“Have you been here all morning?” Syler murmured.
“Mm,” he nodded, giving into the urge to nuzzle into the engineer’s hand. “Just a little nap while I waited for you. What time is it?”
“Just before noon. I was getting ready to take a lunch break.” The other man retracted his hand, straightening. Arthur took that as his cue to sit up himself, ruffling a hand through his hair and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What did you need, Dufault?”
Arthur finally moved his attention beyond the lovely face and fingers he’d woken to. Lord almighty, the tweed was back. Just the too long trousers, paired off with a white button down rolled to the elbows and a sleeveless camel brown sweater vest that were actually somewhat decent together if one overlooked the flame red skinny tie sandwiched between the layers. He glanced over to the desk, seeing the matching suit jacket thrown carelessly over the back of his office chair. “To introduce you to Gerald.”
Syler’s brows furrowed. “Who now?”
“You’ll see. Come on.” He levered himself up, plan already forming. Honestly, the whole ensemble wasn’t bad. Charming, even. It was just in dire need of taking in if the higher ups were ever to treat him seriously in meetings. He looked like he was playing dress up, practically drowning in the material. “Bring your coat.” Curiosity piqued, the other man unrolled his sleeves and slipped into his jacket, meeting Arthur at the door and following him out to the elevator. “Call Auto, would you?”
“Auto?”
“Yeah, your car. Auto. He’s a boy, because normal cars get named after beautiful women and he just isn’t quite normal.”
Syler huffed, amused despite himself as they stepped into the carriage. “I suppose naming him is the first stage in you accepting the path to the future.”
“Sweetheart,” Arthur deadpanned, hitting the button for the garage. “I will never accept that as my future.”
Syler rolled his eyes, stepping out into the garage as his vehicle glided into view, doors already opening. “Going to tell me where we’re going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I’m not going to like it, am I?” Arthur shrugged, easing himself into the passenger seat and reaching over to program the GPS. Best not to tell him, least the other man point blank refuse and ruin all of his fun. He had a point to make.
The trip to Gerald’s shop was short, punctuated by Syler quietly filling him in on his morning spent in the development lab testing his new drone. When the car came to a stop at their destination, it helpfully self-parked in the empty slot out front of the boutique. Syler fell quiet, blinking. Arthur hauled himself out of the vehicle before the other man could put the pieces together, banking that he wouldn’t leave him stranded here once he figured it out.
“Dufault!” Well, at least he was getting out of the car. Promising start. Arthur made his way to the entrance. “You did not seriously drag me to your tailor on my lunch break!”
“Told you I would,” he called back, rife with mischief. “You’ll love Gerald, sweetheart. I promise.” Internally, he crowed. He couldn’t wait to watch the other man be helplessly pulled along in Gerald’s wake, already relishing the satisfaction he’d feel as his handler was forced into properly fitted business wear. Hopefully he could take in the tweed as well; it was growing on him.
“I don’t need a damned tailor, Dufault! I like my clothes!”
Arthur sighed, turning back around. “Believe it or not, so do I. But you’re twelve months shy of being promoted to acting Director of Operations.”
“Your point, you raging asshole?” He punctuated his irritation with a well-timed stab to Arthur’s sternum.
Arthur didn’t wince, but it was a near thing. To phrase this delicately, or— “Quirky college student isn’t quite the look that gets bureaucrats to sign off on your budget requests. Not to mention how they’ll treat you in joint staff meetings.” The fight went out of him in a rush and Arthur felt a pang of guilt at being the source of it.
“...they won’t take me seriously.” God, he looked vulnerable. He considered if he could escort him to every meeting for the remainder of his tenure, glaring anyone stupid enough not to respect this brilliant man into submission, but discarded the thought immediately. Syler could fight his own battles; Arthur was here to give him the right armor, not infantilize him.
He reached out to tuck a stray curl behind the other man’s ear. “Darling, wear whatever you like in the labs. Everyone there is rightfully in awe of you and they’re the ones who matter. This is just for dealing with the stuffy suits. Trust me, I’ve been playing the game longer than you’ve been alive.”
Syler huffed. “You’re only seven years older than me.”
“You called me a dinosaur the other night.”
“You called my car a monstrosity.”
“I stand by that, although it’s growing on me at approximately the same pace as the tweed. Might have something to do with the owner,” he grinned. “Come on now.”
“Fine, but you’re not putting me in black. It makes me look like a fucking vampire at a funeral.”
---
The bells over the shop door chimed merrily as they entered. Syler considered if he could still make a break for it, but he knew Dufault was right. His brain would be irrelevant to the higher ups that had pull over both the agency and his department if he showed up in one of his oversized cable knit sweaters.
“Is that a 1940s vintage?” A short, portly man appeared from the back room, brown eyes locking onto him immediately, silver mustache twitching enthusiastically as he spoke. “My god, look at that wool weave! They just don’t make them like this anymore! Just needs a bit of taking in and—”
Syler found himself being tugged at quite without his permission, bowled over by the enthusiasm
