into the chair. There's a perfectly good reason to pretend he hadn't been waiting up, drinking and lonely in the dark. He doesn't want to be vulnerable, he doesn't want other people to have that power over him. Not even someone like a significant other, not even a guy as decent as Sougo. It'd be a bad thing for even Sougo to realize how much Yamato misses him when he's gone, that he aches for him when Sougo's not there. That Yamato is stupidly, desperately, hopelessly —
Yamato schools his face to stay still as footsteps tentatively approach the back of his chair. Sougo's footsteps pad across the floor with a slight hesitation, like he's trying to be quiet. Trying not to stumble. Reluctantly, Yamato feels the corners of his mouth crease into a smile. Of course, Sou would have had to drink with the cast party; he'd only do it to be polite. Hopefully, Sougo's sober enough avoid the beer cans left around the foot of Yamato's chair.
"Yamato-san?" Sougo asks again, a whisper in the dark. He's closer now, close enough that Yamato can imagine what he might look like in the dim lighting; a new crisply pressed suit, his tie halfway loosened, although probably not undone until he was in the car home. Maybe not at all if Sougo was aware of Banri's eyes on him. Sougo's always so aware of how others perceive him, what they might think of his behavior. Yamato can't remember the last time he cared about that. He chalks it up to selfishness, but really it's fear again. If you don't let people have that power over you, then you don't get hurt.
Still, Sougo's so close. Checking in on Yamato after a long day, a tiring night. An unfamiliar warmth rises in Yamato's throat. His mouth is very dry.
A hand rests on his shoulder and the soft outline of Sougo's mouth presses to his. Yamato struggles with every part of it; the tenderness, the sweetness, the slight aftertaste of alcohol on Sougo's lips.
He has half a second to think the better of it before Yamato's hands snake out, fists curling around the lapels of the other man's jacket. Sougo shouts in surprise, instantly muffled by Yamato pressing his lips back to Sougo's. He relishes in the startled lines of Sougo's body, pulled tight against Yamato's, half in and out of the chair. Usually Sougo's so put-together, overly conscious and composed. It's a thrill to have Sougo tipped into his lap and squirming. There's nothing of Sougo's usual composure in the moan as his lips part, eagerly meeting Yamato's tongue with his own.
"Oh." Sougo gasps, momentarily breaking for air. He shifts his position to get more comfortable; the two men collapsed against the groaning framework of Yamato's armchair. "You're awake," he says, obviously. Yamato's heart sings with affection.
"Yeah," Yamato replies, ducking his mouth to a scrap of skin on Sougo's neck, just above his collar. Sougo hums with the force of the kiss there, arching against him as Yamato closes his lips and sucks a bruise.
"Ah — careful," Sougo says. Yamato distantly acknowledges it and eases back on the kissing. He redirects that energy to his hands, fingers working quick to finish undoing Sougo's tie, opening the front buttons of his shirt. There are lots of other places he can kiss, plenty of secret spots where he can leave his mark on Sougo. Alcohol and the dark give him incremental boosts of courage. Now Sougo must have figured out that Yamato had waited up for him; pretended to be sleeping to get the jump on him. All this is embarrassing, but…
But Sougo in his lap, breathing hard and slotting their hips together. The taste of sake on Sougo's lips only highlights Yamato's own beer induced haze. The further he pushes this, the drunker he feels, teetering wildly on the edge of madness with Sougo, needy and warm, splayed out against him.
"Mm... Ah, wait," Sougo swallows hard and Yamato blearily watches the thrum of his pulse in his neck. He wants to kiss there. He's not allowed. "Yamato-san, hold on," Sougo continues, voice struggling through its pleas. He wants to press Sougo to the ground and wring even more cute sounds from him.
Sougo firmly places a palm flat in the center of Yamato's face. Annoyed, Yamato peers up through his fingers at Sougo; ruffled and undone, equally annoyed. Still cute.
"We don't want the others to hear," Sougo says, like a lecture. Yamato licks his lips and considers this.
"They'll only hear us if you're too loud," he points out. Yamato turns his head and opens his mouth, taking one long finger into his mouth. Sougo's eyes widen. Yamato dips his head down and Sougo lets him, sliding his finger along the pad of Yamato's tongue. Yamato laps his tongue up to the fingertip before taking a second finger with the first, lathing them both with his spit. He closes his lips, making a seal as he sucks on Sougo's fingers. All of Sougo's arguments have gone quiet; Yamato knows this kind of reply can be quite persuasive.
Yamato lifts his head; Sougo's hand falls stunned and still at his side. It feels like his glasses are fogging up. Hopefully the room's too dark for Sougo to tell his ears are burning.
"You're not gonna be too loud, are you?" Yamato's face splits with a smirk. "Sou?"
Sougo gulps, considering. "We've been drinking."
"Mm," Yamato's says, a bland acknowledgment as he helps Sougo out of his jacket.
"We probably shouldn't," Sougo groans. Still, they keep moving, breaking apart momentarily for Sougo to work at his belt while Yamato struggles with the front of his own pants.
"But you're so good at it," Yamato presses, reaching out to lay his palm flat against Sougo's back to hold him close. His cock is out, flushed and erect, standing at attention through the fly of his pants. "Sou's always so good."
Sougo goes a deeper somehow even more delightful shade of pink. "Don't," he says.
Yamato's grin widens. He's never been overly great at following directions. "Don't, what?" he asks, feigning innocence. He leans forward, kissing down Sougo's exposed chest, teeth scraping against skin until he's sure they'll leave marks. "Don't tell you how much I like fucking you?" He can feel the sharp intake of breath, Sougo's lungs filling with a rushed gasp. "You just make me feel so good." Yamato's hand slide from the small of Sougo's back, down the back of his slacks. With some skilled maneuvering he's worked both them and Sougo’s underwear lower onto his hips. Sougo's ass is out, firm under Yamato's prodding fingers, the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks graciously rocking against his fingertips.
"Ah," Sougo murmurs, chin dropped to his chest. His cock throbs painfully between his legs. His and Yamato's dicks are just a short distance apart, equally needy and swollen. Yamato fills with the heady rush of wanting to grind them together, of wanting to close his mouth around Sougo, or to have Sougo's mouth around him. There's no end to what he wants when the both of them are exposed like this. Instead of any of that, Yamato keeps his free hand to himself, reaching down to palm over his own dick.
"See how hard I am," Yamato says, practically a coo. The kind of voice he uses for late night dramas, the more tawdry ones they don't let the kids watch. Only right now he isn't pretending, he feels it deep into his gut. The pulsing heat of wanting he always feels when he sees Sougo strike a dance move just right. When Sougo's acting is particularly earnest in a series finale. When he looks over his shoulder at Yamato, lingering behind, and smiles in a warm, encouraging way that ties Yamato's insides up in knots. He means this, he needs this. Sougo in his life is all the things he never thought he'd have, things Yamato was sure he didn't deserve. It hurts like an ache to know Sougo is his, he's Sougo's and there's nothing, no amount of his bad attitude or posturing that can change that. It's terrifying how much he means it. How much he needs Sougo now.
"See?" Yamato asks, arching his hips with emphasis. Sougo is pointedly not looking. "I'm rock hard already, waiting for you, Sou. That's how hot you are." Shamefaced, Sougo turns into his shoulder, breath huffing against his shirt. "You gonna be shy?" he asks. Sougo lifts his head, eyes defensive and wet, shudders racing down his spine.
"Can you," Sougo struggles through a gasp, arching weakly into the contact, desperate for friction against his cock. At the same time, his hips swing backwards, almost pleadingly, for Yamato's fingers to prod into him. His eyes are unfocused, voice wavering, "Yamato-san, please."
"But you're being so cute," Yamato says with a laugh. Sougo shoots him a look, a flash of a warning. Yamato pretends not to notice that displeased reaction, wrapping his fist around Sougo's cock. "And you're already so pent up too." He strokes Sougo leisurely from base to tip. A sliver of precome oozes down his wrist. "Maybe I just want to play around with Sou a little longer."
"Don't," Sougo mumbles, red to the tips of his ears, "Please don't tease me."
"But you're doing so well." Yamato isn't sure where this kind of dirty praise stuff comes from. He's not sure if it's part of a facade to hide his true, genuine affection for Sougo, another persona he can tap into when things are challenging. Or maybe it's just because of the way his words makes Sougo's dick jump in his grip.
Sougo whines, palms flat against Yamato's shoulder. "Don't, I-" He takes his lower lip between his teeth. Definitely cute. "I want you to — not just touching — I need…"
Yamato lifts an eyebrow, pressing his thumb into the tip of Sougo's dick until he's writhing. "What do you need?"
"I need you inside me," Sougo says in a rush, words tumbling loose, wracked with the force of his arousal. "Please... Hurry, I can't come like this-"
"You can," Yamato chides gently, but because he's such a great guy, he loosens his hold. Sougo is awash with desire and relief all at once, both emotions competing across his face. Chest heaving, he stares back at Yamato, open and pleading as the other man gingerly maneuvers around him, standing out of the chair.
"You can, but I'll help you out with that." Yamato smiles, all teeth and all bad intentions. "Because you're being so good."
"Mm…"
Yamato moves across the room quickly, rifling through a bedside drawer. It'd be more useful if they kept lube within reach, but personal space and boundaries have never been Idolish7's forte. As amusing as it would be to explain lube to someone as sweet-faced as Riku, Yamato's fairly certain Sougo and Mitsuki would never let him hear the end of it.
Yamato turns the plastic bottle in his hands, a hint of honesty, a forceful glimpse into his heart as he smiles. He does all kinds of pointless stuff for this group nowadays. To keep the peace with the kids and the caretakers. And somewhere in between, himself. A big brother, a Leader. Warmth wraps around him like a blanket, this makeshift family he's found. The warmth of love in a way he never expected. A hand outstretched, to help rather than push someone down.
Still smiling in that genuine way that hurts his jaw if he does it long enough, Yamato turns back around and —
In the short time since Yamato stepped away, Sougo's taken off the rest of his clothes. His bare legs are spread wide, ankles practically hooked around the legs of the chair. His ass lifts off the seat with a particularly long stroke, his dick in his own hands. His head drops against the back of the chair, mouth wide, neck pale in the darkness. Sougo's hands move fast like he's stripping himself raw in Yamato's absence.
Arousal hits like a hammer into his chest. Thoughts of love and family are a million miles away. Thoughts that Sougo is something cute, a fun toy to play with, to tease, are equally far gone. The image in front of him — Sougo splayed out and panting, cock red and leaking onto the leather of his chair — is nowhere near cute. Definitely erotic. Very appetizing. A raw hunger grows in the pit of his stomach and Yamato forces himself out of the rest of his clothes.
"Fuck, you look so good like that," Yamato mutters. Did he already say something like that? The fog of booze and desire is interfering with whatever show they're trying to put on. Sougo is definitely putting on some kind of show, pink blossoming down his chest as he rolls his hips into his own touch. Yamato collides into the chair, into Sougo, so hard the chair lurches with the effort.
"You need to wait for me," he grumbles, hoisting Sougo's legs over his shoulders. Sougo groans appreciatively, thighs wrapping around Yamato's face like an encouragement. "You were just too hard up for it, huh?"
"Yeah," Sougo sighs, lifting his hips higher on command, making room for Yamato's fingers, newly slickened, to return to his hole and sink inside without ceremony. "Oh…"
"You're doing so good," Yamato mumbles as he plunges into his knuckles, withdrawing slowly, trying to time it with the way Sougo rolls against him. "Your ass wants me so much, Sou."
"Ah, it does — I mean, I do," Sougo says. Yamato's bent him backwards, knees close to his chest as Yamato's fingers push in and out, dragging against the flushed and plump muscles pulsating around them. "Mm, more."
"You're so greedy." But Yamato gives him more; Sougo can take a few fingers easily. He's lost count of how many times he's worked Sougo open like this. If he had it his way they could stay like this for hours; teasing Sou until he's crying, clawing at the bedsheets and babbling Yamato's name. The thought of it is even more intoxicating than the beer he had earlier. Maybe someday the rest of the house will be out and he can have Sougo like that, raw and begging, screaming for more. For now Sougo had been worried about the noise, so...
"You said we have to be quiet," Yamato reminds him, fingers sliding free. Sougo nods, eyes wide. His mouth is closed tightly, hiccuping back a couple weak, furtive sobs. Yamato takes in the image of him; ass on display, lips quivering, thighs shaking. But still very quiet, just like they agreed. "Good boy," he whispers and presses his cock inside.
He's deliriously tight. They could've spent longer preparing, but Yamato's not sure he could put up with another second without Sougo wrapped around him. The warmth of love and family is a thousand times stronger like this, with Sougo keening and moaning in his arms. Yamato is hot all the way to his toes that curl into the carpet as he shifts his weight back before fucking back into him. Sougo cries out, a momentary, bird-like sound before one hand claps over his mouth. Have to be quiet, Yamato wants to tell him, wants to tease him. But he's not sure he can manage anything halfway coherent. He's just a raw mess of need, furiously scrambling for purchase. The chair underneath them heaves with each frenzied thrust, the weight of it slamming against the floor with a forceful 'clunk.'
"Ahh... be careful," Sougo pleads. Yamato knows they have to be quiet, but wouldn't it be funny if someone walked in on them like this. A wild smile plays across his face.
"Can't help it," he says. The room feels like it's spinning around them. "Sou's… so hot," Yamato murmurs, leaning forward, close enough he can close his teeth around the skin of Sougo's shoulder. Sougo moans appreciatively. "You feel so good."
"Oh-" Sougo shivers under Yamato's mouth as he draws his hips back before sinking further inside.
Yamato's head is fuzzy with the cloudy bliss that comes with being connected with Sougo, closer than anyone else. He chases it with reckless abandon, with every swing of his hips, every gasp it elicits from the body underneath him. Everything around them is humid and hot; Sougo's skin is practically scalding as his fingers struggle against the other man's thighs. He's not sure how comfortable this position is for Sougo, but it feels so good, he just needs — just a little more. "You're so — fucking tight." Beads of sweat trail down his back and Sougo's hands cling to him there, slippery and frantic. "So good, like you're made for my dick."
"Oh," Sougo whines, blunt ends of his nails digging into Yamato's skin. He's close, he can tell from Sougo's staggered breathing, from the way Sougo rocks needily into every withdrawal. "More — please, more..!"
"Yeah," Yamato licks his lips. The haze from the room isn't lifting, it's descending over him with a crushing weight. A frenetic pace builds in his motions, a raw, animal need to find release. Sougo's so tight, too tight, he's moving so good, so hot, and Yamato's close too, he knows he's close. But something's — everything so foggy, and his stomach lurches with an off-rhythm thrust. "Mm… Ah, okay. Okay." Yamato just has to power through it, push down the building dread inside him, the powerful waves of discomfort that are quickly overcoming arousal. Fuck, this isn't — this isn't happening, not now, please. "Ah, you're so good. So good, I want to — Mm!" He wants it, he needs it so badly, but… There's nothing. He can't do this, he's being bad, Sougo asked him not to be loud, but. But, he keeps moving, pushing, forcing himself inside over and over, deeper and deeper, but there's nothing — He can't manage —
Yamato slides free, mortifyingly soft. The pit inside him is a dead weight, his throat tight with frustration. "Sorry, I just," he struggles for the words. "I was drinking before, so, well." Sougo eases his legs off Yamato's shoulders, infuriatingly accommanding.
"I did say so," Sougo says, generous and ruffled. Yamato miserably spots Sougo's hand inching back below his waist. He can take care of it himself, of course Sou can. Even after drinking with his castmates, he can come home late and ready to burst, and Yamato has a few beers after dinner and all of a sudden he's worthless.
Yamato growls in frustration, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Anger laces to his unsatisfied depths. He has to push that down too. This is still good. He can still make Sougo feel good. He can do that at least. Yamato hesitates there, unable to open his eyes and see Sougo laid out in front of him. His partner still needs to come. Even drunk, Sougo doesn't have this problem, so Yamato has to buck up and give Sougo what he wants before Sougo handles it himself. Although honestly, it'd fine if Sougo wants to do it himself; normally it's better than fine. It'd be hot under different circumstances, but now...
"What are you doing?" Sougo asks voice clearer than it's been in a while. Its consonants cut through the heated air between them. Yamato's hands drop to his side, startled. Sougo smiles blithely back at him. "Get on the bed."
"Uh," Yamato says. He's not sure how else to respond.
Still hard, Sougo leans forward in his seat and, unwittingly, Yamato leans back. He's not used to Sougo like this; demanding and serious. It's not a lecture like the ones he gives Tamaki or even the ones Yamato gets when he's a little too fast and loose with formal things. It's not even the careful poised idol persona Sougo has in public. It's something stern and commanding. The sound of it makes Yamato's already uneasy stomach do flips. His dick twitches in his lap.
"Lie down," Sougo says, standing up, crowding Yamato back towards the bed. It's definitely not a suggestion. The tension coiled around his chest increase incrementally. Dumbly he sits at the edge of the bed. "Roll over," Sougo orders and Yamato, inexplicably, does. It feels like his brain works in slow motion as Sougo kneels onto the mattress behind him. Sougo must have collected the lube between here and the chair, his hands working slickness over the backs of Yamato's thighs. Something pours generous and sloppy against his ass.
"Sou," Yamato stops and stops. His tongue is heavy in his mouth. He's not sure he agreed to all this, but Sougo's fingers on his ass, prying him open, are so smooth and insistent. "Mm... Hold on a second-"
"Shh," Sougo says, practically coos and Yamato doesn't have the breath in him to argue when Sougo's dick forces its way inside. Yamato is wet with a cold sweat and stretching with the intrusion, shocked by the strength of it. Sougo usually all soft lines and gentle attention. Suddenly he's a force behind him, and when he's plowing in deep and sure, Yamato thinks Sougo's a man after all. Nothing cute about the way he sinks into Yamato's ass, firm hands holding the other man in place. Yamato hisses in discomfort- he wasn't prepped enough, Sou's too eager. He's already on the cusp of sobering up, on needing to take a break from all these amorous activities. But then Sougo goes and holds him wide with his thumbs, pulls back enough that Yamato knows Sougo's doing all this to watch him, take in the mortifying sight of his ass clenching around the emptiness, desperate to be filled.
"Wait," Yamato whispers wet against the bed. Stupidly. His hips rock back into the absence of contact, his muscles sing with the return of Sougo's dick, entering into him like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like that what's he's meant to do, serve as a placeholder for Sougo's cock, a dumb plaything for him to play around with. "Wai-- Mmn…" Yamato buries his face on his arms, trying to muffle the guttural moans escaping him with every thrust.
"Does that feel better?" Sougo asks like he's checking the goddamn temperature.
"Oh," Yamato has to bite down to keep from screaming. Yes, it feels good, it's too good. He's getting hard again, despite himself. "Oh, shit, oh, Sou — ah- "
"Remember," Sougo says and Yamato remembers nothing. Everything in his pointless, ugly life was nothing until this moment. "You need to be quiet."
"Right," Yamato stammers, "Right — oh, mmm.. ah, it's good." He hears his own voice like it's from the center of his chest, some secret place he can't tap even in the most researched of roles, in the most dedicated rehearsal. "So, so good."
Sougo hums appreciatively behind him, hands caressing up his sides as he draws forward. Yamato groans at the way Sougo taps a spot deep inside him, too deep, farther than he thought was possible. On impulse, he starts to angle away, to hide from it, but Sougo's thumbs dig under his rib cage, holding him in place. Sougo fucks into him, hitting that part of him over and over, agonizingly slow. It's too much and not enough all at once and Yamato's thighs shudder. "Oh, fuck you're so— Sougo-" His voice stumbles past his lips. Yamato can tell he's drooling onto the duvet. It's embarrassing, it's ugly, it's definitely not cool, but drunk or not it feels so fucking good. It's so messed up how strongly his body reacts to Sougo's manhandling, positioning Yamato with a shove, forcing his chest down against the mattress as his ass is hauled up into the air. "Fu...uck, please keep doing that." He keens wretchedly into Sougo moving him like a doll. "I — I want you, god, so much all the fucking time."
"All right," Sougo says easily like they're having a regular fucking conversation while his cock absolutely obliterates Yamato's insides. "But only because you're so good at it." Yamato cries out weakly at the praise, the dumb echoing of something he said before. Sou's just plagiarizing him. He's humoring him. Yamato's not really good at something as humiliating as this, right?
"Don't say that," Yamato says, breathless. Every inhale is like a stutter. He's not sure his knees will be able to hold him up much longer. He wants to collapse into the bed, into the pool of wet soaking the spot underneath his angrily leaking cock. He wants to disappear into Sougo's love and attention. He wants to die with every thrust. He wants to hold Sougo close and never be alone again. That's probably what love is — this desperation, this vulnerability. It used to sicken him, used to scare him. Now he wants so much more of it, more than his hands can hold.
"Don't say what?" Sougo asks. He's closer now, deep to the hilt and holding. Yamato takes in air in hurried, uneven gulps. Too much, too deep. Sougo's fingers rub comforting circles against his hip bones. "That you're good?" Yamato squeezes his eyes closed so hard he's getting a migraine. He's not, he's terrible. Sougo's the good one. "You're perfect." Yamato's fists open and close against the blankets. Stop it. Enough. He can't take this kind of thing. This sincerity, this love. He wants to melt into the floor. He wants Sougo to screw him until he can't breathe anymore. He wants to hear so much more, for the rest of his life.
"No," Yamato whispers, helpless, to Sougo's affections. "Stop."
"I want you — this— us." Sougo plants a kiss between Yamato's sweat-slick shoulder blades.
Yamato feels tears building in his eyes. This is dumb, He's too emotional. Sougo is too genuine, too sweet. He's the good one and Yamato's bad. He's such a bad person, he's tricked Sougo into a relationship somehow. Into doing all the work, emotionally and sexually. Yamato can't say this kind of thing out loud, he can't even be sexy without inhabiting a role. But Sougo says it as easy as breathing, as a comforting smile over morning coffee.
"I love you," Sougo whispers and Yamato bursts with it. It hits harder than a punch, deeper than a thrust and it's like he comes just from the force of it. It's raw and overwhelming, splattering down his thighs. He's ruined this blanket. He'll have to do laundry in the middle of the night. What if the kids hear — who cares, don't think about the kids. But he has to, he can't think about Sougo deep inside him, swelling with love and lust, ready to coat his insides, fuck his exhausted body while Yamato straight up dies from this kind of hopeless, romantic admission.
Yamato's face scrapes against the mattress as Sougo resumes fucking into him, reinvigorated by the way Yamato's gone come-drunk and spent. He's too sensitive to be touched anymore, but Sougo's hands are all over him, flat on the planes of his abdomen as he holds Yamato firmly into place. Like Yamato could really go anywhere. As if he would ever want to.
He's going to come inside Yamato thinks blearily, face wet, body heaving with every push. It'll be a pain to clean up. But still, he won't fight it. He doesn't want to. He wants everything of Sougo; his cuteness, his intensity. This sexiness. His kind generosity and this hammering from behind that only ends when Sougo stiffens, grip impossibly tight around his waist as he empties into Yamato. Sougo holds out until the last second, until Yamato's sure he'll die from being touched. Still, he wants it. He can't live without any part of Sougo. He's not sure how he did before now.
Sougo pulls out and Yamato flops messily onto his back. He reaches out for him and Sougo folds into his arms. They're a mess. He's a mess, specifically, in more ways that one. But Sougo accepts him like this. He doesn't complain. He takes Yamato at his most infuriating — getting drunk waiting up for him, pretending to be asleep just to sneak in a kiss, playing around with dirty talk and not being able to finish the job — and he tells Yamato he loves him.
Affection wells in his chest for it. Sougo curls against him, smiling like a satisfied cat. Yamato's almost too exhausted to hold him. Almost.