Someone wrote in [personal profile] criticalkink 2016-12-21 01:54 pm (UTC)

"Pretty, Pretty Boy" - Vex/Percy, (1/2)

Vex, for all her love of the new-found finery that comes with the title Baroness of the Third House of Whitestone, Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt, hates corsets.

Or, perhaps, hate is too strong a word. “They’re just… inconvenient,” she says, lips pursed tight and brows pulled into a frown, every time Percy helps lace her into one, calloused fingers gentle and steady with the laces as he tugs on them. He watches her curves become more pronounced, more defined, watches her waist shrink down to something tiny and her hips seem to broaden by comparison, and feels a curl of something that’s not entirely lust in the bottom of his stomach. “They’re tight, and restrictive, and impractical, and I can’t move right in them, what if there’s an attack on the castle and I can’t run? And they make me look awfully flat-chested, darling, you know I’m not all that big to begin with, and really, I-”

When Percy suggests, gently, almost teasing, that perhaps she is being a little overdramatic – as is her wont, as is both their wont, for that matter – given she only has to wear one at most two times a week, for formal dinners, she scowls at him. “I’d like to see you manage a dinner in one,” she snaps, swatting at his hands when they linger on her now-tiny waist.

And, well… Percy never has been one to back down from a challenge.

“Are- am I- allowed?” is the first thing he asks, when she lays the corset out on the bed and starts loosening the laces out as far as they’ll go, fastenings undone so it’s laid out flat. He sounds so timid, so hesitant, so utterly un-Percy-like, that Vex can’t help but laugh.

“Of course, darling,” she purrs, lifting the corset carefully – it’s heavy and unwieldy like this, opened up and ready to be put on, all steel bones and brocade and sturdy lacing – and watching the way Percy’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, staring. She’d known he’d like it, dark and gothic, with the silky obsidian-black embroidery of the brocade’s stylised roses only barely visible against the charcoal of the fabric. “Men are allowed to be pretty, too, you know. It would be terribly unfair of us women to keep all the beautiful things for ourselves – though you know I make an exception when it comes to you.”

He swallows harder at that, hands trembling at the touch of corset against bare skin, and Vex can’t help but sigh at the sudden rush of affection that surges in her breast. Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, she wraps the corset around his torso, clicks the fastenings at the front into place, and grasps the laces at the back. Tugging on them a little, getting them tight enough that the corset isn’t constricting but just barely gripping him, adjusting it into the correct position, she grins. “Tell me when, darling.”

Percy inhales, unsteady, and exhales, almost a whine. “When.”

She laces up the corset in slow segments, steady inches, over the course of fifteen minutes. The laces pull and pull, and the corset tightens and tightens, and Percy’s breathing gets more ragged the tighter it gets. She rather enjoys it, the tease of it, watching him fall apart from nothing more than a little pressure and the silly taboo of wearing a woman’s garment, of indulging in forbidden beauty.

By the time she’s finished, his chest is heaving, eyes wide and cheeks a little flushed, and the complete lack of clothing on his lower half makes his arousal impossible to hide.

Vex grins, wide and hungry and delighted, as she always is when a good plan comes to bountiful fruition. “Look at you,” she says, settling hands on his noticeably narrower waist and turning him to face the full-length mirror she’d deliberately kept him away from during the lacing-up. “You look beautiful, darling. My pretty, pretty boy.”

Vex’ahlia,” breathes Percy, somewhere between strangles and scandalised at her words. When he sees himself, though, his eyes go so delightfully wide, like he can’t quite believe it. “Oh, my- good grief. That’s… that’s very… well. Well.”

He makes a lovely picture, she has to admit. He always makes a lovely picture, in her eyes, but like this – laced tight into the corset, with room tighten further in another quarter-hour or so when he’s adjusted, the black stark and bold against his pale skin and white hair…

Well. It would be striking even without the curves the corset gives him, feminising the sharp edges of him, and the proud jut of his cock, hard against the fastenings of the corset over his stomach. All things considered, Vex rather things stunning is an entirely appropriate adjective.

Or, perhaps, delectable, given how badly she wants to get her mouth on him right now.


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