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‘How do I politely tell a customer that I want to rail him into next week?’ Lucius asks his manager.
‘I swear to god, man,’ Oluwande says, looking up from the display of cufflinks he’s adjusting. ‘I will fire you.’
‘Homophobic, almost,’ Lucius says, reclining against the polished wood shop counter and tilting his head to get a better look at the absolute daddy who has just walked in through the door.
The man is short and stocky, with salt and pepper hair pushed roughly back into a quiff. He’s examining a display of colourful silk ties, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, looking endearingly out of his depth. His suit jacket is too big, sitting low on his shoulders, cruelly concealing the sturdy frame beneath. It’s just badly fitted enough to tempt Lucius to imagine him out of it. Wide shoulders and a broad chest, probably covered in soft dark hair. He'd maybe be a bit soft around the middle, with slim hips but strong, thick thighs.
Lucius can’t help fantasising about getting a tape measure around the man’s chest. Running a hand up his inseam. Fitting him from top to toe in Westwood. A small, helpless moan escapes him at the thought.
The man in question looks up and scans the store, frowning. His eyes land directly on him.
‘Oh god,’ Lucius says, spinning back around to face Oluwande in a blind panic. ‘He’s looking.’
‘So go and help him,’ Oluwande says, waving him away. ‘Christ. Sell him something. What are we paying you for?’
‘My charm and wit?’ Lucius offers, as he walks backwards across the shop floor towards the customer. ‘My natural good looks?’ He gestures down at himself, cocking his hip. He’s kind of feeling himself today. He’s been using his employee clothing allowance to devastating effect. ‘My arse in Versace?’
He’s interrupted by someone clearing their throat and turns around to find the man he’d been eyeing up stood directly behind him. Up close, Lucius can appreciate the neatly trimmed goatee. The strong nose. The warm, hazel eyes. He’s got a face tattoo. A small black star etched into his cheekbone. Lucius’s stomach does a funny little flip as they make eye contact.
‘You do this in black?’ The man asks gruffly, holding up an orange Hermès tie.
‘No,’ Lucius says, shocked out of his reverie. ‘That would be criminal.’
‘Lucius,’ Oluwande says, warningly.
‘Please,’ Lucius says, gently taking the tie out of the man’s hand. ‘Let me help you.’
‘I need a shirt too,’ the man says, reluctantly. ‘And a new suit.’
‘You really do,’ Lucius says, looking him up and down. ‘Sir.’
‘It’s Izzy,’ the man says, frowning. ‘You don’t have to call me sir.’
Getting Izzy into the fitting rooms is a little bit like getting a spooked horse into a stable. Lucius eventually manages to lure him in with the promise of complementary coffee. Once inside, he sits bolt upright on the edge of the plush velvet sofa, holding an espresso cup in a death grip.
Lucius leaves him there while he darts back out onto the shop floor. He does a single circuit at high speed, picking out everything he thinks might look good on the man.
Anyone else might be wondering what a guy like Izzy, with his badly fitted suit and gruff northern accent is doing shopping on one of the most expensive streets on London. But years of secretly reading Vogue under the covers after his parents had sent him to bed have given Lucius a well-trained eye.
Izzy’s clothes are badly fitted, but expensive. Lucius had clocked the Saint Laurent jacket from ten feet away. The watch is Rolex, and the shoes are Gucci. Worn and battered Gucci. But still Gucci. The man’s got money, he just doesn’t spend it very often. Lucius can change that.
He returns to the fitting room in record time, with his arms piled so high with clothes he can barely see over the top of them.
Izzy’s finished his cup of coffee when he returns. He’s frowning at the silk brocade wallpaper as if it’s done something to personally offend him. He looks up when Lucius enters and watches distrustfully as he unloads his armfuls of hangers onto a rail.
‘How do you feel about velvet?’ Lucius asks, running a hand along the row of clothes as he decides what to dress Izzy in first.
‘For a suit?’
‘No, for lingerie,’ Lucius says.
Izzy blinks at him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
‘I’m… kidding,’ Lucius clarifies, intrigued by the man’s reaction. ‘Yes, for a suit.’
‘Wool is fine,’ Izzy says firmly.
‘I think we should start with the Armani then,’ Lucius says, deciding to break him in gently. He pulls a single-breasted grey wool suit from the rail. ‘It’s a classic look.’
If Lucius weren’t so thick-skinned he might take offence at the expression of unfiltered relief on Izzy’s face. The man had obviously been expecting him to produce something outlandish. He bites his lip to suppress a smile as he holds the suit up for Izzy’s consideration.
‘Yeah,’ Izzy says. ‘That’ll do.’
Lucius pulls out a crisp white shirt to go with it, and thumbs through his selection of ties, picking out a silk Givenchy in pine green.
‘I said I wanted black,’ Izzy says, craning his neck to try and get a look at the selection.
‘This will bring out the green in your eyes,’ Lucius says, firmly.
Izzy doesn’t seem to have a response to that, so Lucius capitalises on his success and ushers him up off the sofa and over to the curtained off section of the fitting room. He hangs the suit up inside, steers Izzy in after it, and pulls the curtain across after him before he can change his mind.
Lucius hovers by the clothes rail while he waits, frantically texting Pete about the absolute snack he’s got in the dressing room. He sends him a sneaky photo that he took of Izzy earlier from across the shop, and Pete replies immediately with two eggplant emojis and a thumbs up.
‘Shirt doesn’t fit,’ Izzy announces, abruptly pulling open the curtain.
Lucius looks up from his phone and nearly passes out on the spot.
Izzy’s got the suit trousers on, but unfastened. And the shirt Lucius gave him is hanging off his shoulders, unbuttoned all the way down, showing off plush, cushiony tits and a slightly soft, but still very biteable stomach. All covered in a carpet of dark but silvering hair.
’Oh,’ Lucius says, blankly.
Izzy raises his eyebrows, shrugging the shirt off entirely, revealing broad shoulders and thick arms. ‘You got the next size?’
‘Right!’ Lucius says, darting over to take it off him. He purposely brushes their fingers together as he takes it, and Izzy gives him a suspicious look before withdrawing back behind the curtain and drawing it sharply across the space between them.
Lucius goes to get the next size in a daze. He’s so distracted that he walks headfirst into Oluwande in his rush to get back to the fitting room. The man rolls his eyes at him.
‘You would not believe this guy’s tits,’ Lucius hisses.
Oluwande screws his nose up. ‘If you get made employee of the month again, I’m leaving.’
‘Got to dash’ Lucius says, darting past him. ‘There’s a shirtless man waiting for me.’
...
‘Here we go,’ he trills when he’s back in the changing room.
He’s hoping Izzy will come out half naked again, but the man just flings an arm out from behind the curtain and grabs the shirt off him.
‘Shoes don’t fit either,’ he says, when he re-emerges.
Lucius isn’t listening. His mind had gone blank when Izzy stepped out from behind the curtain. The suit hugs his figure almost perfectly. The jacket strains just slightly across the shoulders, but skims his waist to perfection, and the slim fit of the trousers show off his bulky thighs.
‘Oh my god,’ Lucius murmurs to himself. ‘You’re a ten.’
‘No,’ Izzy says, holding out the brogues Lucius picked out for him. ‘I’m size nine. I told you that.’
‘Never mind the shoes,’ Lucius says, taking them off him and flinging them across the room to land on the velvet sofa. ‘Come here.’
Izzy shoots him a look as if he’s gone insane, but lets Lucius guide him over to the floor length mirror, hands on his shoulders.
‘Gorgeous,’ Lucius provides, when it becomes clear that the man has nothing to say to his own reflection.
Izzy meets his eye in the glass before he looks back at himself, brow furrowed.
‘S’alright,’ he says. ‘It’s-’ he seems to cast around for something to add ‘-a nice colour.’
‘It’s grey.’
‘Yeah,’ Izzy says, defensively.
‘That’s a shade.’ Lucius dusts the non-existent lint off the man’s shoulders. ‘Not a colour.’
‘Oh fuck off,’ Izzy says, making Lucius startle slightly in surprise. Apparently they’re dropping the niceties. ‘It’s a nice suit, alright?’
‘Very good, sir,’ Lucius says, just to antagonise him.
Izzy sniffs. ‘Are you’re sure I can’t have a black tie?’
Lucius hums consideringly. There’s always the black Valentino with the gold metal tip, if the situation really calls for it.
‘Is it for a funeral?’ he asks, getting to his knees to roll up the hem of the suit trousers. They’re going to need adjusting.
‘Wedding,’ Izzy grunts.
‘Not yours, I hope?’ Lucius asks, hands faltering on the trouser hems as he looks up at him.
Izzy raises an eyebrow.
‘Oh!’ Lucius says. ‘That wasn’t a come-on.’ Although he can’t pretend he isn’t disappointed. He sits back on his heels. ‘I just mean, you should have said. I would have put you in Dior. Obviously.’
‘It’s not mine,’ Izzy says, brushing down the front of the suit jacket. ‘My ex is re-marrying.’
‘And you’re… going?’ Lucius asks.
‘His fiance insisted I was invited.’
‘God,’ Lucius says, both horrified and a little impressed at the audacity. ‘What a bitch.’
‘Yeah,’ Izzy says, mouth twisting into an amused smile. ‘The man’s a real twat.’
Lucius has him try on two more suits. A bottle green Dolce & Gabbana, which doesn’t bring out his eyes so much as make them sing a three-part harmony. Then a black Tom Ford number with a velvet blazer which gives Lucius an excuse to rub his hands down Izzy’s chest, under the guise of smoothing the grain of the fabric.
‘I feel like a cushion,’ Izzy says, tartly.
Lucius swallows back a comeback about wanting to rest his head on the man’s chest. ‘It’s sophisticated,’ he says. ‘You’re serving dashing older bachelor.’
Izzy blinks at him in the mirror.
‘It’s giving… meet me after dinner for cards and brandy,’ Lucius continues, aware he’s getting carried away, but somehow unable to stop. ‘Can I tempt you to a quick one in the smoking room?’
Izzy arches his brows. ‘A quick…?’
‘Cigarette,’ Lucius says. ‘Obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Izzy agrees.
…
‘I’m not wearing that,’ Izzy announces, when Lucius holds up his final choice.
It’s an Alexander McQueen suit jacket with embroidered embellishments down one shoulder and a harness style leather buckle down the other. Lucius motivation for getting Izzy to try it is purely selfish. He’s going to look like the sub of his dreams in it.
‘Why not?’ He says, patiently.
‘I’ll look like a twat,’ Izzy says, in the tone of someone voicing their very worst fear.
‘Sweetie,’ Lucius says. ‘Some people are born to wear McQueen. You are one of them.’
He hangs the suit behind the curtain and tilts his head to indicate Izzy should follow it inside. He’s not expecting it to work, but Izzy heads over as obediently as a dog being called to heel. Lucius bites down on his lip, trying to suppress a surge of arousal at how readily the man does as he’s told.
‘What happened to the customer always being right?’ Izzy asks, as he steps inside. His voice is grumpy, but the twitch of his mouth is giving him away. He’s enjoying himself.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lucius pouts, unable to resist flirting. ‘Did you need me to stroke your ego?’
‘Nah,’ Izzy says, hand on the curtain, ready to draw it closed. ‘Not unless you want to.’
‘Try on the suit,’ Lucius says. ‘Then we’ll talk.’
Once Izzy has closed the curtain, Lucius takes a second to throw his head back and mouth oh my god at the ceiling. Because Izzy is flirting back. And now that the man’s relaxed, Lucius is actually enjoying his company. He takes a deep breath, trying to suppress the jittery, electric feeling running through him. It’s just as bit of fun, he reminds himself. Just a casual flirt with a fit customer. He’s at work. It’s not as if he’s going to act on it.
Izzy opens the curtain and Lucius immediately reconsiders. He’s probably going to act on it.
He’d forgotten to give Izzy a tie. And the man’s taken it as an excuse to leave the top three- no, four- buttons open on his shirt. The jacket is too tight, the single button straining to close over his ample chest. The buckle on his shoulder glints in the light, as if signalling for Lucius to grab him by it and haul him in.
‘Mm,’ he says, before he can stop himself. ‘Daddy.’
‘Christ,’ Izzy’s eyes dart to the door of the fitting room. ‘You can’t just say shit like that.’
‘But that’s my professional opinion,’ Lucius says, slinking closer. Suddenly, having sex in the workplace doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.
‘Unprofessional opinion,’ Izzy mutters, even as he looks him up and down. Reconsidering him.
Lucius smiles sweetly. Chin up. Shoulders back. He knows when he’s being assessed as a potential hook-up.
‘I’m just being honest’ he says. He moves in close enough to smooth the invisible creases out of the jacket. ‘It’s my job.’
‘Yeah?’ Izzy says, turns to face himself in the mirror, twisting his hips. ‘How do the trousers look? They too tight on my arse?’
‘Maybe a bit,’ Lucius says, smiling. He’s so in. ‘But I like them like that.’
They’re watching each other in the mirror. Lucius takes a step closer until he’s nearly pressed against Izzy’s back, looking over his shoulder. Izzy tilts his head sideways, not breaking eye contact. If Lucius leaned forward another inch, he could kiss him. He hooks his thumb under the buckled strap on Izzy’s shoulder, and the man’s breath hitches.
‘Why?’ he asks. ‘Do they feel too tight?’
‘They do now,’ Izzy says. ‘Yeah.’
Lucius runs a hand down the man's front and pauses over the button of his trousers. He leans in so he can just meet Izzy’s eye, the man straining his head to look back at him. His gaze drops to Lucius’s lips.
‘Do you want a hand out of them?’ Lucius asks.
Izzy reaches back and pushes a hand into his hair, holding him in place, then nips teasingly at his lower lip. ‘Yeah.’
‘Mm,’ Lucius mumbles, as the man sucks his lip into his mouth. He drops his hand to palm at Izzy through his trousers. The man’s most of the way hard already. ‘You want a hand with this too?’
Izzy grunts in agreement then twists around in Lucius’s arms, fisting his hands in his hair, and kissing him with rough determination. There’s the faint taste of coffee on his tongue, masked by mint, and Lucius is briefly charmed to think that the man had deemed him attractive enough to be popping breath mints behind the fitting room curtain.
He gets a hand back in between them, and rubs at Izzy’s cock, mapping the shape of it where it’s straining against the fabric of his trousers, before backing the man up against the mirror and dropping to his knees.
‘Fuck,’ Izzy says, above him, looking down at him with wild eyes.
Resisting the urge to wreck the very expensive suit trousers he’s put Izzy in, Lucius carefully unbuttons them and pushes them down. Izzy’s thighs are every bit as deliciously thick and hairy as he’d pictured them, and he runs a hand up each before he turns his attention to his cock. Standing flushed and proud between the tails of his shirt. There’s already pre-come beading on the head, and Lucius leans in and swipes his tongue across it, before taking the man in his mouth.
Izzy is loud when he’s getting head, groaning and gasping through it. His hands tangle in Lucius’s hair, gently at first and then harder as he starts to lose control. Lucius lets him take what he needs, relaxing his throat as Izzy starts bucking his hips.
It doesn’t last long. The slick sound of his cock pushing between his lips fills the fitting room, then Izzy is swearing and shoving his head away.
‘Gonna come,’ he groans.
‘Sweetie,’ Lucius says. ‘There’s no way on god’s earth I am letting you get come on that suit.’
He’s barely got his mouth back around him, before Izzy’s shaking apart, shooting down his throat with a bitten off shout. Lucius swallows around him and Izzy whimpers, but twists his fingers through his hair, holding him there as he rocks out the last of his pleasure against his tongue.
It’s briefly, awkwardly silent when they finally part, Lucius rocking back on his heels and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Izzy tugging up his suit trousers, hands fumbling as he tucks himself away.
‘Suppose I’d better buy this lot now,’ he says, nodding at the rack of clothes.
‘Ooh,’ Lucius says, wincing. ‘Not sure about the ethics on that. Might make me feel a bit like a prostitute.’
‘Right.’ Izzy clears his throat. ‘Yeah. Sorry.’
Lucius sighs, realising he’s royally screwed himself over. There goes his commission. They go quiet again, and Lucius is just pondering the least awkward way to get rid of him, when Izzy bites his lip and looks him up and down.
‘I mean…’ he says. ‘I do actually want the Armani. What if I return the favour. Can I buy it then?’
‘That would work,’ Lucius agrees. It would also solve his second problem. Which is that he’s still hard, and in no fit state to go back onto the shop floor and ring up Izzy’s purchases.
‘You were right, by the way,’ Izzy says, once he’s down on his knees, tugging at Lucius’s trouser button.
‘About what?’ Lucius asks, grappling to find the wall behind him. All Izzy’s done is rub at him a bit through his trousers, and he’s already weak at the knees.
‘Your arse looks great in Versace.’
…
Izzy ends up taking the McQueen as well as the Armani. Lucius spends twenty minutes trying to persuade him to take the Tom Ford velvet jacket through a combination of shameless flattery and teasing kisses. Izzy scoffs at the flattery but chases the kisses. He takes the jacket.
Lucius debates giving the man his number, but Izzy is back to his old surly self the second they step out on to the shop floor, barely meeting Lucius’s eye as he pays. Lucius puts it down to the awkwardness of handing over money to someone he’s just had sex with, and lets him off without any more teasing. Still, it stings a little when Izzy takes the bag out of his hands like it’s a relief to get hold of it and does little more than nod at him before turning tail and fleeing the shop.
‘Wow,’ Lucius mutters under his breath as the door swings closed behind him, the bell ringing jauntily. ‘I know how to pick ‘em.’
Five minutes later, Lucius is sulking behind the counter, when the bell rings again. He looks up to see Izzy heading back into the shop, still clutching his bag of clothes and looking even grumpier than he had when he’d left.
‘You forget something?’ Lucius asks.
‘No.’ Izzy’s frowning. He puts the bag down on the counter and gestures in it. The contents are a crumpled mess. ‘You did though.’
Lucius gasps. He’d folded so carefully. The velvet jacket has been crushed into a ball, like a discarded tissue.
‘What have you done?’ he asks, barely able to keep the horror from his voice.
‘No number,’ Izzy grumbles. ‘I went through the whole bloody bag. I’m fifty seven years old. If I get down on my knees for you, I want your number at the end of it.’
‘You… didn’t ask for it,’ Lucius says, oddly touched by Izzy’s irritation.
Izzy mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like kids these days. He withdraws his phone from his pocket and not so subtly checks Lucius’s name badge while he taps at it. He thrusts it over at him, ready for him to add his number to the new contact.
‘I’ve got a boyfriend,’ Lucius blurts out.
Izzy hides his disappointment well. His face falls for a split-second before he masks it. Then he just looks away and clucks his tongue in disapproval.
‘We’re poly,’ Lucius hastens to explain. ‘I’m not saying I’m not in the market for another one. I just thought you should know.’
‘So, I’d have to share you?’ Izzy asks, not looking thrilled at the prospect.
‘No,’ Lucius says patiently. ‘I’m not a toy you’d be fighting over.’
Izzy seems to give it some thought. He eyes Lucius consideringly. ‘Your boyfriend look like you?’ He asks.
‘Not really,’ Lucius says, amused. He knows exactly where Izzy’s mind has just gone. ‘And the fact we’re poly doesn’t mean we’re automatically offering you a threesome.’
‘Right,’ Izzy says, having the grace to look a bit embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’
'I may have sneakily sent him your photo though,’ Lucius says, unable to resist. 'He thinks you’re fit.’
Izzy puffs his chest out. ‘Alright then,’ he says. ‘Yeah. Let’s give it a go.’
Lucius taps his number into the phone before handing it back to him. ‘Text me.’
‘I’ll call,’ Izzy says.
He still leaves without looking back, but this time Lucius watches him go with a smirk, before reaching for his phone. Pete is going to lose his mind.
…
Stede calls the shop that afternoon. Lucius and Oluwande both recognise the number lighting up the phone screen at the same time, and Oluwande beats him out from behind the counter, laughing as he disappears off to the other end of the store.
‘You bitch,’ Lucius sighs, reaching for the phone. He does the full spiel, because Stede gets salty when he doesn’t. ‘Bonnet’s, Savile Row. This is Lucius speaking. How may I help you?’
‘Ah,’ Stede says. ‘Lucius. Splendid.’
‘Stede,’ Lucius says. ‘How are you? Did you choose a wedding cake in the end?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Stede says. ‘Ed and I both liked the strawberry and champagne. Listen. I’m sending some guests over to you. Just the ones I’m worried about. Put them in something nice, would you? No McQueen. I know you like it. And absolutely no Westwood.’
Lucius isn’t listening. His blood has run cold. Izzy’s voice replays in his mind. My ex is remarrying.
‘Lucius?’
‘Yep…’ Lucius says weakly. ‘Will do.’
‘Lovely,’ Stede says. ‘Ciao for now.’
Lucius hears Ed speaking in the background, and then Stede give a muted giggle, before the line goes dead. He stares at the phone in sheer horror for several seconds before reaching for his mobile.
His thumbs fly over the screen as he messages Izzy, torn between righteous indignation and begrudging amusement.
Is your ex Edward Teach?
Izzy texts back immediately.
Fancy being my date to a wedding?