Chapter Text
l’Echec du Loup did not have a bell above its door, nor did it have a little mechanical “ding” to alert the staff of the arrival of a new customer. It was too high-end for such a tacky system. No, the shop was quiet but for the low, unobtrusive classical music piped through its hidden speakers. The door was well-oiled and opened smoothly and silently when patrons entered or left. So, Derek was quite unprepared when he turned away from the display he was straightening and practically ran right into someone.
“Whoa there, sorry!” the customer immediately cried, voice far too loud in the tranquil store. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya like that.”
The hand that had come up to steady Derek was long and thin, and Derek’s eyes tracked up from it to an arm of lithe muscle. “It’s not a problem, sir,” Derek was quick to assure, before finally looking up into the man’s face and feeling all other words crash and burn on his tongue.
A charmingly upturned nose wrinkled in distaste, before a smile broke out on the guy’s face that accentuated high cheekbones and good god was this man an elf from Lord of the fucking Rings, what the shit was going on. “Totally weird to be called ‘sir,’ man. Stiles is just fine,” the customer said, grinning all wide and sharp and mischievous. Not from Lord of the Rings, then, but something else where elves were evil tricksters of seduction and magic. Sidhe? Were the sidhe like that? Wait, there was some other type of elven thing…
He was distracted from his elvish musings by the sight of the customer’s shirt. It was threadbare and stretched out and bore the faded, peeling lettering of the words “Free Breathalyzer Test” complete with an arrow pointing towards his crotch. Then there were his jeans. Derek was willing to bet that he had shoelaces in his shop that were worth more than those tattered old jeans. It would be just Derek’s luck that his first new customer in over a week was just some college frat boy who probably got lost.
“Um. Dude?” Stiles’ smile had fallen away, replaced with a look of uncertainty and mild concern.
It was quite possible that Derek had been staring silently a touch longer than was polite. Shaking himself, he tried to plaster on his service smile. Lydia had insisted that he actually utilise it more, once she’d learned that he was capable of it. “What can I help you with, Mr. Stiles?”
Stiles looked like he was trying not to laugh, and Derek clenched his jaw to maintain his smile instead of turning and fleeing like he really wanted to do. “Dude, just Stiles. Please. Seriously.”
If this kid called him “dude” one more time… “Very well. Stiles. How can I help you?”
Eyes flicking over Derek’s strained face, Stiles gave a careless shrug. “I need a suit. For work.”
Well, that was surprising. “It’s true we carry suits,” Derek said hesitantly, trying to think of a diplomatic way to respond. “Though, if this is for an interview, perhaps you’d rather shop somewhere that requires...less of an investment. This shop works exclusively on bespoke suits. Nothing’s off the rack.”
Derek really wished Stiles wouldn’t bite his lip like that, because it was far too distracting. He most certainly was not going to let himself fall for some punk college kid. Stiles was smiling as he chewed his bottom lip, brown eyes gleaming with more of that impish mischief. “Yeah, no, man. I already have the job. It’s kind of a big thing, so I need to dress the part, evidently. I pass by this place all the time on my way to work, and I always thought it looked pretty cool. So, I figured now that I need to wear suits, I’d get some from here.”
Some? Derek blinked at the guy, wondering if he had any idea of just how much only one suit was going to cost him. “Absolutely, si--Stiles. You’ve come to the right place. Tell me more about your job, and I’ll be sure to find something that suits your needs.”
Stiles snorted and smacked Derek on the shoulder. “Suits. Good one!”
Fuck, Stiles was even more gorgeous when he laughed. Biting his tongue to control himself, Derek turned stiffly away and motioned for Stiles to follow him deeper into the store. “How formal is your workplace?” he asked, resisting the temptation to look back over his shoulder at the young man, because then he’d probably do something stupid like walk right into a mannequin.
“Unfortunately, it has become very formal,” Stiles bemoaned. “My business partner insisted that we look the part of a really real software firm. Like, what, our product doesn’t demonstrate that well enough for us? I gotta don some over-priced monkey suit just so our affiliates feel better? Man acts like we didn’t start in his basement wearing old sweats and stained T-shirts. Personally, I think he has a suit fetish, and he’s just trying to abuse his power to ogle a bunch of guys in tailored suits all day. I mean, not that I can blame him.” The last line was said rather pointedly, and when Derek did dare to peek over his shoulder, he could swear that Stiles’ gaze was roaming all along Derek’s back.
Derek ran into a pillar.
---
“Now,” said Derek, indicating with a wave of his hand that Stiles should step onto the small, slightly raised platform in front of a set of three mirrors, “do you know any of your measurements, or shall I just do them all?”
Shrugging, Stiles fiddled with the waistband of the jeans. It kept revealing a flash of toned stomach, dark trail of hair, and the wide band of his underwear. Derek really wished he’d stop. “I don’t know my jacket size, but 32/34 for the pants.”
Derek arched a brow as he studied Stiles’ build with a critical eye. “Are you certain? That doesn’t seem like it would fit quite right.”
“Same size I always get for my jeans,” Stiles said with another shrug.
“For your--” Derek stared at Stiles in horror.
“Jesus, man, you look like I just shot your dog.” Eyebrows rising, Stiles turned away from the mirror in order to face Derek. “What’s wrong?”
“You need proper measurements,” Derek said slowly, wondering how a man smart enough to co-own a software company could be stupid enough to approach suit-buying the same way he bought his Levi jeans.
Stiles’ nose did that cute wrinkle thing again. “Seriously? Can’t you just, like, guess?”
Appalled, Derek shook his head and moved to grab the tape measure hanging beside the fitting room door. “And have people think this establishment sells cheap, off-the-rack product?”
“I don’t think anyone would assume the stuff this place sells is cheap,” Stiles snorted.
Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Cheap doesn’t mean inexpensive. It means of poor quality.”
“I know what it means,” insisted Stiles, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Derek gave him a flat, unconvinced look, before moving in front of Stiles and lowering himself down to his knees. “Whoa, dude, what are you doing?” Stiles squawked suddenly, arms uncrossing in order to flail a bit wildly.
Looking up at him with raised eyebrows, Derek lifted the measuring tape in his hands. “Taking your measurements.”
“You have to, um, do it like that? On your knees?” Stiles swallowed hard and his hands hovered in uncertainty of what they should do or where they should go.
It was then that the situation finally sank into Derek’s mind, leaving him staring blankly in front of him. Which was a tad awkward, since he was eye level with Stiles’ crotch, right beneath that bold arrow pointing the way. Clearing his throat, Derek forced himself to maintain his air of professionalism. “I need to measure your waist and inseam,” he explained calmly. “This is the easiest way.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Okay.” Stiles’ voice seemed a bit tight, but when Derek glanced back up at him, the young man was staring hard at something in another direction. “Have at it, buddy.”
Measuring the waist and outseam wasn’t too bad, and Derek managed to barely touch the other man in the process. It was the inseam that had him again wondering if he was blessed or cursed. He tried to be as careful as he could, hold his hand as steady as possible on the inside of Stiles’ left thigh. But. But now he could tell that Stiles wore boxers, because what brushed against Derek’s knuckles wasn’t constrained at all. It was funny how he’d accidentally felt countless men’s balls against the back of his hand due to this job, but that was the first time that he really took notice. The first time that he was tempted to “slip” so that he’d feel the soft pressure a little more.
When he dared another glance up at Stiles’ face, though, that temptation went down in flames. The guy was practically cringing, obviously feeling uncomfortable with the whole affair and eagerly wishing it was over with. Quickly finishing his task, Derek stood, keeping his eyes diverted. “Now I’ll need to measure you for the shirt and coat,” he said flatly, trying to dampen his bitterness and disappointment.
“Awesome,” Stiles chirped.
Derek pressed his lips thinly together as he began taking the proper measurements. He’d quietly instruct Stiles to raise his arms when needed, but otherwise didn’t say a word. He couldn’t even bring himself to meet the other man’s eyes.
After recording all of the measurements, Derek silently led him over to the displays. “I have several styles available currently,” Derek explained, motioning to the wall behind him that housed mannequin torsos sporting blazers, then over to the adjacent wall with mannequin legs in various pants. “You can choose whichever combination you prefer, as well as the fabric you desire.” He indicated the swatches arranged stylishly around each display. “I take your preferences and craft a suit made specifically to your measurements.”
Stiles let out a low whistle and stepped up to the torso wall. “I never knew suit shopping was like this.”
“It isn’t always,” Derek explained, watching Stiles closely to make sure the man didn’t manhandle the displays and break anything. “Most suit shops have pre-made products that you can have tailored. I’m a designer, though, and this shop is exclusive to my designs. We only sell pre-made shirts, belts, socks, and other accessories. The shirts all belong to my brand, as well.”
“Man, though, how come all these shirts are white, grey, or black?” Stiles asked, swiveling around to wave his hands at the rest of the shop. “Like, seriously, this place is so damn depressing. You need some color up in here.”
“We’ll be getting some colorful new arrivals soon, actually,” Derek heard himself say before he even realized what he was saying. It was a lie, but he was fairly certain he could arrange to have them within days, if he put the order into his sewing crew immediately. “Should be getting them in by next week.” Isaac was going to kill him for it, though.
It was worth it to see Stiles’ face brighten, and Derek realized with a start that he’d made eye contact when he was trying to actively avoid it. “Sweet! Then maybe I’ll pick some up when I come in to get my suits.”
Derek felt himself nodding and smiling back, wondering at how Stiles’ own smile seemed to grow. “We’ll call you when the suits are finished, and the new shirts should hopefully be here by then, yes. First, though, you need to determine which suits you want.”
That made Stiles’ shoulder droop and he looked back at the suit displays with a frown. “Honestly, man, I have no clue about this stuff. Like, can’t you just pick something that would look good on me? You’re a designer, right? Shouldn’t be a problem for someone with your skills.”
Face most certainly not heating from the compliment, Derek cleared his throat and tried to look at Stiles through a designer’s lens. Images were coming to mind, suits coming into crisp focus down to the finest detail. Yes, he could definitely determine what would look best on Stiles, and had no problem envisioning it. The only real problem was that what he envisioned were entirely new pieces. He’d be literally starting from scratch. But, god, they were fucking perfect.
He cleared his throat again and gave Stiles a small nod. “I do believe I know exactly what to make for you. How many suits were you looking to purchase at this time?”
Stiles was beaming at him again, looking distinctly relieved at not having to make the choices himself. “I dunno, maybe two? Yeah, two sounds good. We’ll go with two for now. I can probably get away with wearing the same suit every other day, right?”
Derek tried not to cringe at the thought of his works being treated like jeans--yet again. “If that’s what you want,” he hedged. “I’ll calculate the estimate.” He nodded towards the marble and glass cash wrap, then started walking over to it with Stiles on his heels.
“Do I pay now or when I get the suits?”
“A down payment is made now, and then you pay the remainder after the suit is complete and the finalized price is calculated.” Derek stepped smoothly behind the counter and bypassed the touch-screen computer to instead grab a scrap of paper and a pen. He’d need to calculate this freehand, since they weren’t any of the available designs. Once he was finished, he slid the paper over to Stiles, the down payment clearly marked.
Aside from raising his eyebrows a little, Stiles didn’t really react to the high price. Instead, he casually reached into his back pocket and withdrew a tattered old wallet. “Cash okay?” he asked, thumbing through a substantial collection of high-value notes.
“We don’t usually, due to security purposes, but if it is your preferred method, we can.”
“It is,” said Stiles with a snort. “Otherwise people see my real first name, and that’s just all kinds of embarrassing for all parties involved. You’ll try to pronounce it, I’ll once again regret ever having been named it… Really, it’s just best we stick to cash and calling me Stiles.”
“Why don’t you legally change it, if you dislike it so much?” Derek asked absently as he manually typed in the order to the computer so he could print out a receipt and invoice.
“Ah,” Stiles released on a sigh as he leaned forward on the counter, bracing himself on folded arms. “It’s a family name. My mom’s dad. So, I keep it out of respect.”
Derek flicked a glance at him, catching the hint of sadness shadowing the otherwise lively eyes. It was a look Derek knew well, since he’d seen it often in his sister’s eyes, as well as in the mirror. He didn’t pry, however. Instead, he simply took the money Stiles had laid out, counted it, then printed the necessary papers. “May I have your number?”
Stiles’ attention snapped up to him, his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock. “What? Really? I mean, if you--”
“We’ll need to be able to reach you when your suits are ready,” Derek explained.
For some reason, that made Stiles blush bright red and look down at his fidgeting hands on the countertop. “Oh, right. Right, of course, yeah, that makes sense,” Stiles rambled with a strained levity before listing each number out slowly for Derek to record.
Thanking him, Derek handed Stiles his copy of everything and once again offered up his service smile. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, Stiles.”
Smiling back at him, cheeks still a bit flushed, Stiles was slow to pull the papers fully from Derek’s grip. “Yeah. Same. Me, too. I--” Seeming to catch himself, Stiles shook his head as his smile twisted into one of self-deprecation. “I should go. See ya, Derek.”
“Good-bye, Stiles. Have a great day.”
When Stiles made a little gun-shooting motion to accompany his departing “You, too” at the door, Derek should have found it stupid and juvenile. To his horror, he found himself irrevocably charmed. Stiles was still visible in the large shop windows when Derek was hastily withdrawing one of his sketchbooks and etching out the designs inspired by the strange man.
By the end of the day, he had far more than two designs, but he supposed it was good to have back-ups for when Stiles decided to expand his professional wardrobe further. What was most surprising, however, was that each design was alive with color, where Derek’s signature style had always been monochrome. Isaac was seriously going to suspect Derek was replaced by a pod person. Lydia, though, would be ecstatic. She’d been on his case for months to get with the times and add color to his looks.
Sighing, Derek looked down at the drawing of a young man with tousled dark hair, gleaming eyes, and a sharp, teasing smile. Jesus, he was even drawing the guy’s face on his design figures. What was next? Hearts around Stiles’ name? Their initials joined with a + and equaling 4eva?
Derek needed a drink. Hopefully Erica and Boyd would be free later, and not ask him any questions for once. First, though, he’d need to scan and send the new designs to Isaac so they could start on Stiles’ order as soon as possible.
He couldn’t wait to see Stiles in the new designs.