the most pretentious thing.
a/n: These are scraps from an unfinished piece that I will most likely never finish. Inspired by something sweatpantsprincess tumblr said. It's her fault. It's all her fault.
SawaYuu is destroying my life.
warnings: nothing really, unless you count hella makeouts at the end + secondhand embarrassment out the wazoo
"So- when's Yuuya-kun supposed to show up for the date?" Whispers one of Shingo's followers.
"It's not a date."
"Oh come on, it's so totally a—"
"It's not a date!"
Shingo is sweating. He perspires, uncomfortably, underneath his carefully ironed suit. (His mother ironed it for him, upon his request, and then she tried to put a corsage in it, but he said no.) He is seated at a table for two at a dimly lit upscale sushi restaurant. I will spare you the name of the restaurant, as it is extremely pretentious. The restaurant is quiet, except for the soft music playing from the speakers and the occasional burble of loud chatter from the patrons. Shingo twiddles his thumbs. He picks up the menu, glances at it, puts it back down. He looks out the lavishly curtained window. It is getting dark.
Shingo's followers, are currently hidden behind a very large potted plant which Shingo had had trucked to the restaurant for this exact purpose. One of them, his head is poking out above the thick green leaves, it is very conspicuous. Shingo does not notice.
"Sawatari-san!" Whispers one of his followers again.
"What?"
"Are you going to order?"
"Not until Yuuya gets here."
"Then it's a date."
"It's not a d—"
There he is!
There is Yuuya, being led into the restaurant by an attractive waitress. He's wearing—oh, no, he's wearing a suit too. Shingo swallows.
Yuuya looks nice in a suit. It actually fits him really well—does he own a suit? It seems to fit him too well to not be tailored. It's black, with the white undershirt, and there's even a tie, God (Shingo has a brief mental image of yanking Yuuya forward by the tie, alone with him in some dark place, kissing him fiercely, mussing his perfectly combed hair and loosening his perfectly tailored suit—he shakes his head. Where on Earth did that come from?). He is smiling ear to ear at the waitress, nodding politely along with the small talk she makes as she leads him through the restaurant and to Shingo's table.
Shingo notes that Yuuya still has the goggles strapped to his head. God.
"Sawatari -sama?" Says the waitress.
"Right here," says Shingo, raising his hand slightly. He turns to smile at Yuuya.
Yuuya looks at him suspiciously.
The evening goes wonderfully.
In the back of the limo, Shingo lying on the seat underneath Yuuya, kissing him fiercely. Yuuya with his hands around Shingo's shoulders. Yuuya's suit disheveled, his face flushed and panting. Shingo's tie undone. Shingo tastes Yuuya's chapstick, feels his outbreath, his wet spit. Maybe this is paradise. The limo hits a bump, and Shingo moans.
"Didn't think tonight would end up like this," Yuuya whispers in Shingo's ear. The feeling of hot breath on his skin makes Shingo tremble.
Shingo laughs, and laughs, and laughs.