The Fit

1.

Sam didn’t expect to ever find himself in a place like Butch Blooms. He’d gotten himself into a few surprising situations, and was pretty good at rolling with the punches, but this was something else. He’d never even heard of this place until Max got it in his head it was where he wanted to buy his suit for the big day. Sam assumed they’d go to a big department store, but Max said this boutique shop would be better. Just the word “boutique” made it sound more fragile — and more expensive — than Sam felt comfortable with. But he could hardly say no now, not after all his urging and cajoling of Max had finally paid off.

Sam skeptically mentioned it to the married couple he did restoration work for. They were smart-looking guys, always dressed to the nines. They gave a thumbs-up to the tiny shop, saying it would set Sam back but would be worth it. That made him wince. Knowing their comfort with his own fees, he hated to think what they considered an expensive suit. In the end, he had to admit that with customers like them, his business, Woodhouse Fine Carpentry, did so well that he could afford the splurge. 

Entering the shop in the early evening light, Sam was conspicuous in pumpkin-colored Carhartts, work boots and snug torso-hugging henley. He was both the most colorful and roughest thing in the place, with its sleek dark woods and subdued fabrics. He didn’t so much mind looking out of place, maybe liked it some, since being underestimated could help in negotiating prices. What he hated was the thought of being snookered on price because, having never owned a suit, he didn’t know enough to barter well. It didn’t put him in a very good position.
 
Butch Blooms was practically empty, with just two other people in the small shop. One was a slim, dark-haired salesman at the shop desk in a sleek gray jacket and white shirt, vest and all, which Sam guessed must be a three-piece suit. He’d heard that term before. The salesman acknowledged Sam with a smile and a head nod. He turned his head back to his paperwork, but his eyes lingered on Sam. It was discreet, as these things went, and the salesman probably thought it went unnoticed. Sam had had a few eyes on him in his day and knew it when it happened. It gave him a little rush to be checked out until he remembered this was a salesman scoping out a sale.

The other was a lone customer in dark jeans and a pale shirt, bent at the waist examining jackets. Sam could have laughed. Even without seeing his face, he’d know that posture and that rear end anywhere, with the confident stance of a young man blessed with good genes and easy advantage. Sam stepped up and slapped the jean-clad behind with one paw, saying, “Hey there.”
 
Max stood erect, startled. “There you are,” he said, regaining his composure immediately on seeing Sam’s face. “You’re late.”
 
The salesman’s eyes darted up at the ass slap, tracking everything.
 
“Sorry buddy,” Sam chuckled. He wrapped his strong arms around Max to pull him close, burying his nose in the younger man’s hair to inhale his scent and plant a kiss in the thick brown curls. How he loved the scent of the top of Max’s head. “Got held up.”
 
“Quit it,” Max said, wriggling free and shrugging off Sam’s kiss. “They’re closing!”
 
Ah well, Sam thought with relief, they could look for a suit another day.

He remembered how he and Max used to walk together holding hands, and now he could barely touch him in public without Max squirming. He rubbed his thumb over his ring, the partner to Max’s, cast from the same gold. Relationships change, he told himself. It just seemed the changes were coming faster for Max than for Sam these days.

“Hi, I’m Jacob,” said the dark-haired salesman, stepping out from the desk smoothly and extending his hand.

The handshake was more solid than Sam would have guessed, and the salesman was more handsome up close. He had an angular face, with sly, fox-like features. His dark auburn hair was combed back, as glossy as the shop’s polished dark wainscoting. His beard was rougher but trimmed short, immaculately groomed as if it were finely sanded. 

Max was talking in his fast voice, his pitch a little higher than normal. Sam didn’t catch every word but knew the tone and that it meant equal parts excitement and anxiety. In fact, Max didn’t really know much more about suits than Sam did, but he aspired to. Max had a definite taste for finer things and wanted to be at home at places like Butch Blooms. It had been a source of friction between them, Max’s champagne tastes and beer budget, as Sam described it. Sometimes Sam won; sometimes he’d give in and bankroll some fancy of Max’s. This would be one of the give-ins, he supposed.

Glancing at Max and then Jacob the salesman, Sam thought how these younger guys seemed so much more put-together than when Sam was that age. Even now he never had reason to think about anything as grown up as a suit. He hadn’t been shy about making the most of his own looks. You didn’t live in San Francisco as long as Sam had, a guy with his build, without realizing the benefits. But jeans and a T-shirt always seemed good enough. He barely knew how to tie a tie, and even that he’d only done once, years ago. 

“Hey, sorry we’re late,” Sam said. “We can come back another time.”

“Nonsense,” said Jacob. “There’s no time like the present.” He wandered to the shop door, turned over the sign, CLOSED handwritten in masculine but elegant calligraphy. He turned a key, locking them in. “It’s just us. We can take our time.”

Sam grumbled, running his fingers through the fluffy blond cockscomb of hair on his own head, feeling it thinning at the crown. 

“You’re not getting out of this,” Max said to him. “Y’know, maybe if you dressed better...”

Sam shot Max a look. Don’t embarrass me in front of strangers! his frown pleaded.

Looking past Max, Sam took in the hanger racks of suits. There were patterns and solids. There had to be an organizing principle, and Sam gathered they must be grouped by size rather than material or pattern. Most looked complete, but some on a few smaller racks looked held together by long white threads running through them. Those looked like one good tug could unravel them completely. That implied custom work, and in carpentry the more customized the job, the more Sam charged. He’d try to steer Max clear of those.

He stepped up to one of the finished-looking jackets. Navy blue. That seemed ordinary enough, but he gulped when he lifted a sleeve to see the handwritten price on the label. Jesus fuck, that seemed like a lot of money for a piece of fabric he could rip in two with his bare hands. And that was just basic navy blue. He hated to think what one of the fancy ones would set him back. 

To cover his sticker shock, he patted the sleeve down and bunched up his chin as if to say, Not bad, about what I expected, and stepped away from the suit.

Sam looked down and noticed that Jacob’s pants seemed short. Way shorter than he’d expect in a suit. And he wore no socks. Just bare ankles, in a suit, dress shoes and all. Jesus, was this the fashion now? Highwater suits and no socks? He let out an involuntary groan,but caught himself and passed it off as clearing his throat.

Max, what did you get me into? he wondered.

At the same time, he noted that if he could get past the ankles, the suit was well cut. It flattered the V of Jacob’s shoulders to his hips without exaggerating them, showing a real craftsman’s restraint. Even Sam could see that, knowing a thing or two about structure and angles that were pleasing to the eye. And the fabric’s arrangement of checks that at first looked haphazard wasn’t random at all. It was actually something like an ashlar pattern, which Sam liked in masonry and had adapted in some of his woodwork on more modern structures. So highwater suits or not, this Jacob might know what he was doing.

Still, Sam felt like he’d accidentally seen something intimate, even though they were just ankles.

2.

“Well son, we’re looking for a suit for my partner here,” Sam said, thumbing in Max’s direction, who was already distracted again by another row of suits. Now that he was near forty himself, Sam had taken to calling younger men son, especially when he wanted a little negotiating edge.

“You’re in good hands,” Jacob said. He scanned Max with his eyes and asked, “Are you thinking ready-to-wear? Or made-to-order? Or bespoke?”

Max opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

“I’m sorry,” Jacob continued, smoothing over Max’s uncertainty. “That’s just jargon. I can explain. Ready-to wear-means a suit that’s already constructed - you can buy it off the rack with minor alterations. That’s almost all suits.”

“That one,” Sam interjected, earning a pained expression from Max. “That’s what we want.”

“What are the other choices again?” asked Max.

“Made-to-order is sort of the next step up,” Jacob answered, his gaze shifting subtly between Sam and Max. “The suit is produced to order, using standard sizes but customizing it to the customer’s measurements.” He gestured to the suits lined with long white threads. “And then bespoke is cut specifically to the customer’s fit and hand-worked to your specifications.”

Sam rubbed the flat of his hand over the graying blond scruff on his square jaw as he watched Max’s interest increase with each degree of rarity. Sam knew how to upsell and didn’t enjoy being on the receiving end of it, but Max was easy prey. He’d have to put his foot down any second now.

“But,” Jacob added, deftly turning Max’s focus, “bespoke does take several fittings, and we’d need the tailor on-site. If you don’t have that much time to invest, we can definitely do something off the rack. That works well especially for a symmetrical body.” He stepped back to look Max over admiringly. “And you are very symmetrical. This will be easy.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, though Jacob flattering Max’s body gnawed at him a little.

He could hardly resent it that Max got attention for his good looks. It reflected well on Sam too, in its own way. And he’d made the most of that kind of attention himself in his younger days. He could almost laugh now, remembering hitchhiking shirtless from Georgia to San Francisco at age eighteen. He was straight out of high school, but knew how to use his six-pack and Adonis belt to help get rides. A few years later when he started his carpentry business, he wore tight muscle T-shirts and pants that rode so low that his older gay clients could hardly keep their eyes off the hint of pubes they showed.
 
He was still beefy, more than ever in fact. His pecs and biceps seemed twice as big as they were during his hitchhiking days, and his downy blond fur had come in to hug them tightly.
But his belly had some curve to it, and his hair — the hair he kept — was coarse and flyaway. He still had some good years left, though. 

So what if Max was getting his day in the sun? He was smart and young and effortlessly good-looking. And of all his admirers, Sam himself was first in line. He fell for Max on sight, he’d say, and couldn’t picture life without him. Max taught him to love someone else, if Sam was honest about it. He couldn’t begrudge anyone else adoring him, knowing inevitably many would.

“So then,” Jacob said, steering them back on track, “forty regular?” 

“I just turned thirty-nine,” Sam answered, looking up to see a puzzled expression on Jacob’s face, then realizing the question wasn’t addressed to him to begin with. “Oh… shit.”

“Sorry,” Jacob replied with a warm chuckle. “Jackets come in just one size — like thirty-eight or forty — and that refers to your chest measurement. From there, they also come in long, regular or short, for the jacket length.” He eyed Max, holding up his thumb and forefinger to his sandpapered, foxy chin. “I’m thinking you’re a forty regular.” 

Sam could see Max soaking up this information, as if he was studying for his future.

Jacob glanced over to Sam and added, “I have you pegged for a forty-four.” Sam shrugged, not sure what to make of that. “Big in the chest and shoulders,” Jacob added, to Sam’s satisfaction.

Sam was caught off guard by the tickle of being noticed by Jacob in this way. Max noticed too, raising an eyebrow and fingering his own ring, the partner to Sam’s.

Jacob lifted one jacket on a hanger and held it up against Max. “You could consider combining a sport coat with a pair of dress slacks in a different color. If you don’t need the full-on suit, I like the sports jacket and slacks because you can have more fun with combinations. And you’re young,” he looked at Max, “so why not have fun?”
 
“I want that,” Max popped back. “Fun.”
 
“Hold up,” Sam said, feeling his own expectations in jeopardy. They were expectations he barely knew he had until then. “This is a big day. I waited a long time for this. Wear something… suitable.” He rarely pulled this sort of card, but added, “For me.”
 
Jacob reoriented his approach, saying, “So let’s start with suits. We’ll try a few and see. Something classic, but still modern-looking. Something suitable for the occasion.”

Jacob looked to Max for his agreement, but his eyes lingered longer on Sam for his.

“The most important thing is the fit to your shoulders,” Jacob continued. “There’s no tailoring that can make a bad shoulder right. We’ll get that, and send it to our tailor to alter the rest as needed.”
 
“Send it?” asked Max nervously. “I can’t take it today?”
 
“Not really,” Jacob explained. “Even if the jacket happens to be a perfect fit as is, the slacks aren’t hemmed at all. They have to be tailored but we can turn it around fast. When do you need to wear it?”
 
“June twentieth,” Sam announced almost before Jacob finished the question. He’d been thinking about that date for so long, it loomed larger than anything else in his mental calendar.
 
“Ah, plenty of time,” Jacob said, waving a hand. A very nice hand, Sam noticed, with long fingers. “We’ll do it this week.” He rested his hands on Max’s delts and squared them with his palms. “Forty regular. I’m sure.”

Jacob ran his fingertips over a row of suits, his pursed lips shifting slowly side to side, landing on one with a jagged black and white pattern.
 
“Let’s try this,” he said. “It’s an exaggerated glen plaid pattern. Not everyone could get away with this, but at your age, in your shape...”
 
Jacob took the jacket off the hanger and held it out behind Max, who almost intuitively dropped his arms into place. Jacob pulled the jacket up for Max to glide his arms into. How naturally he took to being tended to this way, Sam observed. 

With Max’s arms in the sleeves, Jacob gave the jacket one firm pull onto his shoulders. He  smoothed the material down as the jacket fell into place, and turned Max to face a well-lit bank of mirrors. He reached around to button the top button, then pinched the fabric at the small of the back, and held it to better show Max’s slim waist and hips.
 
“Whoa,” gasped Sam, a hand over his beating heart. “Max… look at you.”

Max took in his own reflection as if for the first time. His dark good looks deepened in the jacket, matured. At the same time, his athletic figure gave life to the jacket, showing it to a potential not easily evident on the hanger. Sam wouldn’t have guessed it, but they were a perfect fit. Jacob didn’t look surprised.
 
Jacob offered to pull another to try, but Max was set on the glen plaid. Even Sam couldn’t muster an objection to whatever it cost. Not seeing Max like this. He couldn’t be more proud, thinking how Max would look. This was the day he’d waited for. And then everything would change. He almost choked up thinking about it.
 
Jacob slid the matching slacks off the hanger and passed them to Max.
 
“You can change into these in here,” he explained, gesturing to a small room, “and we’ll mark them for alteration.” He looked down at Max’s sneakers. “And unless you plan to wear the suit with those, I’ll set you up in more of a pair of dress shoes so we get the break in the slacks right.”

Max turned into the changing room, leaving Sam and Jacob alone. Without him to focus on there was a sudden and unanticipated awkwardness. Jacob bounced gently on his heels, and Sam glanced at his exposed ankles. It was a crazy look, but it was growing on Sam.

Jacob asked, “Do you like the suit?”
 
“Well hell,” answered Sam, surrendering all notions of being a hard sell. “He looks like a magazine cover. How couldn’t I?”

“That glen plaid is a little bit of a lot,” Jacob offered. He pursed his lips and leaned in close to Sam. “But he looks amazing.” 

Up close, Sam noticed the salesman wasn’t quite as young as he first thought. Maybe halfway between Max and himself, thirty or so. He had a depth to his features that boys like Max wouldn’t have for years to come, and though his beard was trimmed short it was in full, not a boy’s patchy growth. It was the same mahogany color as his hair and eyes. He thought he could hear in Jacob’s breathy voice the trace of an accent, Italian or something Slavic.
 
“So,” Jacob asked. “June twentieth?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered with a sigh. He looked at his ring wistfully. “It’s funny how you can wait for something for so long, and then when the day comes be so unsure you’re ready.”

Jacob leaned in closer, closer than anyone but Max had been in a long time. “It may be none of my business,” he said in a hush, “but — in suits — you want to be sure it’s the right fit.”

Without thinking, Sam also leaned in. A little more and his lips would brush Jacob’s, which seemed so appealing. He held himself in place in Jacob’s space, not moving closer himself but inviting the handsome salesman to the next move. His heart raced and his briefs contorted around his erection.

Sam, Sam, what are you doing? he asked himself.

3.

Max emerged in the full suit, arms spread wide. “Look,” he laughed, holding out a leg with unhemmed slacks hanging low around his borrowed dress shoes.

Sam and Jacob backed away from each other abruptly in awkward silence.

“What’s going on?” Max asked, letting his foot down, with some growing awareness that his pants were not the only thing that had changed in the last minutes. 

“Nothing,” Sam answered, shrugging.
 
“Just shop talk,” Jacob added, standing at attention. “Now we get to fitting. If we’re set on this?” He turned to Sam. “This is it?”

Max looked to Sam for approval, and Sam nodded, “It’ll break my heart otherwise.”
 
Jacob paused a beat longer, then resumed, putting on his salesman’s demeanor. “So this is the beauty of tailoring. It’s a good fit, but we’ll make some alterations to make it just so for you.”

He asked Max to step up onto an elevated platform in front of the bank of mirrors, lit from all sides. 

“I need you to stand straight, arms at your sides. That’s called ‘natural stance’.”

He guided Max’s arms into place, and Max asked, “Like this? Are you sure? It doesn’t feel natural.”

Jacob chuckled. “No, it doesn’t. But it is the base from which most of our movement flows. If the suit doesn’t fit well in this stance, it’s not going to move comfortably with your body either.”

Max held the pose and bounced eagerly on his toes.

Jacob stripped off his own jacket, one shoulder at a time, and set it on a hook. In his shirtsleeves and vest, he looked even more fit than Sam had realized earlier. He wasn’t heavy with muscle, but plainly athletic. The way his vest accentuated the taper from his shoulders to the small of his back was distracting enough, but when he dropped to a crouch at Max’s feet, Sam almost tipped over, his eyes were so locked on the man’s waist.

“You look in shape,” Sam said, barely aware the words were falling out of his mouth. He tried to recover, asking, “Sports?”
 
Jacob looked back over his shoulder and with a sly smile answered, “Crossfit. It’s San Francisco. Everyone does Crossfit.”
 
Sam imagined wrapping his good tape measure around Jacob’s waist, and guessed thirty inches. Maybe twenty-eight. He seemed like he might be hairy under that suit. His mind wandered to the thought of Jacob sweating it out at Crossfit, and visions of his own hands on the man’s flat belly.
 
“You’re very symmetrical,” Jacob explained to Max, gently turning Max’s arms and assessing the fit on each. “But no one is perfectly symmetrical.” He made a dash near the end of one suit sleeve with a square of chalk. “Usually one arm is a little longer than the other. It should fit so there’s a bit of shirtsleeve showing. And we’ll have the tailor bring the jacket sleeves in a little. A lot of shops don’t do that, but it makes a big difference.” 

Jacob stood up and pulled the jacket back into place, making chalk lines down side. “We’ll leave a little fabric so if you get any bigger we can let it out a little. You’re young and you might grow out of this.” He gave Sam a subtle look. “We don’t want to make an alteration that limits our options if things change.”

“Keep our options open?” Sam asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He took Jacob’s meaning.

The salesman raised the back of the jacket, held up his first two fingers together and slid them into the waist of the slacks beside Max’s hip bones. “This is a good measure. You want no more than two fingers’ space. And the belt is an accessory. It should rest on your waist, but it shouldn’t be what holds your pants up.”

He dropped down again to roll the leg material up to Max’s ankles, exposing his borrowed dress shoes. “A few years ago we would have done a slight break, but now we’d suggest a clean no-break. Like mine. You don’t want to look too dated.” Jacob leaned back and turned out his own leg to show his bare ankles, and Max eagerly nodded yes. Sam gave a nod of approval too, and Jacob made dashes and lines with the chalk on Max’s slacks. 

“This is why celebrities always look so good in their clothes,” Jacob said, rising to his feet. “They get their clothes tailored to the individual. Every body is a little different.” He ran his hands over the jacket, and then under Max’s arms around his lats to button it. “The top button should close without strain. And you don’t have to button it, but it is going to look killer on you when you do. A bit of an opening at the bottom of the suit is fine, and the style now is for more than a bit. You get to have a flash of your tie flair there.”

“Oh hell,” Max said. “I need a tie!”
 
Sam shifted uncomfortably as his briefs tightened, watching Jacob in his white shirt and gray vest so snug in the small of his back. The salesman could say what he wanted about dress slacks resting flat, but he could see them cupping Jacob’s high, rounded Crossfit ass. He turned away to stretch his legs and loosen his briefs, and made his way to a rack of ties.

He could hear Jacob telling Max about ties, but didn’t listen to what was being said. He followed his own eyes instead, drawn to the colors fanning out like a Pantone deck in front of him. He ran his rough fingers over them, touching just enough to feel the range of textures, from bouncy cotton to smoother silks, and colors running from blues to greens to yellows to oranges to… pink. His fingers rested on a warm pink tie, patterned with swirling shapes filled in with deeper pinks and tans.

There was something about this particular shade of pink and the curling shapes that reminded Sam of finished red cedar and the whirls and knots in it. It was one of his favorite woods. Customers more often wanted it freshly lumbered, but Sam liked it reclaimed. With some wear and tear, even some damage, it was so much more interesting. He thought the tie might have the same effect with the glen plaid.
 
“How’s this?” he asked, turning back to find Jacob and Max looking back at him, wide-eyed. 
 
Max looked to Jacob, who in turn studied the tie with his head cocked. “Pink paisley?” he asked, glancing back and forth between the tie in Sam’s hand and the jacket on Max. “It’s an interesting choice. But… I like it.” He smiled. “A lot.”
 
Max exhaled in relief, and Jacob held out a hand to take the tie. Instead of handing it over, Sam said, “I’ve got this.”

He sidled up between Max and Jacob, mindful of how closely he stood beside the salesman and his trim figure. He couldn’t help but think how well their bodies would fit together. Then he guiltily remembered Max and what he’d think of Sam even having such thoughts, and tried to shake them from his head.
 
He wrapped his arms around Max from behind to slide the tie ends through his collar. It had been a long time since Sam had occasion to wear a tie, but he thought he could pull this off. Please, he thought, don’t let me fuck this up.
 
Max and Jacob watched as Sam looped the tie once, then twice, then under and over and through again. Ugh, he thought, what was he trying to prove - and to who? Or was it whom? He bit his own bottom lip, wondering if it would bunch up like a knot in a tree, or if it would all unravel when he pulled, or if the thin end would be twice as long as the wide side. There were so many ways this could go wrong.

Finally he tugged the thin end of the tie and slid the knot up into place. It was snug and even. Sam could have breathed a sigh of relief, but played it cool. Fake it till you make it, and all. He tucked the tie into the jacket and patted everything into place. He and Max smiled at each other in the mirror, and he gave Max a peck on the cheek before releasing him.
 
“Thanks,” Max said in a lilt that made it sound more like a question. “I didn’t know you...”
 
“I know things,” Sam replied, with an easy shrug to conceal the anxiety sweat in his pits. “No biggie.”
 
They all examined Max again and nodded in unison.
 
“It’s a great look,” Jacob said, stepping back. “And June is a beautiful month for your wedding.”
 
Sam and Max both turned to Jacob, eyebrows raised.
 
“Wedding?” they asked in unison.
 
“Your wedding?” Jacob asked. 

“Wedding?” Max asked again. “I’m just graduating.”

“I’m sorry,” Jacob groaned, “I saw your rings and assumed…”
 
Sam and Max both looked down at the simple gold bands they each wore on their left hands.
 
“You thought I was getting married to my DAD?” Max gasped.

Jacob’s eyes darted between Sam and Max as awareness broke on his handsome face.
 
“Valedictorian,” Sam smirked. Oh poor Jacob, he thought, barely containing a belly laugh. This was going to be fun.
 
“I thought they were engagement rings!” Jacob said in earnest defense.
 
Sam and Max watched the salesman recounting everything he’d said, to assess just how much foot he’d put in his mouth.
 
Sam crossed his arms in his best tough-guy pose, and Max leaned on him, an arm around his bulky shoulder.
 
“Really?” Max asked. “He’s like 20 years older than me.”

“A cradle robber!” Sam laughed.
 
“I just…” Jacob began. He held up a hand and pointed to indicate where a ring would be. Then he threw up both his hands and shook his head.
 
Sam turned to Max with a raised eyebrow, as if to say Should we take pity? and Max nodded yes.
 
“It’s my mom’s ring,” Max explained. “I started wearing it when she passed away.”
 
“Oh my God,” Jacob groaned. “I’m so sorry.”
 
“It’s cool,” Sam said, clapping a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. He liked the opportunity to touch the handsome salesman’s Crossfit-hardened muscle under his smooth shirt. “It’s cool.”
 
“Well, no, that was bad,” Jacob sighed, tapping his own head. “Really, really bad.”
 
“Seriously,” Sam said, his eyes locked with Jacob’s. “It’s been a while. We’re good.”
 
“We are,” added Max, patting Jacob’s arm.
 
They stood there, the three of them touching, until everything settled into an easy quiet.
 
“But I still can’t believe you thought I was marrying my Dad,” Max scoffed, breaking the silence, rolling his eyes.
 
“Not even in San Francisco,” Sam guffawed.

Jacob rolled his eyes, laughing at his own expense.
 
Sam liked to see that he could take a little ribbing, and it was good to laugh like this. Really good. It had been a while.

4.

Sam guessed it was flattering that Jacob thought a young looker like Max would be with him, at nearly twice his age. He wondered how often it had happened, unknown to them. He wasn’t that much older than Max, and people often couldn’t see their resemblance, so they might not get the relationship. He wondered how often a dinner out might have looked like a not so innocent date night. Maybe that was why Max didn’t want to hold his hand when they walked together anymore. It hadn’t occurred to Sam what it might look like.
 
None of this was what Sam had in mind that summer when he hitchhiked his way from Georgia. He grew up poor as fuck, not a thing to his name but his own body and the threadbare clothes on his back. He used both to make his way to California in his low-riding jeans and nothing more dressy than a white tank top, if he wore a shirt at all. When he landed, he roamed The City like he couldn’t get enough of it. He picked up odd jobs to feed himself, and crashed where he could, which was easier for a good-looking guy with flexible standards. He tried women, men, women and men, and quite a few substances. There weren’t many sexual stones left unturned that first year.
 
When Cass told him she was pregnant, he had his doubts. They’d each had enough action that any of dozens of guys could have been the father. He didn’t see why he should take the fall, just when his own life was starting. He seriously contemplated hitting the road again, taking off while he could. But there was some curiosity gnawing at him. It could be his, and if it was, what would that make Sam if he just left? He’d have to see for himself.

He studied the baby’s features, looking for something of himself there. But it was when the little guy reached out and wrapped his tiny hand around Sam’s fingertip and squeezed tight that he knew it was his boy after all. It was the way they fit together. They fit just right.

Sam asked a craftsman buddy to fashion a pair of rings, and proposed to Cass. The rings were thin, nothing fancy, but both cast out of the same gold. It was a romantic sleight of hand in a way, because marriage wasn’t something either of them would have done if not for the baby. But it seemed the thing to do. The boy ought to have married parents.
 
Genes were funny. Most people didn’t see the similarity, but to Sam the resemblance was obvious. His genes just came out differently in Max’s face and body, he reasoned. And Cass’s genes were in there too, which accounted for his different coloring and longer-limbed proportions. But the way they laughed was identical, and so was the way they cocked their heads. They were even the same height standing, though seated, Sam was half a head taller owing to his longer torso and shorter legs.
 
He took to being a dad easily, and decided with unexpected conviction he needed to be a provider too. He parlayed some basic woodworking skills and a seductive smile into a job in carpentry. He was a fast learner and good with his hands. A few years later, he started his own business.
 
He had to laugh now at what an amateur he was when he started Woodhouse Fine Carpentry. He only half knew what he was doing, and depended on his appeal to older moneyed gay couples for the other half. “Fake It Till You Make It” was his six-word business plan, and while he faked it, a little show of muscle made up for a lot. He knew how to carry his tools over his shoulders to make the most of his biceps and shoulders, and how to position himself on his knees to show the sweat on the small of his back where his shirt rose up, and maybe even some ass cleavage.
 
He remembered Cass laughing at what she called “the plumber’s crack special.” And if he got a little side action, that was okay too. She was practical enough to see the advantages. They were who they were, and the marriage was more about their shared interest in Max than holding each other to commitments they never would have made otherwise.
 
By the time Cass passed, Woodhouse Fine Carpentry was legit. Sam, it turned out, was good at it. There was a market for his skills, and the work spoke for itself. He hadn’t had to cover up for a shortage of skills with a bounty of muscle in a long time. So long ago, he didn’t remember the last time he did. 

He hadn’t meant to stay unattached after Cass. It just happened. The days and weeks flew by. He had his work, Max had school. They had their patterns of housework, cooking, watching Netflix. They even had their regular squabbles. As funny as Jacob’s mistake was, it wasn’t just the rings. Sam had to admit, in fact, they were a little bit married for the last few years. 
 
Now it was Max’s turn to live his life. He’d go to college in the fall. And everything would change again.
 

5.

"Okay then," said Jacob, turning to Sam. “Now that I really put my foot in it, what are we going to do about YOU?"
 
Sam looked baffled by the question, but catching on, demurred, “Oh no, we’re not shopping for me.”
 
“So what are you wearing to the graduation?” Jacob asked.
 
Well that’s pretty fucking personal, Jacob, thought Sam, though he admired the salesman’s pivot.
 
“I’m good, really,” Sam said, holding up his palms.
 
“Dad, do it,” said Max, helping himself to a black jacket to try on.
 
“I don’t really ever need to dress up,” Sam replied.
 
“You should,” Max said. “You might get a date.”
 
Sam rolled his eyes. Sam getting a date had been Max’s refrain ever since he’d decided to go away to school.
 
“I’m just fine,” Sam said, holding a hand up. “Worry about your own dates.”

He turned to see Jacob studying him, arms folded across his chest. Feeling himself the subject of the salesman’s scrutiny, Sam finally asked, “What?”
 
“You’re hard to size up,” Jacob answered. “I thought a regular from height… but maybe a long in the arms.”
 
“Honestly, I’m good,” Sam said, both hands up again to fend off Max and Jacob.
 
“Dad, DO IT,” Max ordered. He spoke without turning to look at Sam, admiring his own image in the sharp black jacket he’d picked up. 
 
Where did THAT voice come from, Sam wondered. You’re still the kid here, he wanted to say. But seeing Max in the jacket, looking so mature, it occurred to him maybe his boy was more of a man than he thought.
 
“The thing is,” Jacob continued, his thumb twitching at his bearded chin, “you’re a little unusual. Very full in the chest, broad, but a little… short in the legs.”
 
Sam turned to shoot an admonishing look to Max almost before the boy snickered. He’d teased Sam before about his bulldog build, and this was too good to not laugh at.
 
“Hey, HEY,” Sam griped. “No ganging up on the old man. Or you’ll be giving your valedictorian speech in your jeans,” he said to Max. For good measure he turned to Jacob. “And no sale for YOU.”
 
“Sorry Dad,” Max offered, “but it was a little funny.”
 
“Nothing funny meant,” said Jacob, rustling a hanger off a rack. “There’s a thousand men in this city who would kill for a date with your father, Max.”
 
Max was caught off guard by that, and not ready for Sam’s smirk in response. There was a shift in their dynamic. But that there was a dynamic at all tickled Sam. It had been just him and Max for so long now, knowing each other’s ways so intimately that there were few surprises. The way addition of Jacob — they way they could play off each other, shift allegiances — that made things more lively. More fun.
 
“Forty-four regular,” Jacob said, holding the suit up in front of Sam. “Italian wool. Navy. Contemporary windowpane pattern. Masculine.” He pushed it against his broad chest until Sam took it himself, their fingers brushing against each other’s. “Three-piece.” He opened the jacket to reveal the vest inside. “Maybe not what you’re used to, but I think you’ll like it.”
 
On the last point, Jacob pursed his lips and raised one eyebrow just a hint. 
 
Heh, thought Sam. He might like it quite a bit.
 
Jacob opened the door to the room where Max had changed pants, and said, “We can make this a private fitting.”
 
Max spun around. “I didn’t get a private fitting,” he complained. “I just changed pants in there.”
 
“Max,” chided Jacob, as Sam passed him, “don’t be petulant. Private fittings are for full grown men.”
 
Whoa, Sam thought, suppressing a laugh at his indignant son. Jacob could be sassy after all. 

Before letting the door to the private room shut, Jacob said, “Hey Max – there’s a whole rack of jackets in your size right there, and coats too. And you would slay in the glen plaid single-breasted coat.”
 
“Which one is that?” Max asked.
 
“You can figure it out. You know what glen plaid is already. Dark gray, alpaca. Just — just try them all. We won’t be long.”
 
Max shrugged and turned to the racks Jacob had pointed out as the door shut.
 
“Gray alpaca,” he whispered to himself, looking over the coats one by one. “Alpaca. Al-paca. Aaaal-paca.”

6.

“I did think you were a couple,” Jacob said to Sam, easing his back against the closed door. “No offense.”
 
“None taken,” said Sam, hanging the suit hanger on a wall hook. He liked this room, with its dim lights and dark woods. “Kind of flattering, if you think about it.”
 
“Good,” said Jacob. “Let’s go with flattering.” He ran a hand over a rack of dress shoes. “Size.. 11?”

“Twelve.”

Jacob smiled, lifting a pair of simple but sturdy black dress shoes. “To get the hem right,” he said.

“I did kind of think you were hitting on him. Max.” Sam said. Unexpectedly his cock bounced as he said the words.

“Max is very attractive,” Jacob replied, the shoes hooked on his fingers swaying. “But very young.”

“You were very attentive,” Sam continued, getting a feel for the gentle verbal tug back and forth with the handsome salesman. “You made him look amazing.”
 
“It’s a good suit. Very young. Very modern.” Jacob answered. “But I’m more into a classic piece myself.”
 
Yes, Sam inhaled. That was what he wanted to hear. 

“Would you like to get undressed?” Jacob asked. “There’s a privacy screen if you — ”

Sam hooked his fingers in the collar of his henley and yanked it up, pulling it over his head to reveal his big pecs and belly. He hadn’t had a six-pack for years, but it wasn’t a gut either. He looked manly, proportionate. He ran a hand over the springy blond hairs on his chest trailing down into his pubes, and heard Jacob sigh a little. 

The shoes fell from Jacob’s fingers with a dull thud.

“So that’s good,” he said after swallowing hard. He ran a hand over his throat and asked, “Seventeen-inch neck?” He ran his eyes up and down Sam’s arms, corded with muscle from years of labor. “Thirty five inch length?”
 
“You got me,” Sam answered with a shrug. Sounded about right. “Army Navy Surplus never measures me when I’m there.”

“Then they’re missing out,” Jacob added. He turned to find the right size on a rack of shirts, selecting a white one with thin blue lines in a grid pattern. He turned to hold it out for Sam to take. “This should do.”

Sam unbuttoned his work pants, shoved his thumbs into them and pushed down, letting them drop to the ground weighted down by his heavy belt. He reached into the front of his briefs to rearrange his junk, his semi pulling the cotton snug in front and cupping his ass in the rear.

Jacob’s eyes on him, his responses to Sam’s bare body, felt good. Really good. He couldn’t remember the last time he did something like this with another man, but he was regaining his muscle memory. The pauses, the little gives and takes, the visual cues. He could almost taste the charge in the air of the dressing room.
 
“Forward point collar,” Jacob said, still holding the shirt out. “A no-nonsense collar for a traditional man.”
 
“Not THAT traditional,” Sam smirked, taking the shirt. He whipped it out, and slid an arm through one sleeve and then then other. The pressed fabric draped over his pecs and hugged his shoulders. “A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”
 
“Shakespeare?” Jacob asked.
 
“Willy Wonka, son,” Sam chuckled, buttoning the pearly buttons. 

He was satisfied at his recall. It had been years, but he liked that line when reading Charlie and The Chocolate Factory to Max. He hadn’t enjoyed much nonsense lately, but that just might be changing.

He’d try on the suit to humor Max, give Jacob a firm no thanks. Get Max his suit, maybe grab burgers on the way home. Exercising his flirt muscles with a good looking salesman was a nice bonus. It gave him a good feeling and it was something to jerk off to that night. 

He noticed the craftsmanship in the shirt, his eyes well trained to look for quality. He could see how flawlessly the seams came together, how fine the stitching was. There was a lot of care put into this shirt. It wasn’t completely unlike woodworking, bottom line. He had to admit there might be real differences between these pricey duds and what normally wore.

Jacob handed him the suit slacks and their fingertips grazed again. When he stepped into them and pulled them up they slid over his stocky legs with a smooth woosh. Mindful that his briefs were damp with precum that didn’t seem to be letting up, he tucked the shirt over his insistent bulge, zipped and buttoned the pants. He’d offer to buy the shirt if he made a mess of it, but didn’t want to be on the hook for suit pants over a flirtation. It was a very good shirt after all.

Other than the excess length pooling around his ankles and the borrowed shoes, they seemed about right. They ride differently than Sam’s work pants, so light it hardly felt like had pants on at all. Especially after wearing the heavy chinos it was like walking around near naked, feeling the air on his thighs and the little blond hairs there. 

Next Jacob held the vest open for Sam. It took a second to realize Jacob would hold it for him, his job was just to hold his thick arms at . When he did Jacob slid the piece right up, and pulled it together in the front. From the rear he brought both sides together, expertly buttoning it over Sam’s belly, and as he did Sam felt a surge in his crotch.

Having Jacob’s arms around Sam from behind that way gave Sam another gush of precum. He could feel it, glancing down at the hairy wrists and the way they teases as Jacob buttoned all but the bottom button. His hands slid up under the silky lining to cup Sam’s pecs as he pulled the shirt smooth.

“Whoa!” Sam gasped as his briefs torqued uncomfortably as his cock stiffened. 

“Too much?” Jacob asked, stepping back.

“No,” Sam replied with a laugh. “I’ve been dressing myself for a long time. But not too much...”

His laughter drifted off as he caught sight of his reflection. He looked different, was the only word he could think of. The dark vest and white shirt fit him. In total, they accentuated the heft of his chest and shoulders, and trimmed his waist and belly. The grid patterns on each complimented each other in a way he wouldn’t have guessed, and even though the patterned pants seemed ridiculous on the hanger, altogether he looked manly. To his surprise, the formal wear didn’t diminish his masculinity but enhanced it. 

A sly smile spread over Jacob’s face as Sam took in his own image. 

“Let’s finish the look,” the salesman said.

He held the jacket like a bullfighter’s cape, positioning it so Sam had to turn away from the mirror to slide his arms into the sleeves. Sam smiled at the sense of being directed by Jacob, and then let himself enjoy the smooth feel of the silky lining rushing up over the swells of muscle in his arms, and the jacket shoulders falling into place on his own. He could feel without looking how good the fit was, like a perfect dovetail joint.

“Holy fuck,” he mumbled, “that feels good.”

His head turned to the mirror, but Jacob caught him with a finger tap to his scruffy jawline. “Don’t. Look. Yet.” 

Sam turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. “Yes Jacob,” he laughed.

Jacob smoothed the jacket with his palms, tugging it just slightly here and there, Sam’s breath coming in deeper under his touch. What a mess his briefs would be by the time this was over. It was almost a shame to have to tell the salesman he wouldn’t take the suit after the pleasure of the fitting.

“This shirt… goes with the jacket?” he asked, squirming to find a comfortable position for the erection filling his briefs. 

“Windowpane on windowpane,” Jacob answered. “I love it.”

“Mmmmm,” Sam nodded, “me too.” 

He was surprised by how much he wanted Jacob’s appreciation. By how much the salesman’s breathy voice got him off.

7.

Jacob stepped back and rested a knuckle against his bearded chin. His eyes scanned Sam in a way that made him more anxious than he could have guessed.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked. The temptation to turn to the mirror was powerful but he wanted to hear it from Jacob first, for reasons he didn’t understand.

“You can try on a few more options,” the salesman said, “but this is the one. It’s made for you.”

Sam turned to face the mirror.

The most dressed up he’d ever been was for his wedding at City Hall. He wore a tie for the one and only time in his life. But that wasn’t anything like this. It wasn’t even like seeing himself in the vest just minutes ago. It was so much more.

He was himself, but amplified. More masculine. More in command. More handsome, even he had to admit. The suit framed him, so even the scruff on his chin and mussed hair seemed purposeful and composed. The open collar showing the downy fur hugging the cleavage of his pecs against the finely made suit was a hypnotic contrast. 

“You have quite an eye,” Sam murmured. “Sized me up just right.”

“Some people say the suit makes the man,” Jacob said, running his knuckle under his chin. “I think it reveals him.”

Maybe Jacob was right. Even to himself, Sam looked good. Adult. Sexy. Powerful. Not just because the suit was well made, but because of how he filled it out. This was how he wanted to keep looking. How he wanted to stay feeling.
 
“I’ll take it,” Sam said, hypnotized by his own reflection.
 
“Are you — ”

“I want it,” Sam interrupted, turning for the first time since he looked in the mirror. Was the kid going to make him beg for it? “I’m sure.”
 
Jacob smiled. He pulled the chalk square out of his pocket and said, “Then let’s seal the deal.”

On his knees he smoothed the slacks, his hands running the length of the thick thighs to his muscular calves, teasing just under his meaty rump. He gathered the hem and began, “For the break — ”

“No ankles showing, son,” Sam said, letting his fingertips trail the top of Jacob’s hair.

Jacob chuckled, feeling the fingers on him. “No. I wouldn’t think so.” He cleared his throat. “No-break is on trend, but for you just a slight break. It’s more classic.”

“Got that right,” Sam said, raising his jaw to again admire his reflection, the handsome salesman on his knees. A break, a slight break, sounded so fucking good.

Sam traced his fingers over Jacob’s slicked hair, keeping them even as Jacob moved his attention from leg to leg, and to the sleeve cuffs, making his white dashes on the fabric. Even when Jacob rolled his neck and let his face rest against Sam’s thigh, wrapping his hands around the sturdy hamstrings, Sam’s fingers stayed in place. Even when he ran a hand up to cup Sam’s bulge and he let out a breathy gasp at the salesman’s touch. He was intentional. They both were.
 
Jacob deftly unbuttoned and unzipped the slacks and let them glide with an airy swoosh down Sam’s legs to the floor. He rubbed his cheek and sandpaper beard against the swell of Sam’s muscular thigh while his hands reached up to pry into Sam’s briefs and tug.
 
“Uh,” Sam murmured, not least because his full-on erection was going to make it very hard to pull the briefs straight down. “Max is still out there.”
 
“We can be very quiet,” Jacob whispered, pressing his face into Sam’s erect cock and balls, kneading them through the saturated cotton. He was going to make it very hard to say no, if Sam could have mustered the resistance at all.

It wasn’t just Jacob working his balls and the now constant flow of precum. It wasn’t that they could do it without Max knowing. It was that they could do it with Max so near, so close to hearing, so close to knowing. Fuckkkk. Max. Sam had been so good for so long.

Well, thought Sam, feeling a powerful surge in his hips, a little nonsense now and then, after all. 

He slid his thumbs next to Jacob’s fingers in his elastic waistband and pulled forward and down to let his log of a cock swing free. Jacob gasped at the sight of Sam’s baby maker. It stood proud and tall, a string of clear precum arcing in the air from the crown to his liberated balls. 

“Shhhhh,” Sam whispered, his dripping cock bobbing. “Quiet.”
 
Jacob looked up with a sly smile, his body coiled, and pounced.
 
On the other side, Max was jolted by the sound of bodies slamming against the fitting room door.
 
“Are you okay in there?” he asked.
 
“Yeah,” Sam yelled back through the door, “just tripped… on my pants. All good.”

Sam held the door jamb, his beefy ass barely off the surface, Jacob pulling himself up against Sam, biting his bottom lip to stifle his laughter. He plastered his mouth on Sam’s, plunging in his tongue. Fuck, Sam had always liked that especially, the first kiss. The wet of someone’s mouth, their tongue, seeing what they were all about.

“Quiiiet,” Sam mouthed between smacks, his lips slick with Jacob’s spit

He could have gone on like that, kissing, feeling Jacob’s body up against his. It was more than Sam ever expected of the day. And the fox-faced salesman was awakening some part of Sam that had slept so long it seemed like someone from another life, or a myth about a slumbering giant. 

Jacob nuzzled Sam’s neck as he expertly slid the handsome jacket off his broad shoulders, letting it slide down Sam’s arms and into his waiting hands. Without looking, he folded it once over and knelt, letting it come to rest on the floor. From there he reached up to unfasten each button on the vest, working his way around the fat dripping cock so near his face.
 
He gave a sly smile and took either side of the shirt in hand and jerked hard, the bottom button jerking off and flying over his shoulder. He kept up the pressure, pulling steadily, until each pearly button spring free from the shirt, pinging across the fitting room. 

Fuck, thought Sam, his cock bouncing with every button he was wrenched free. That was a nice shirt too.

Jacob bit his bottom lip and let his hands roam up onto Sam’s hairy belly, feeling the strong and solid lats, and then the slabs of his pecs, twisting in the dirty blond hair. He arched his eyebrow at Sam, his eyes practically radiating heat, and ran his face up under the fat erection. In one movement he opened his mouth around the meaty crown and plunged down, taking the length of it down his throat as his fingers grabbed hard onto Sam’s nipples. 

Sam groaned and his knees buckled. He dropped back against the door, his ass tapping it before he could pull off of it.
 
“Dad?” called Max.
 
“It’s okay,” Sam replied, mustering a calm  voice, despite every nerve in his body jolting him.

Jacob worked Sam’s cock in earnest, swallowing hard on it to tease the head and the shaft in the tight confines of his throat. His hands moved down to cup the king sized balls, pulling them down to let his lips work the base of the thick erection. 

Jacob opened wide and let Sam’s cock fall into his hand, thickly lubed with saliva.He began a good slow pump of it, running from the hairy root up the thick shaft to the weighty head. He smiled at Sam, swallowing hard and inhaling deeply. Sam reached out to trace his fingers over the bearded face, his curiosity building over Jacob’s own cock, what it would look like, how it would feel.

Jacob worked up a lot of saliva, lubing Sam’s wood slick. Oh God, Sam thought, sensing in Jacob’s eyes what was coming. Do it. Jacob again opened wide and swallowed Sam’s cock whole, his lips locking tight around the base, the head squeezed into is throat. He pulled back slightly and then bobbed, letting Sam’s cock throat fuck him slow and steady, the spit lube smacking, gunk, gunk, gunk.

Sam choked back a second groan and slumped against the door, letting his hips thrust. There was a quick rattle behind him, but fuck, it was hard to not make a sound with Jacob working his cock and balls this way. Were all blow jobs like this, Sam wondered between heaves of pleasure. He was pretty sure not. It had been a long time, but this seemed… exceptional.
 
Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head and he thought he’d lose it, but the doorknob suddenly turned and he snapped to attention, struggling for traction on the carpet in his stocking feet to push back against the door.
 
“God damn it, Max,” he grunted, his cockhead being teased by Jacob’s swalllows.
 
“I just want to see,” Max replied through the door.
 
“I’m getting dressed,” Sam yelled back, suppressing a shudder.
 
“I’ve seen you get dressed before,” Max answered.
 
“Not. Like. This.” Sam barked between gasps.
 
Jacob disgorged Sam’s full length and sat back on his haunches. He smiled with wet lips as he took Sam’s slicked meat in his hand again for a nice slow stroke.
 
“What do you think of this, sir?” Jacob asked loud enough for Max to hear. His voice was rougher, his mouth gunked with spit and precum. “It’s more basic, but it works.”
 
Really? Are you gonna do this to me? Sam asked with his raised eyebrows and plaintive face. 
“I, uh, liked the other one better,” he said out loud. “If it’s… avAILable.” His volume rose and fell as Jacob slowly ran his palm under his sensitive cockhead.
 
“You should see him, Max,” Jacob called out. “He looks amazing.”
 
Sam preemptively braced against the door, begging in a whisper, “Please.”
 
“Actually,” Jacob called out, “we’re almost done here, Max. Just give us a minute.”
 
Sam eased up, but to be safe stayed barricading the door with his arms and legs spread-eagle, his cock bouncing free and his balls slowly rising and falling as they churned a heavy load of cum. He gave a go-ahead nod, and Jacob opened wide. Fuck yes, Sam thought, knowing what was coming next. Jacob again swallowed his cock, this time in three gulps, Sam gasping out loud. 
 
Sam let one hand glide up under the smooth fabric of the borrowed shirt and let his fingertips graze his nipple and hug his own furry pec muscle. He wanted to go on for a long time like this. He wanted this to last forever. But he was so close now, and struggling to keep his ass off the goddamn door, with Max so close to walking in. His pace picked up and he pounded Jacob’s throat. He could hear that sound again, gunk, gunk, gunk, and knew it was his meat in Jacob’s throat. Fucking exceptional.

“Dad?” asked Max, and there was that charge again that made it even harder to be quiet. The torque he felt between his dad brain, and the heady, cocksure feel of being worshiped and swallowed by this handsome man, was making him crazy. And maybe the idea of being caught, of Max at last knowing the whole of Sam, even this side of him, pulled at his hips as much as Jacob’s hungry mouth. 
 
He faltered and almost fell against the door, but Jacob grabbed the meaty backs of his thighs and pulled him forward. Sam’s cockhead wedged in even deeper and he felt a wet touch on his balls. He realized Jacob’s tongue was lapping up his hairy balls while his throat muscles worked the whole shaft.
 
“OHMYGOD,” Sam gasped out loud, as his cock swelled and his heavy load squeezed through it in thick gushes, pumping out into Jacob. He felt Jacob clutch at him as he shuddered and his ass slammed the door. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! His hips thrust as his balls pumped, Jacob gulped and the door trembled. Fuck, son, Sam thought, the door rattling at his back. Take every bit. Take it all.
 
His urgent gasps broke into soft sighs and he rested a hand against the door to settle it. His heart continued to pound as Jacob softly slurped everything out of his balls. Whatever Max knew… well, he’d done what he could to keep it quiet. But he wasn’t sorry it happened.
 
“Dad?” Max asked from the other side.
 
“It’s all good,” Sam said, his slick cock sliding out of Jacob’s warm mouth. “It’s all good.”
 
Jacob stood and silently pressed up against Sam. When they kissed, their tongues swirled in the thick gunk of spit and cum. Sam was surprised that even now, he wanted more, his hand reaching down to feel the hard bulge in Jacob’s suit pants.
 
Sam emerged from the dressing room in his work clothes, the suit marked for alterations.

“But I didn’t even get to see,” Max complained, hearing that Sam made his choice.
“You’ll have to take my word,” Sam shrugged. “It’s a good fit.”

Max noticed Jacob’s mussed hair, and that Sam’s neck looked flushed. He leaned in close to his father and could smell fresh sweat. 

Max folded his arms across his chest and answered Sam with a slow “Hmmmmmm.”

8.

Sam pulled a bank card from his fat wallet, calculating the cost of his suit and Max’s as Jacob wrote up the alteration tickets. They totaled more than he spent on clothes for a whole year, maybe two. But they sure did look good.

“You didn’t even ask what I thought,” Max muttered to Sam.

“Sorry, not sorry!” Sam snapped back. “Besides, you’re the one who keeps saying I have to get used to doing things without you!”

Jacob looked up furtively from the alteration ticket, stealing quick glances at Sam and his sulking son.

He stood up and turned away to a solitary rack of items on hangers. He ran his hand over them slowly, coming to rest on a dark charcoal jacket. He lifted it and turned to Sam, saying “One more thing.”
 
“Oh no,” Sam laughed, holding up his bank card, “you broke the bank already.”
 
“Just give it a try,” Jacob said, sliding the jacket off and holding it out. “It’s your size.”
 
Sam rolled his eyes, turned his back and held his arms out. Jacob ran the jacket up his arms as Max watched. He let the shoulders drop into place and patted it down. Sam knew the motions now and pulled the front closed, buttoning just the top button.

“Looks good off the rack,” Jacob said, looking it over. “Doesn’t even need alteration. It could go more formal or you could wear it with jeans.”

Sam looked in the mirror. Even in his henley, maybe especially, with his collarbone and some dirty blond chest fur showing, the dark jacket looked good. It framed his muscle, and the charcoal color brought out the gray blue of his eyes. Fuck, it looked good. He looked good.

“What do you think, Max?” Jacob asked.

“It’s pretty badass,” Max had to admit, his arms falling to his side. He’d never seen Sam look so good.

That clinched it. “How much?” Sam asked.

“This one’s on the house,” Jacob answered.

“I can’t take something and not pay for it,” Sam objected.
 
“Sure you can,” Jacob replied. “It’s an odd piece left from a full suit. A remnant, without its partner.”
 
Sam considered this, and nodded. “It’s not too conservative?” he asked. “Will it be… dated?”

Jacob chuckled, slyly arching a thick eyebrow. Before he could answer, Max interrupted,“Are we done here?” 

Jacob waved away Sam’s bank card. “You pay for the rest on pickup.” He pressed the tickets into Sam’s palm and held them there. 
 
A smile crept across Sam’s face and he said, “Yeah, that sounds good.” He looked down at the charcoal jacket. “And thanks.”

Max studied the two. The evening sun in the shop window cast Sam and Jacob in golden light, the salesman holding the tickets in his father’s hand for much longer than was necessary. He noted their easy banter and the laughter they traded. Gradually his brow eased.
 
Walking away from Butch Blooms, Max noticed a strut in Sam’s step he hadn’t seen before. Maybe it was the new jacket. Sam looked like a king in it.
 
“That was fun,” Max said. “Jacob’s nice. Did you think he was nice?”
 
“Yup,” answered Sam. “Seems nice.”
 
“Good-looking too. Fit. Funny.”
 
“Yup.”
 
“A little too well-dressed maybe,” Max said, looking down at his mother’s ring on his finger. “For some people.”
 
“Something you’d like to say, son?” Sam asked, eyes straight ahead.
 
“I’m just getting my head around it.” He took a few more steps. “Sometimes you want something, and then when it happens, it’s not how you thought. Y’know?”

“Oh yeah,” laughed Sam. “I do.”

“But if you liked someone… like that… that would be kind of cool.”
 
“Noted.”
 
“So... do you like him?”
 
“Max, that’s enough.” Sam said stiffly, stopping in his tracks. He looked away, then shyly dropped his eyes. “Yeah. I kinda do.”
 
Max held out his hand. After the initial surprise, Sam wrapped his own hand around his son’s. It was still a good fit. 

They walked on, holding hands the rest of the way.
 

- END -