Phillip bounced a little as he walked down the street to his tailor's. He was getting a new suit, and nothing made him feel more confident than clothes that fit just perfectly. Clothes that would hang properly, clothes that would feel good on his skin when he moved, clothes with unspoiled lines and neat seams. Sometimes clothes made the man. Or at least made the man look trustworthy enough to handle one's money.

But Phillip was really bouncing because even more than he loved good clothes he loved getting fitted for them. The entire process of selecting shirt styles, discussing fabrics, talking about colours…and the way that his favourite tailor moved about him, draping swatches over his shoulders to check for tone, the way his hands would brush over his arms and shoulders - and then there was the actual taking of measurements. Phillip shivered.

He went into the tiny store front and smiled as the man at the counter looked up.

"Good afternoon, George."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Thorne. How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you." Phillip moved into the store, looking about for George's assistant. "Peter not in?"

"I'm afraid not. Did you wish to see him?"

Phillip did not. In fact, he know that Peter would not be there at all. He had called the day before to make sure. "No, no. It's not important."

George moved to the door and locked it, flipping the sign to closed. "I hope you don't mind. I find it distracting to have people walking in when I am with a client. Please, come into the back and I can show you the new worsted weights."

Phillip smiled and followed the tailor into the backroom. He loved this room, with it's comfortable chairs and bolts of fabric; the dark wood on the walls making it feel more like a study than a fitting room. The large ornate mirror was fitting to a castle's dressing room, he always though.

George moved about him, showing him new fabrics, new shirts. They looked at sketches of suits, selected one that had trim lines and slightly narrow lapels. They discussed colour and seasonal preferences, finally deciding that it was late enough in the year to go with a slate colour, with a hint of green.

Phillip could smell George. He could smell the aftershave the man wore, so light that at first he wasn't sure if he was just making it up for himself to enjoy. He could smell the mint of toothpaste or breath mints when George leaned over his chair, pointing to subtleties in the design they had chosen. He could feel the man's body heat and he wanted to feel the man himself.

George wrote on a pad of paper for awhile, noting the colours and designs, then he glanced up at Phillip. "I have all your measurements on file," he said, and Phillip felt a pain of longing and disappointment. "If you are in a rush, I have all I need. But I would really rather measure you again, just in case. One never knows how a client's measurements can change."

Phillip almost sighed with relief. Yes. He wanted his measurements taken. Yes. He wanted George's hands on him. And no, he was not particularly troubled by the obviousness of his erection. Phillip was like that.

He stood and George moved about him with the tape measure. Neck first. Arms, from shoulder to wrist. Back, from nape to tail bone. Was that George's hand trailing over his ass? Chest. Waist. Hip. Oh, that was very smooth. Neatly avoided Phillip's cock, but just barely. Legs, hip to ankle, and then hip to floor. Waist to ankle. Waist to floor.

George was making note of everything on the little pad on the floor. Phillip looked down at him and studied him as he wrote, concentration in his face. And then George turned to face his body again. Inseam.

Phillip was so hard. He closed his eyes as George touched him high on the inside of his thigh. He felt one hand hold the tape to his leg, just below his groin and the other hand move down to his foot. A pause. Then the hands were gone. George would be making notes. Thirty one inch inseam.

Except George couldn't be making a note if he were nuzzling at Philip that way. Phillip moaned and moved slightly, felt George's skin moving against him, through his trousers. And then the nimble fingers of his favourite tailor were opening his trousers and gently pushing his boxer shorts out of the way. George's breath on him, warm and moist. George's fingers on him, quick and light, sampling the texture of his skin. George's cheek against his hip. Phillip rocked his hips slightly and kept his eyes closed.

Hot, wet heat around him. Oh god, yes.

Soft mouth, gently taking him in, a strong tongue tasting him. Fingers on his balls, weighing their heaviness as George's mouth started to move, began to slide up and down his length.

Tongue lapping at him, almost tickling his over sensitive skin. Lips surrounding him. Hands on his hips, holding him steady and George sucked and moved and moaned and oh yes!

Phillip came with a sharp cry of release, trusting George's strong hands on his hips to keep him upright. George licking at him, cleaning him before pulling the boxer shorts back up and refastening his trousers.

He looked down and George and smiled. Then he fell to the floor and laughed, gathering George into his arms and kissing him soundly. George was laughing too, so hard that Phillip feared he might start to choke.

"Oh god, Phil. That's fun. How come we don't do this more often?"

Phil kissed his lover again and said, "Because you always have Peter here, and I never get an afternoon free from crisis."

He reached for George's pants, but his love just brushed his hand away. "It'll keep until I get home. We can play Chef and chef in training when we make supper."

"And how will that lead to us getting naked?"

"We'll find a way. Hey, you want that suit? I mean you have tons, but that one would be real nice on you."

Phil nodded. "Yeah. I'll need it when I go to London."

George pouted a little. "Hate it when you go away."

Phil kissed the pout away. "Come with me then. It's only a week. You can see the sights while I'm in meetings. Come to the stupid formal dinners with me and keep me from going mad."

George pulled away a little. "Yeah, and be your cousin maybe? Or your 'friend'?"

Phil sighed. "No. You'll be my partner. Just because it's new people doesn't mean that I'm about to start hiding you. Or what we are."

George looked a little ashamed and kissed Phil, hard. "Sorry."

"S'okay. Dummy. And hey, bring designs. Can show off your work in London, too. You and me, we can play at tailor and client, but you're the best new designer in the city. Make it international. You can be a hit inside a week, can't you?"

Phil laughed and ducked as George threw the note pad at him.

~end.