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Jack truly wasn’t sure what to expect when his assistants sent him in a car to this address, more than since he’s used to anyone he employs meeting him in his penthouse rather than him going out to them. But what he finds is a humble little ground floor building, nothing elaborate, yet welcoming when he walks inside. It’s a small boutique, but it’s obviously professional, expensive to Jack’s taste.
There’s a man inside, waiting for him, tall and dark and handsome dressed in a bespoke suit, of course. He introduces himself as Robby, the stylist and designer and owner of this shop, as Jack was told about. “A pleasure to meet you, Mister Abbot.”
“Call me Jack,” Jack says, extending his hand. “All of my employees do.”
Robby shakes his hand, but there’s a smile on his face that’s more polite than genuine. “I appreciate that, but let’s get one thing clear right now. Despite your money, and how grateful I am for your business, I am not your employee. I am a contractor, and I am my own man. I’m not going to mindlessly agree with everything you say. If you ask for my opinion, I’m going to give it. And I charge what I charge for a reason. If you’re looking for someone to tell you that your closet is perfect in every way…” Robby shrugs. “Then perhaps I’m not the right fit.”
“Confident, aren’t you?” Jack observes.
Robby just shrugs, nonplussed. “If you give me a chance, I can show you why I have good reason to be.”
Jack laughs. “Well, I wouldn’t be here if my closet was already perfect in every way. My assistant has told me that it isn’t quite up to snuff for a man of my caliber.” A CEO, always in meetings, always tending to some business or other, often while wearing a tennis outfit.
Jack horrifies the people around him routinely, and he doesn’t truly care, but, as he tells Robby now: “I have a gala that I need to go to soon, a charity, and I’ve been told all of my suits look old and frumpy. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing there, so.” He gestures. “Enter you.”
“I can help with that,” Robby says with a smile, eyes twinkling, and lord, he’s handsome. He’s kind. Jack is going to put him through the ringer. “A gala?”
“Yeah,” Jack says, and tells him the name of it.
“No shit, I’m going to that one too,” Robby says, face lighting up. “Styling a few people for that evening.”
Jack lets momentary jealousy wash over him, blinking it away. He adds, “I thought you could make me a suit for the gala, and if I like it, I’ll keep you on retainer. If that’s something you offer.”
“I’ve never been on someone’s retainer before,” Robby says, “but we’ll see if I like you by the time we’re done with business.” He clasps his own hands. “To get started, I need to take your measurements, is that alright?”
Jack frowns. “Didn’t my assistants send you my measurements?”
“I always take my own,” Robby says gently, but firmly. “For accuracy’s sake. It needs to be impeccably tailored to your body, after all, to be the most flattering.”
Jack nods, entirely clueless about this process, but trusting himself in the hands of the supposed master. Eager to humor him, if nothing else.
“Just stay still for me,” Robby hums. “Spread your arms? You might feel my hands on your torso.”
“Yeah, fine,” Jack says, a little disconcerted now that Robby’s behind him, voice looming in his ear, warmth at his back when Robby circles a measuring tape around his middle, followed by his waist. He has such big, warm hands, and his easy confidence and competency as he writes Jack’s measurements in pen on the inside of his wrist make Jack a little crazy.
Once Robby’s gotten all his measurements, he goes to his knees in front of Jack.
Jack almost swallows his tongue. “What are you doing?”
“Now I need to take your inseam,” Robby says, looking up at him with warm brown eyes, entirely serious, and Jack is speechless. A rarity. “The inside measurement of your leg,” he clarifies, sitting back on his haunches, “as well as the outside. Is that alright?” He smiles. “It must’ve been a while since you’ve had your measurements taken if you don’t remember this part.” He smiles wryly this time, holding out the tape. “I know it’s an awkward area. I’ll be…delicate.”
Jack doesn’t know what that means, but he just nods, not sure on what grounds he could refuse without further exposing himself. “Go ahead,” he rasps.
But then Robby reaches to place the top of the tape against his upper thigh, the seam of his, well, crotch, and Jack has to stare quickly at the ceiling. Fuck, his hands are big. And warm. And they feel good. Too good for an environment like this. Jack counts to ten in his head, trying all the methods he can think of to calm himself down, until Robby is finally rising up off his knees. That’s a vision in and of itself.
“Good,” Robby says, patting his shoulder. “Thank you, and sorry about that.”
“S’alright,” Jack mumbles, just wishing he could’ve enjoyed Robby’s hands lingering a little longer.
“Let’s discuss colors,” Robby says, going back to his design table. “I think some shade of red would look good on you.” He looks at Jack over the top of his glasses. “Would you like to look at swatches?”
Jack would listen to him talk about swatches for an age. He sits down on the other side of the bench, wondering how soon he can ask for Robby’s number.
#
At the next appointment, Jack can’t pretend he’s not pulling a move when he undresses to just his underwear and a dressing gown in Robby’s shop. It’s a soft, silky mauve dressing gown, one he rarely has time to wear, but one he employs today with the sole hope of driving Robby as crazy as Robby drives him.
It’s a fitting appointment today, some touchup measurements, that’s what Robby said in the text. It only makes sense for Jack to strip down for his ease, right?
Jack is just greedy for the chance of more of his hands on him, that warm voice whispering praise in his ear. So what if he wants Robby to treat him like one of his French girls? So what if Jack wants to feel that way? Robby seems to like it as much as Jack does. Or so he hopes that’s what he’s picking up on when Robby smiles at every flirt, even flirting back sometimes.
He pushes the gown off the shoulder, cracking his neck, staring at himself in the mirror. When Robby comes back from the bathroom, Jack is ready. It might be his imagination, but Robby blinks in surprise to see him with his dressing gown off the shoulder.
“Hello,” he murmurs, getting right to it, picking up tape measures and notes and holding up some thread against Jack’s skin for a moment. Jack doesn’t question it. “Nice to see you again.”
“Did you miss me?” Jack flirts, unable to help himself.
Robby smiles all too genuinely. “Yes, I did. You’re a wonderful client. You sit so still.”
Jack’s charm has just been taken right out of him. He mumbles something akin to thank you as Robby continues fussing with supplies, getting ready to measure some more on him.
“I have the actual fabric samples here with me today for you to approve. Stay still for me?” Robby asks as he adjusts the way the dressing gown is slipping off one of Jack’s shoulders. Jack keeps still; as always, Robby’s commands feel like they should be obeyed, yet never forceful or unpleasant.
His hands are so large and warm, one hand glancing off Jack’s waist as he leans to pick up the fabric swatches, the other hand rubbing a soft swatch of silk lining sample against Jack’s bare shoulder. There’s hardly anything between Robby’s warm hand and Jack’s skin, where goosebumps rise for more than the cold of being in just a dressing gown. Jack really fucked himself over with that one.
“That would feel so nice and soft against your skin, yeah?” Robby murmurs, still caressing his shoulder with the silk, and Jack nods, mouth dry.
Robby turns him just so towards the mirror until he’s satisfied with how Jack is standing. As always, Robby doesn’t bat an eye about his prosthetic.
“Good,” Robby murmurs, low under his breath. “Just like that.” He pauses by Jack’s ear with a curious frown. Jack wonders if Robby can hear the way his heart is beating. “Is that a new cologne?”
“Yeah,” Jack manages. “You always smell so nice, had to up my game.” It’s so close to the whole truth. How badly he wants Robby to find him worthy, to approve of him in every way. Jack hasn’t felt the urge to chase someone like this in a long time, mostly because people come to him these days.
“It’s stunning,” Robby murmurs, smiling at him with glittering eyes, hot breath against his neck, and Jack swears he’s not just talking about the cologne. “I seem to have misplaced my inseam measurements. I know it’s terribly unprofessional of me, but would you mind if I did them again?”
In just a dressing gown? Jack thinks, in a dim panic. But what he says is, “Yeah, man, whatever you need to do a good job.”
Robby’s approving smile is blinding enough to erase Jack’s fears.
He does it gently, professionally, making Jack wonder if he’s just making this all wildly inappropriate. But soon that's over and Jack has survived another appointment without popping a boner.
Robby goes to the little station in the corner where he does his sewing, and lets Jack watch as he makes a few adjustments to the pants he’s currently working on. Last time, he gave Jack a lecture about wanting to wear a belt with them, because the right pants would fit perfectly, hugging his hips and his ass in a way that wouldn't require a belt, and a belt is the mark of a man who doesn't know how to dress. So there will be no belt.
They’re the gorgeous color he and Jack previously discussed, and Jack can’t help but notice something. “This might be a stupid question, but, uh,” Jack says, sure it already is, “why does that leg look slightly different?” He gestures to the pant leg Robby’s currently sewing, flayed open flat on his sewing machine.
“The difference won’t be obvious when it’s done, I promise,” Robby says warmly, giving him a glance—he’s got that color in his cheeks like always, his shirtsleeves are rolled up, his inner wrist covered in writing just below his watch. On his other wrist is a pin cushion, and as he speaks, he holds a few pins in his mouth with the same ease of someone who’s long held a cigarette the same way.
Between that, the open top buttons of his collar, the way his arms flex as he moves the fabric under the machine, the ease with which he goes about everything, and the way those pins make Jack stare at his lips, Jack doesn’t know where to look or what to focus on.
“This pant leg will be a little wider to accommodate your leg,” Robby says, gesturing to the bigger one.
“What? I didn’t ask for that.”
Robby’s professional mask slips for a moment, and Jack is quick to correct, “That’s amazing, that’s—I don’t know what to say man, I’m so grateful. I meant you noticed without me having to ask. No one’s ever just volunteered to do that shit. I hardly have anything like that.”
Robby smiles at him again. “Well, you deserve it.” He manspreads a little wider on the stool, broad shoulders smoothing back as he starts sewing again. Sweet fucking Jesus. Jack never wants to leave this room.
#
On the day of the event, Jack shows up early to the shop, as he was instructed. Robby’s waiting for him, the shop is closed, and Jack feels more special than ever during these sessions. “You excited?” Robby asks, all smiles as he comes out.
“Yeah, man,” Jack laughs. “I’m going to actually be dressed well for once.”
“Yes, you are,” Robby purrs. “Going to be the belle of the ball.” He’s caressing Jack’s shoulder a little harder than strictly necessary for a friendly touch, and their eyes meet—Robby looks away first with a slight flush on his cheeks.
Robby turns and hands him his trousers and his white shirt, because of course he gave Jack a white shirt, too, never mind that Jack has a thousand of them at home—and makes Jack meet his eyes before he lets the pile of clothes go. “Try not to look in the mirror if you can. I’ll help you put on the jacket.”
Jack nods, walking into the curtained off changing room. He doesn’t look at the pants, just pulling them over his legs, sitting on the stool Robby provided. Of course there’s a stool because Jack can’t easily get dressed without one, and Robby just knew that, and Jesus fuck, Jack wanted in his pants yesterday.
When Jack comes out, nerves fluttering in his stomach, Robby beams. He chuckles softly at his own work, or maybe at the way Jack’s wearing it, if he wants to be self flattering. Robby helps him gently into the jacket, moving together like they’ve done it a thousand times.
Robby puts his hands on Jack’s shoulders and spins him towards the mirror, murmuring, “Okay. Open your eyes.”
Jack opens his eyes and immediately gasps at the sight. It’s the same salmon cranberry red they first talked about, but it’s a big difference from seeing it on a swatch to seeing it on himself. He feels attractive, yes, handsome, most definitely, but beyond that, he feels…seen.
Everything from the way it sits to the way it looks to the way it feels on his skin makes him feel like Cinderella, the shoe fitting on perfectly, which is sweet fucking irony when it comes to him. But Robby saw every bit of him, all his needs, and went way beyond the measurements and lines and the color of the fabric. This suit feels like a hug. And that’s before Jack looks in the mirror and sees Robby’s beaming smile.
Jack looks down at the pocket on his jacket and sees Robby’s initials, what he must put on all his works. It’s just a professional mark, but Jack can’t help feeling like it’s possessiveness stamped onto him, the fabric touching his skin, a mark by Robby.
“You marked me, huh?” Jack says before he can think better of it, and Robby hums, resting a hand on Jack’s lower back.
“I think it looks good on you.” His voice is right in Jack’s ear. Jack shivers.
“I always love this part,” Robby murmurs, then sets to adjusting. Fiddling with the way the jacket rests on his shoulders, the way it nips in the waist, the way it settles over the pants. He tugs a little firmer than he once would’ve, and Jack likes it, likes the manhandling. “Nothing’s too tight, too loose? Anything uncomfortable at all?”
“No, it’s perfect, man,” Jack says, turning to look at the side in the mirror, to stand and look over his own shoulder. Robby’s hands are still on him, adjusting and fiddling as a perfectionist does, but Jack just lets him. He’s become very used to the feeling of Robby’s hands on him by now. “Thank you. I—”
He’s rarely speechless, much less over a fucking suit, but it’s not about the suit. They both know that. Everything from the way it fits his prosthetic to the color and the way it complements his gray hair makes him feel special.
“You’re stunning,” Robby murmurs, almost reverent, watching Jack as much more than craftsman admiring his creation. “Gorgeous.”
They stand in silence for a moment as Jack realizes, with a horrifying pit in his stomach, that tonight is the last time he’ll ever see Robby if he’s not careful to do something about it right now.
“Would you like to come with me?” Jack blurts. “As my—my date? I was offered a plus one but turned it down. But they won’t care if I show up with one now. I can just pay them if they argue.”
Robby chuckles. “I told you at the start that your money wouldn’t impress me, and I also told you that I’m already going.” He pauses, looking up at Jack through his lashes. “But I wouldn’t mind going with you.”
“Good,” Jack says with a smile. “I’m definitely keeping you on retainer now. Going to have you styling my entire wardrobe, man. Never gonna wear anyone else.”
Robby preens.
The gala has lights and cameras and photographers shouting Jack’s name before he goes in to dinner. It’s all a little overwhelming no matter how many times he’s in an environment like this. But this time, something is different: Robby is with him.
And this time, when someone asks who Jack is wearing, he actually has an answer, and he can gush all over his stylist. He can feel Robby’s on him the whole night, no matter where he is in the room. Jack just wants to talk to him, tell Robby how many compliments he’s been getting on his suit, but they’re apart until the end of the night.
Once they’re finally released from the gala’s clutches and can retire for the night, the elevator in their hotel dings open and Robby and Jack step on together. Jack is aware of every fiber of his body, every hair on his skin, the fabric brushing against it, the bright lights on his face, the way Robby’s trying not to look at him as he fiddles with his hands and his watch.
The doors close. Jack swallows, shifts his weight, compensating for how his leg is aching. “You did great out there,” Robby says, low and careful, yet genuine.
“Thanks to you,” Jack says, throwing back a wink, fiddling with his cuffs just for something to do with his hands. Robby’s still trying not to stare. Jack can feel the weight of it over his shoulders.
“Which room is yours?” Jack asks, after he realizes he forgot to press the button for his floor, too distracted by how delicious Robby looks in his suit. He’s just so aware of his hands. Jack licks his lips, resisting the urge to wipe his sweaty face onto his sleeve, sweaty from the lights and the cameras out there. He wouldn’t dare do that to Robby’s creation.
“Fifth floor,” Robby says.
Jack meets his eye for the first time, watching his throat bob. “Funny. So’s mine.”
They stand in heated, weighty silence a moment more, listening to the bell ding one, two, three, four times. Jack wets his lips. Robby crosses his arms, breaking one of his own rules about wrinkling a suit, but desperate times clearly require desperate measures. Jack puts more of his weight on his good foot.
Later, he won’t be able to recall who reached for whom first, but when the doors open, they stumble out, all over each other. Thank god the hallway is empty.
Jack is dragged into Robby’s hotel room without a word, too busy kissing him, hands in his hair, tugging on the ends just like Jack has been dreaming of. He can’t shut up, can’t stop moaning into Robby’s mouth, but what he likes is just how hungry Robby is in return. The way that the hand on his arm and shoulder is obviously a possessive one, that he’s grunting with every kiss, biting at Jack’s lips, fumbling with the keycard while keeping his body pressed against Jack’s the whole time.
“Wanted you so bad, brother,” Jack gasps, when Robby lets him breathe. “Jesus, been thinking about this, thinkin’ about you—”
“Do you ever shut up?” Robby chuckles, somehow fond, squeezing his arm.
“I don’t know, man, give me a good reason to,” Jack flirts, grinning as they tumble into Robby’s room together.
Robby kicks the door shut and is immediately tugging at Jack’s shoulders. “Thought you’d want to see me in your jacket,” Jack pants. “Worked so hard on it.”
“Want to see your shoulders more,” Robby mumbles, still feeding from his mouth, letting Jack touch where he wants. Robby’s slowly inching him back towards the bed, with a hunger and a determination Jack loves. He’s always the one taking the lead. It’s a relief, it’s a goddamn thrill to be under the hands and attention of someone who’s clearly just as eager for it.
“As good as I look in your clothes,” Jack husks, “how much you wanna bet I’d look better with them off?”
Robby snorts against his neck. “How long have you been waiting to give that line?”
Jack squeezes the back of his neck, letting Robby tip him back onto the bed. “Way too fucking long, man.”
“I want to keep you like this,” Robby murmurs, sitting up above him, looking at Jack all splayed out, “for now.” He tugs on Jack’s beltloop, using it to pull him a little closer. “Do you mind if I…” He hovers a hand over Jack’s building erection.
“Yeah,” Jack murmurs, leaning up on his elbows, heat flashing through him at the thought of Robby’s big, talented hands on his cock.
Robby undoes his zipper, and there’s something to this, all of this, about the way Robby created this outfit with his hands and his mind and now he’s carefully peeling Jack out of it, just as carefully as he got him into it, making sure every inch of it would fit him like a glove. Perfectly tailored, every measurement exact. Robby was a master of his trade when he prepared this for Jack, almost lovingly, and he’s just as masterful now as he peels it off.
Jack’s hips jerk up into Robby’s hand by themselves, and Robby smirks at him, kissing his knee, still jerking in his pants. Jack squirms and whines until Robby hushes him, murmurs, “I gotcha, hold on,” fishing his cock out of his pants. He feels good, so good, as he wraps a palm around Jack’’s cock, making him whine and moan.
Jack has been buzzing with low arousal and attraction all night, trying not to steal glances, and now that Robby’s here, that Jack is actually under him for the first time, now that Jack can actually feel him, it’s heaven. It’s going to be hard to hold on for long.
Robby makes him come with his mouth, descending onto his cock in a fervor that surprises Jack. Jack cries out, gripping his hair, hoping he doesn't get this pristine new suit all dirty. He squirms, whines, trying to hold on as Robby brings pleasure to the tip of every nerve. But then Robby pulls off to mumble, "Come in my mouth, I'm ready," and when he goes back down with a loud slurping sound, Jack is helpless to resist. His orgasm makes him see stars, taking him to another plane, gasping and moaning at the ceiling. Robby swallows it all, licking his lips like the cat who got the cream afterwards.
The best Jack can manage fresh off orgasm is a panted, “Glad I got lucky with you styling me.”
Robby crawls up his body to kiss him, chuckling warmly into his mouth. He's still hard against Jack's thigh, hips twitching as he tries not to grind, and Jack takes hold of him and rolls them over until Robby's on his back, splayed out in his own gorgeous dark blue suit, with the collar popped.
"We're just getting started," Jack purrs, leaning down to kiss him. He doesn't just mean tonight. Robby is going to be a staple in his life just as surely as his new wardrobe.