AN:/ Spicy scene ahead. You have been warned.
Music recommendation for this chapter: The Eve by EXO.
The boutique was the same one.
The same street, the same building, the same establishment that had been dressing noble households for generations and which had, eight months ago, been the location of an event that Gerffron had subsequently declined to think about more than necessary.
He had not been back since.
He was back now.
He entered with Lady Elowen and Gorgina with the specific, composed quality of a man who was processing an environment that had strong associations and who was going to process them internally rather than externally.
The boutique's reception was warm — the good staff, the attentive service, the specific quality of an establishment that recognised its clients and adjusted accordingly.
Lady Elowen moved with the decisive efficiency of a woman who knew what she wanted and had a list.
Gorgina moved with the specific, contained attention of someone who was managing her presence in the space — present enough to be participating, contained enough to be maintaining the position she had occupied since the carriage.
Gerffron was steered by the senior tailor's assistant toward the formal measurement rooms at the back.
He was aware of Gorgina's gaze following him.
Not suspiciously — the aware, observational gaze of someone who had been keeping track of him since the morning and who was maintaining the track.
He went into the fitting room.
He breathed.
The fitting room was a good room — properly sized, properly lit, with the full-length mirror and the measurement platform and the specific, professional atmosphere of a space that existed for a single, clear function.
He removed his coat.
He removed his waistcoat.
The tailor's assistant appeared with the measuring tape and the professional attentiveness of someone who had a job to do.
They began.
— — —
The measuring was the measuring.
It was the specific, physical routine of a formal fitting — the measurements taken, the notes made, the preliminary positioning of the coat's structure against his frame, the series of minor adjustments and re-measurements that produced, through their accumulation, the specific information required for something that would fit correctly.
He was in his undergarments.
The fitting had reached the stage that required the undergarments.
The tailor's assistant was making notes.
He was standing on the measurement platform looking at the mirror with the specific, detached attention of someone who had made peace with the process and was waiting for it to conclude.
Something coiled around him.
Not the tape measure.
Not the tailor's assistant, who was at the desk with the notes.
Something that had arrived from the direction of the fitting room's rear — the specific, quiet approach of something that had been very still and had moved when the movement was available.
Arms.
He felt them before he saw them — the specific, warm presence of arms coming from behind, and the hands that followed, and the quality of the hold that was not the measuring tape's professional compression but something entirely different.
He looked up at the mirror.
He looked at the hat.
He looked at the face beneath the hat, which was a very specific face — the winter-pale eyes and the dark gold hair and the specific quality of someone who was extremely pleased with themselves.
He made a sound.
The sound was the sound of a man who has been standing peacefully in a fitting room and has discovered that the fitting room contained an additional person.
His knee came up.
The kick was instinctive — the specific, committed instinct of a body that had learned something in a fitting room eight months ago and had stored the learning in the place where the body stored things it needed quickly.
The kick connected with a stomach.
The hat fell.
Styrmir doubled.
Not entirely — he managed the double with the controlled quality of someone absorbing an impact rather than being defeated by it, maintaining the hold even as his midsection registered its complaint.
Gerffron stared at him in the mirror.
Styrmir looked up from the double.
He had the expression of a man who has done something he planned and has encountered one consequence he did not plan.
"Your knee," he said, "is more effective than it looks."
"How," Gerffron said, and his voice had the quality of a man managing multiple simultaneous reactions with insufficient resources, "are you in this room?"
"That," Styrmir said, straightening with the careful effort of someone whose midsection was sending reports, "is an excellent question that I am fully prepared to answer."
He did not answer it.
He looked at Gerffron in the undergarments on the measuring platform in the fitting room's mirror.
He looked at him with the winter-pale eyes and the specific, direct attention of someone who was looking at something they had been thinking about and was finding the reality of it consistent with the thinking.
Gerffron became aware of the undergarments.
He became aware of them the way you became aware of a thing when someone was looking at you with a quality of attention that made every detail of your current presentation feel present and accounted for.
He said: "Stop looking."
"I—"
"Stop looking."
Styrmir looked at the mirror.
He looked at it with the same quality.
The mirror showed the room and its contents with the objective impartiality of mirrors.
"Stop looking at me in the mirror," Gerffron said.
"I'm looking at the mirror," Styrmir said pleasantly.
"You are looking at me through the mirror, which is the same—"
Styrmir reached him.
He reached him the way he reached things he had decided on — without the intermediate steps of performance or announcement.
And then he was kissing him.
In the fitting room.
In the boutique.
On the measurement platform.
In his undergarments with the measuring tape not so tightly coiled around him like Styrmir's enticing affection towards him.
Gerffron's hands found the front of Styrmir's coat with the specific, involuntary quality of hands that had decided to do something before the mind had issued the instruction.
The tailor's assistant was — the tailor's assistant was very professionally not in the room.
This was something that the assistant, who had worked in this boutique for three years and who had seen many things in fitting rooms and who had developed, through those seeings, the specific professional quality of seeing precisely as much as the job required and not one thing more, had arranged quietly and efficiently the moment the second person had appeared.
The fitting room was empty except for the two of them.
The fitting room was quiet.
But the kiss was not quiet.
It didn't simply end with a kiss though, it was much more...even more than what they did in the bath tub on rainy night.
Somewhere, during the kiss, Styrmir had made Gerffron's hand tied to his back as he pressed the brownish blonde man to the mirror of the fitting as they devoured each other's lips hungrily. The mirror started to become foggy thanks to their mixed breaths, gasps.
Styrmir's fingers found the key to make Gerffron undone in his hands, he tweaked the little buds on Gerffron's making the latter squirm in pleasure and press his hips against the growing tent of Styrmir's pants.
One hand kept a hold of the measuring tape that had crossed Gerffron's chest all the way to the back, tightly securing both of Gerffron's hands behind his back. Gerffron was in total mercy under Styrmir's ministrations. The man in underwear shivered as the hands dipped scandalously inside his underwear, making Gerffron look away from the mirror and close his eyes in embarrassment.
Styrmir whispered and breathed lowly in his ear; "Look at yourself, how delicious you look right now, I wish I could eat you up now."
Gerffron squeaked as he heard this, he opened his glassy eyes at Styrmir's hot orbs and whispered; "Then who is stopping you, Sty?"
Styrmir groaned; "You're killing me, seriously." He wanted to take things slow with Gerffron, bit it seems like the latter has no intention of doing so.
Yet he still held back.
He freed Gerffron from the measuring tape and tore off the underwear, he put it in his pocket casually making Gerffron gawk at him.
"Did you just--angh!"
Strong hands gripped Gerffron's length as Styrmir's length was pushed in between the parted thighs of Gerffron. Gerffron bent forward and moaned out at the new sensation. Then Styrmir started to move, he rolled his hips in a teasing yet aggressive manner against Gerffron's hard on. "Close your thighs a bit more." Styrmir ordered. Gerffron compiled.
As the pace increased, so did Styrmir's groans and Gerffrons' moans. Styrmir squeezed Gerffron's ass cheeks and spanked lightly, making the moaning man roll his eyes at the back of his head.
They continued until there was a knock at the door with a muffled; "Hey, is it gonna take long? We have other customers, hurry up!"
Styrmir's body along Gerffron's went stiff as both came together, with their releases spraying on the mirror in a generous manner. The entire room felt hot and smelled of sex. Gerffron's flushed cheeks and Styrmir's sweaty forehead with black hair clinging to it was indeed a ravenous sight for both of them as they gasped and huffed after the session. Styrmir then bothered to answer lazily to the one who knocked the door; "Sure, almost done."
Gerffron's legs did not have any strength left. His legs felt like jelly as he collapsed on the floor. He then noticed the evidences of Styrmir's cum on his inner thighs.
"Aw, I need a bath."
"Or, I can lick you clean." Styrmir winked.
Gerffron flushed and lightly smacked his leg. "Go away, pervert."
"Says the pervert himself who sprayed his entire milk on the mirror." Styrmir chuckled.
"I-I that was-!"
"That was too good?" Styrmir tried to supply helpfully, his eyes twinkling in mischief.
"Shut up, you crazy man. Now stop spewing nonsense, and help me up. I can't feel my legs." Gerffron pouted.
"Oh, but I am a crazy man, aren't I? What if this crazy man does something crazy to you?"
"We are already doing crazy things." Gerffron deadpanned making Styrmir laugh as he scooped up the former to fetch clothes from the other side.
Gerffron's torn underwear still in Styrmir's pocket.