Vignette: Best Dressed in the Room.

All tuxed up.

Seduction | Formalwear | Dominance & Submission

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To a suit and tie fetishist, weddings are like catnip, one of the few occasions guys will dress up. Spotting each other at a reception, two tuxed gents begin their flirtation. Enjoy.

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Being the best dressed man in the room allowed Andres to get away with things. He knew he could bend the rules to the breaking point.

Not that anybody knew or cared about those rules in this post-pandemic era. These days, any garment with buttons counted as "dressed up." That was why Andres was thrilled that his college friend specified black tie for the wedding. Finally, a clear dress code that left no room for second-guessing.

He arrived at the wedding in a tuxedo whose jacket was made of a subtle jacquard: from the right light, the black wool gleamed like silk, exhibiting a rich medallion pattern that contrasted the satin shawl collar. Andres balanced this extravagance with standard tuxedo trousers: black, with a black satin stripe that broke over his sheer silk socks and fine, low-vamped opera pumps lined in velvet. A plump black bow finished the row of black onyx studs on his crisp formal shirt, with his black grosgrain braces and rippling cumberbund underneath.

The wedding was an elegant and sumptuous affair. Reminded Andres of life before the pandemic, when he used to frequent these kinds of formal events and never had to worry about being overdressed. Damn it felt good dressing like an adult again. Even if half the guys were in rental tuxes, at least they looked decent.

One guy looked more than decent. Could it be, then? Was there someone else here who wore his tux because he actually enjoyed it, and cared about the details? He was a beefy guy, bald like Andres was, his tankish build emphasized by a double-breasted tuxedo. Grand satin peak lapels framed the pristine pique of his shirt, black studs and a blossoming bowtie, gleaming patent laceups, and a pocket silk in champagne nodding from his breast. Swishing some whiskey in a tumbler, he stared in Andres' direction the whole evening. And Andres, making his social rounds, returned the attention to the other best-dressed man in the room.

Leading up to midnight, the champagne flowed, Andres decided to make his approach, pulling up a chair beside the other man. With a whiskey of his own, he toasted, and they both drank.

"That's a fine tux you've got there, young man."

"Thank you, sir. It's one I got secondhand from a couple of guys who own a menswear store."

"Fits you like a glove. I love the details." Andres extended a hand. "Name's Andres, by the way."

"Aaron," he responded, cufflink glittering as he shook Andres' hand. "I love that medallion pattern. May I feel that jacket? It looks like it must be custom."

Awfully forward, thought Andres, but they both had enjoyed a few drinks already. "Sure."

Aaron rubbed the jacquard fabric of Andres' sleeve in his fingers, nodding, remarking on the make. They exchanged complements of one another's outfits: Andres pointed out Aaron's gleaming patent shoes. Aaron noticed Andres' opera pumps. (Aaron knew what opera pumps were. This guy knew his menswear, thought Andres.) They went on, exchanging their wardrobe notes, how many suits they each owned, how long it had taken them to build their wardrobes.

With each detail, Andres noticed the quirk of Aaron's eyebrows, the gleam in his eyes, the smirk of his lips, downed with a soft mustache and goatee. Andres stroked his beard. Aaron spread his knees, letting one gleaming shoe rest on the floor, inches away from Andres' opera pump. An invitation? Andres uncrossed his legs and opened up his knees, as well. Emboldened by the whiskey, he rested one of his hands on his thigh, drawing attention to his awakening erection. Aaron imitated the posture, and seemed to have a mighty bulge growing in his tuxedo trousers as well.

It was past midnight, so Andres thought it was time for a bolder move. Plucking at his bowtie, he smirked. "Mind if I loosen up? I think we've had enough drinks to relax a little."

A shrug from Aaron. "Fine by me, sir."

Andres liked it, the way Aaron lingered on the word "sir." Pulling one end of his bowtie, Andres tugged the satin loops loose, letting them fall down the front of his shirt as he undid his top shirt stud.

"Detachable collar?" Aaron asked.

Andres nodded, letting his opera pump slide down his heel, revealing the arch of his sheer socked foot cupped by the velvet-lined shoe. "Custom shirt for a custom tux, after all."

With a smirk, Aaron plucked one end of his bowtie, and then the other, unraveling the bow with an easy motion, then undid his top shirt button as well, offering a glimpse of his full, smooth chest. Andres caught himself squeezing the spot where his cock head lay pinned against his thigh by his suddenly snug tuxedo trousers.

With a chuckle, Aaron rested his thumb just against his second shirt stud, before sliding under the placket and loosening that shirt stud, too, revealing another few inches of his beefy pectorals, tantalizing beneath his formal ensemble.

"That's . . . quite a bit relaxed," remarked Andres, slipping both of his heels out of his opera pumps, the sheer hosiery acting like a lubricant, making it that much easier for him to play with his fine, low-vamped shoes.

"Indeed," affirmed Aaron, sipping his whiskey.

"Well, I suppose I can oblige." Undoing his second shirt stud as well, Andres let his shirt open, revealing swirls of his chest fur framed by the loose satin.

"Nice," said Aaron with a nod. "Very, very nice."

It went on like that, their conversation. They both were the best-dressed guys at their places of work. Andres preferred working in his office. Aaron preferred at home. Aaron mentioned that he sometimes worked in his underwear, adding with a wink that "sometimes a suit and tie gets a bit distracting." Both men's bulges grew obvious now, as Andres undid his third shirt stud. Aaron smirked, undoing his as well.

By two o'clock, their fourth shirt studs had surrendered. Folks were leaving the reception venue by this point, so fewer prying eyes meant fewer inhibitions, as the two men clinked their glasses, laughed, letting their shirts hang open, half their pectorals on full display. Maybe it was the third or fourth whiskey into the evening, but—whatever it was—it was enough for their fifth button to come undone, revealing Aaron's firm, hot belly, and Andres' hairy trunk, cumberbunds barely covering, nipples slipping out, undone bowties caressing their bare chests, enticing their thoughts further down.

"Where are you staying?" asked Andres as he settled his tab. One of his sheer socked feet rested atop his discarded opera pump on the floor.

"Oh, I'm on the fourth floor," answered Aaron, reaching over to stroke Andres' open shirt, uncaring of being in public. "Just an elevator ride away."

A smirk as Andres finished his whiskey, feeling Aaron's knuckles brush his hirsute pectoral. "Perfect. May we continue this in private?"

Aaron raised his eyebrows. A ravenous young creature, appetite whetted, hungry. "Oh yes, yes, please, sir."

"Well, then." Andres slipped his sheer socked feet back into his opera pumps, predatory, circling in. Cunning, letting the younger man enjoy the lead for the moment, but knowing fully well how this would go once they had each other behind closed doors. "Lead the way, big man."

to be continued . . .

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