Fic: Laced Ryan/Chad NC-17
Title: Laced
Pairing: Chad/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, Male Corsets
Disclaimer: Not mine, and even if Disney did dress Ryan in some outrageous costumes I doubt this one was ever on the planning table...
Feedback: Is loved like chocolate/marshmallow bars...
Author’s Notes: This has taken me so long to write, and I really don’t know why, but did find out that I can seemingly only write with one sock on and one off. So maybe that was it, too cold to take off socks in the house.
Hope everyone enjoys.
“Dude, what is this?” Chad strolls out of your closet, holding a length of fabric between his fingers. “It looks like a basque.”
“And you’d know what one of those is...”
“My sister gets the Victoria Secrets Catalogue, I just borrow it. So, spill?”
“It’s a corset.” You reply simply, going back to the laptop screen and the very important history essay currently on it, well the essay title and brief, you’ve not really gotten farther than that.
“As in Victorian ladies making their waists uber-small and deforming their children and all that?” He flops onto your bed, still holding the corset in his grasp, sitting up and spreading it over the duvet, fingers stroking over the soft cotton and laces.
“There weren’t that many Victorian tightlacers, if that’s what you are referring to? Anyway, are you going to say anything constructive or can I go back to this essay?” You sigh softly, racking your brains for an opening sentence, hell, an opening word would be useful.
“Is it yours?”
“It’s in my closet.” A sudden rush of inspiration and you start typing.
“Have you worn it?”
“Yes, for a play. It was historically accurate as Shar put it.”
“Why do you still have it? I thought all the props were left at the theatre?”
“It’s my size.”
“Well, duh.”
“No, it’s fitted for me, custom made. Fits like a glove actually.” You stop to check the paragraph for mistakes, reading it out quietly under your breath and hoping that spellcheck has picked up the worse.
He doesn’t respond.
You finish the essay after 20 minutes of furious fact-checking and not a little swearing under your breath. Printing and saving with a relieved sigh. You spin in the chair to find Chad still staring at the clothing in front of him.
“Are you ok? You haven’t said anything in a while and it’s weird, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this quiet before.”
He looks up at you, weird expression in his eyes.
“Custom made?”
“Um, yes. Well I wasn’t wearing anything off the rack, and I’m remarkably small so they didn’t really have anything in my size on the rack in the first place. Why?”
“Does it still fit you?”
“I think so. Why?”
“Um, I think I need a glass of water.” He moves to stand, making for your bedroom door and you step in front of him.
“Why do you want to know if it still fits?” You lean against the door leisurely, letting your arms cross in front of you.
“Get out of the way.” He asks, without any real force behind it.
“Why do you want to know if it still fits?” You stand forward, moving closer into his personal space, smirking when he steps back slightly.
“No reason, really, now about that glass of water?” He swallows slightly, trying to affect a nonchalant smirk, and failing miserably.
You step aside, bowing slightly and letting your arm sweep towards the door, “Just use the door at the end of the hall, it’s got a fridge should be able to get some water, glasses are above the sink.”
He makes a hasty exit, door clicking shut behind him and you move back to the bed, fingers finding the soft fabric by touch, and picking it up, thumb running fondly over the boning. You let a smile twist your lips up, dropping the corset to the bed again and starting to undo the buttons on your shirt quickly, shivering slightly at the cold air that hits your chest from the air conditioning. Once fully unbuttoned you throw the shirt in the direction of the laundry basket and pick the corset back up, loosening the laces and undoing the metal at the front, pulling it around yourself, you clip it up, pulling the laces slightly tighter to hold it in place on your waist. Feeling the metal start to press in makes you shiver again, remembering every night of the production, the fevered rush off stage to undo the flap on your ‘authentic’ trousers and hastily stroke yourself to completion.
You take a deep breath and let it slip out between pursed lips, closing your eyes as you draw the strings tighter still. You hear heavy footsteps outside the door, and turn slightly towards it as it opens, Chad glass of water in one hand and the other swiping across his mouth, looking slightly calmer than when he left, well, until his eyes find you near the bed.
His mouth drops open, hand shaking slightly a few drops of water falling to the carpet before e catches himself and puts it down gently on the table next to the door.
“Could you give me a hand with this?” You smile sweetly, waving the laces at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting on a corset, why? I only asked if you can help.” He moves slowly towards you, steps measured and heavy. Eyes never leaving the hand holding the laces.
“How?”
“Ok, Shar...”
“Please don’t mention your sister.” He pleads. Taking the cords from you, and looking at them, hands running up the length and to the latticed laces holding the back of the top together.
“Fine. I breathe in and when I breathe out you pull it tight and then gather the slack at the top and bottom into the middle. Or at least that’s how I’ve always done it. It’ll be fine.” You turn back to the bed, letting your hands reach out and wrap around the post, anchoring you.
You pull in a deep breath, feeling your ribs press against the already tightened corset, taking in as much air you can, before trying to pull in more, feeling the stretch and strain and hearing the slight creak of the cords held in Chad’s hand.
“When I breathe out, pull hard, don’t worry, you’ll reach a point where you won’t be able to pull anymore.” You take another breath, to replace the breath lost when talking.
“Go.” You say as you let all the air out in one rush, Chad doesn’t move, the cords still as tight as they were before. You let your head fall forward. A small sigh and a smirk.
“Sorry.” You hear him say quietly, rapidly assuring him that it’s alright.
“Let’s try again. When I breathe out, just pull.” You flick a reassuring smile over your shoulder, starting to take deep breaths again.
When you breathe out this time, he pulls and you gasp feeling the fabric close around you, pulling you and pressing your waist into that hourglass shape, laces scratching slightly at your skin. Chad doesn’t pull as far as he could have, obviously worried about hurting you, and you smile at the consideration, despite it not really being necessary. “Ok, we can get it tighter. Trust me.” You breathe in deep again, taking in as much air as you can in the smaller space of your chest, before letting it out again. Feeling it tighten more, making you groan. Your legs shake slightly at the knee as your cock starts to fill. Pressing against your jeans.
“Tie it tight.” You manage to press out, feeling fingers brush against your skin as Chad works on the cords, a quick fumble and then he’s done, pressed against you in a heartbeat lips pressed against your neck, pressing light kisses to the skin at your hairline. Big hands stroking round your sides and pressing against the front of your chest. You can feel the heat start to seep through the fabric and metal as they still.
“Are you ok?” He asks, lips still pressing themselves to your neck at random intervals, hands starting to move and wander around to your back, pressing against the laces and following the trail up and down your back, making you shiver as they occasionally brush against skin. Cool in the heated room.
“Fine, better than fine.” You let him turn you around, his lips moving from your neck to the patch of skin by your ear and finally pressing against your lips, tongue sweeping out to brush fleetingly against you. Before retreating and placing tender nips and soothing kisses against your skin. You let your head fall back, catching yourself before it hits the wooden post too hard. Small whisper of ‘more’ slipping free, he must hear it for suddenly he changes.
Hard fast presses of fingers against your throat make you sigh, shivers racking your thin body as fingers slip the belt loose of its metal buckle, the button out of its hole and the slide of the zipper down its teeth. The weight of the buckle pulls your jeans down, pooling them at your ankles as you press back against the bed post, feeling the metal boning digging in hard. Chad’s fingers are everywhere, ghosting over your lips, your closed eyelids, arms, exposed skin above the corset. Everywhere.
His lips press insistently against yours, tongue pressing against your teeth when they part to offer him entrance. One hand stilling in your hair, fingers gripping the strands hard enough to pull a few from their roots.
You gasp as he bends his head to press his mouth just above the corset, teeth pressing softly into your skin, before biting down hard, hands moving to hold you still as you buck against him, swearing as he lets the abused skin go, tongue slipping over the red mark he leaves.
He stops touching you for a moment, your eyes opening to watch him bend over and retrieve your belt, slipping it free of the loops in one fast movement before standing again, he grips your wrists in his big hands, pushing them around to meet behind you, wrapped around the bed post, fumbling for a few seconds he manages to get the belt wrapped around them, holding your wrists fast.
You smile slightly as the image of a damsel in distress enters your mind, head falling forward when Chad’s hair brushes your cheek as he lets his teeth bite softly into the skin of your throat.
Then he steps away, eyes roving over you, stopping all contact and smirking as you whine, pulling against the belt, eyes wide. His eyes come to a stop on your evident arousal, the tented front of your boxers and the slowly growing dark spot. His fingers reach out touching so gently you can barely feel it, but bucking your hips forward merely makes him move his hand further away from you, and you slump slightly, feeling the wood scratch against the skin not covered by corset or lace.
“You look... Fuck.” He surges forward hand burying itself once again in your hair as he kisses you, loose, wet and messy. His mouth following its own path down your neck and chest, stopping for one last lick at the red bite mark. Before he sinks, rather gracelessly, to his knees in front of you, and you stop breathing. Eyes meeting his as one hand reaches out to ease your boxers down, letting them pool with your jeans, still around your ankles. Tongue darting out to touch the tip of your cock, and you start breathing again, feeling the restriction when you try to gasp in a lungful of air. Tingles starting to spread through your body, as his tongue follows the vein on the underside. Before he lets his lips encircle the head and sucks gently, pulling away to blow cool air over the wet skin. You feel goosebumps burst into being on your arms, legs and chest, shivering as he does it again.
“Please.” You manage to gasp out, chest heaving but unable to pull in enough air. He smirks right at you, taking as much of you into his mouth in one go, hands going to your hips to hold you still. And sucking, hard, you gasp as you come, broken curses and words that could be ‘Chad’ falling from your lips as you try to buck deeper into the warmohgodsowet of Chad’s mouth, but unable to. He pulls away, small trickle of come at the side of his mouth, swallowing.
He stands kissing you hard, and you are glad he tied your hands, as they are pretty much the only things keeping you standing. His hand brushes your spent cock as he roughly pulls himself out, rubbing against your hip, sweat slick skin moving against precome slick skin with a wet noise that makes you sigh again. Lips working over your neck.
You feel him pulse against you, come ribboning out to fall on the black of the corset, Chad’s sighs and grunts pressed into the skin or your neck, and sweat damp hair brushing your shoulder. He leans against you, his weight pressing you against the wooden pole hard until it becomes uncomfortable and you jostle him with a shoulder.
“Can you untie me now?”
“Why should I do that?” He mumbles, standing slightly but with his lips still pressed to your neck so his words are muffled, the vibrations making you shiver slightly.
“Because I want you to.”
His hands move slowly, sliding around your waist and smearing come into the fabric, before reaching sticky fingers to your wrists and fumbling the belt loose. He brings your hands back round infront of you and presses soft kisses to the inside of your wrists, red from the pressure of the belt.
“That was...” He stops, letting a breath out, and you know what he means.
“It was. Now can we get me out of this thing, it’s hurting my ribs?”
Pairing: Chad/Ryan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, Male Corsets
Disclaimer: Not mine, and even if Disney did dress Ryan in some outrageous costumes I doubt this one was ever on the planning table...
Feedback: Is loved like chocolate/marshmallow bars...
Author’s Notes: This has taken me so long to write, and I really don’t know why, but did find out that I can seemingly only write with one sock on and one off. So maybe that was it, too cold to take off socks in the house.
Hope everyone enjoys.
“Dude, what is this?” Chad strolls out of your closet, holding a length of fabric between his fingers. “It looks like a basque.”
“And you’d know what one of those is...”
“My sister gets the Victoria Secrets Catalogue, I just borrow it. So, spill?”
“It’s a corset.” You reply simply, going back to the laptop screen and the very important history essay currently on it, well the essay title and brief, you’ve not really gotten farther than that.
“As in Victorian ladies making their waists uber-small and deforming their children and all that?” He flops onto your bed, still holding the corset in his grasp, sitting up and spreading it over the duvet, fingers stroking over the soft cotton and laces.
“There weren’t that many Victorian tightlacers, if that’s what you are referring to? Anyway, are you going to say anything constructive or can I go back to this essay?” You sigh softly, racking your brains for an opening sentence, hell, an opening word would be useful.
“Is it yours?”
“It’s in my closet.” A sudden rush of inspiration and you start typing.
“Have you worn it?”
“Yes, for a play. It was historically accurate as Shar put it.”
“Why do you still have it? I thought all the props were left at the theatre?”
“It’s my size.”
“Well, duh.”
“No, it’s fitted for me, custom made. Fits like a glove actually.” You stop to check the paragraph for mistakes, reading it out quietly under your breath and hoping that spellcheck has picked up the worse.
He doesn’t respond.
You finish the essay after 20 minutes of furious fact-checking and not a little swearing under your breath. Printing and saving with a relieved sigh. You spin in the chair to find Chad still staring at the clothing in front of him.
“Are you ok? You haven’t said anything in a while and it’s weird, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this quiet before.”
He looks up at you, weird expression in his eyes.
“Custom made?”
“Um, yes. Well I wasn’t wearing anything off the rack, and I’m remarkably small so they didn’t really have anything in my size on the rack in the first place. Why?”
“Does it still fit you?”
“I think so. Why?”
“Um, I think I need a glass of water.” He moves to stand, making for your bedroom door and you step in front of him.
“Why do you want to know if it still fits?” You lean against the door leisurely, letting your arms cross in front of you.
“Get out of the way.” He asks, without any real force behind it.
“Why do you want to know if it still fits?” You stand forward, moving closer into his personal space, smirking when he steps back slightly.
“No reason, really, now about that glass of water?” He swallows slightly, trying to affect a nonchalant smirk, and failing miserably.
You step aside, bowing slightly and letting your arm sweep towards the door, “Just use the door at the end of the hall, it’s got a fridge should be able to get some water, glasses are above the sink.”
He makes a hasty exit, door clicking shut behind him and you move back to the bed, fingers finding the soft fabric by touch, and picking it up, thumb running fondly over the boning. You let a smile twist your lips up, dropping the corset to the bed again and starting to undo the buttons on your shirt quickly, shivering slightly at the cold air that hits your chest from the air conditioning. Once fully unbuttoned you throw the shirt in the direction of the laundry basket and pick the corset back up, loosening the laces and undoing the metal at the front, pulling it around yourself, you clip it up, pulling the laces slightly tighter to hold it in place on your waist. Feeling the metal start to press in makes you shiver again, remembering every night of the production, the fevered rush off stage to undo the flap on your ‘authentic’ trousers and hastily stroke yourself to completion.
You take a deep breath and let it slip out between pursed lips, closing your eyes as you draw the strings tighter still. You hear heavy footsteps outside the door, and turn slightly towards it as it opens, Chad glass of water in one hand and the other swiping across his mouth, looking slightly calmer than when he left, well, until his eyes find you near the bed.
His mouth drops open, hand shaking slightly a few drops of water falling to the carpet before e catches himself and puts it down gently on the table next to the door.
“Could you give me a hand with this?” You smile sweetly, waving the laces at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting on a corset, why? I only asked if you can help.” He moves slowly towards you, steps measured and heavy. Eyes never leaving the hand holding the laces.
“How?”
“Ok, Shar...”
“Please don’t mention your sister.” He pleads. Taking the cords from you, and looking at them, hands running up the length and to the latticed laces holding the back of the top together.
“Fine. I breathe in and when I breathe out you pull it tight and then gather the slack at the top and bottom into the middle. Or at least that’s how I’ve always done it. It’ll be fine.” You turn back to the bed, letting your hands reach out and wrap around the post, anchoring you.
You pull in a deep breath, feeling your ribs press against the already tightened corset, taking in as much air you can, before trying to pull in more, feeling the stretch and strain and hearing the slight creak of the cords held in Chad’s hand.
“When I breathe out, pull hard, don’t worry, you’ll reach a point where you won’t be able to pull anymore.” You take another breath, to replace the breath lost when talking.
“Go.” You say as you let all the air out in one rush, Chad doesn’t move, the cords still as tight as they were before. You let your head fall forward. A small sigh and a smirk.
“Sorry.” You hear him say quietly, rapidly assuring him that it’s alright.
“Let’s try again. When I breathe out, just pull.” You flick a reassuring smile over your shoulder, starting to take deep breaths again.
When you breathe out this time, he pulls and you gasp feeling the fabric close around you, pulling you and pressing your waist into that hourglass shape, laces scratching slightly at your skin. Chad doesn’t pull as far as he could have, obviously worried about hurting you, and you smile at the consideration, despite it not really being necessary. “Ok, we can get it tighter. Trust me.” You breathe in deep again, taking in as much air as you can in the smaller space of your chest, before letting it out again. Feeling it tighten more, making you groan. Your legs shake slightly at the knee as your cock starts to fill. Pressing against your jeans.
“Tie it tight.” You manage to press out, feeling fingers brush against your skin as Chad works on the cords, a quick fumble and then he’s done, pressed against you in a heartbeat lips pressed against your neck, pressing light kisses to the skin at your hairline. Big hands stroking round your sides and pressing against the front of your chest. You can feel the heat start to seep through the fabric and metal as they still.
“Are you ok?” He asks, lips still pressing themselves to your neck at random intervals, hands starting to move and wander around to your back, pressing against the laces and following the trail up and down your back, making you shiver as they occasionally brush against skin. Cool in the heated room.
“Fine, better than fine.” You let him turn you around, his lips moving from your neck to the patch of skin by your ear and finally pressing against your lips, tongue sweeping out to brush fleetingly against you. Before retreating and placing tender nips and soothing kisses against your skin. You let your head fall back, catching yourself before it hits the wooden post too hard. Small whisper of ‘more’ slipping free, he must hear it for suddenly he changes.
Hard fast presses of fingers against your throat make you sigh, shivers racking your thin body as fingers slip the belt loose of its metal buckle, the button out of its hole and the slide of the zipper down its teeth. The weight of the buckle pulls your jeans down, pooling them at your ankles as you press back against the bed post, feeling the metal boning digging in hard. Chad’s fingers are everywhere, ghosting over your lips, your closed eyelids, arms, exposed skin above the corset. Everywhere.
His lips press insistently against yours, tongue pressing against your teeth when they part to offer him entrance. One hand stilling in your hair, fingers gripping the strands hard enough to pull a few from their roots.
You gasp as he bends his head to press his mouth just above the corset, teeth pressing softly into your skin, before biting down hard, hands moving to hold you still as you buck against him, swearing as he lets the abused skin go, tongue slipping over the red mark he leaves.
He stops touching you for a moment, your eyes opening to watch him bend over and retrieve your belt, slipping it free of the loops in one fast movement before standing again, he grips your wrists in his big hands, pushing them around to meet behind you, wrapped around the bed post, fumbling for a few seconds he manages to get the belt wrapped around them, holding your wrists fast.
You smile slightly as the image of a damsel in distress enters your mind, head falling forward when Chad’s hair brushes your cheek as he lets his teeth bite softly into the skin of your throat.
Then he steps away, eyes roving over you, stopping all contact and smirking as you whine, pulling against the belt, eyes wide. His eyes come to a stop on your evident arousal, the tented front of your boxers and the slowly growing dark spot. His fingers reach out touching so gently you can barely feel it, but bucking your hips forward merely makes him move his hand further away from you, and you slump slightly, feeling the wood scratch against the skin not covered by corset or lace.
“You look... Fuck.” He surges forward hand burying itself once again in your hair as he kisses you, loose, wet and messy. His mouth following its own path down your neck and chest, stopping for one last lick at the red bite mark. Before he sinks, rather gracelessly, to his knees in front of you, and you stop breathing. Eyes meeting his as one hand reaches out to ease your boxers down, letting them pool with your jeans, still around your ankles. Tongue darting out to touch the tip of your cock, and you start breathing again, feeling the restriction when you try to gasp in a lungful of air. Tingles starting to spread through your body, as his tongue follows the vein on the underside. Before he lets his lips encircle the head and sucks gently, pulling away to blow cool air over the wet skin. You feel goosebumps burst into being on your arms, legs and chest, shivering as he does it again.
“Please.” You manage to gasp out, chest heaving but unable to pull in enough air. He smirks right at you, taking as much of you into his mouth in one go, hands going to your hips to hold you still. And sucking, hard, you gasp as you come, broken curses and words that could be ‘Chad’ falling from your lips as you try to buck deeper into the warmohgodsowet of Chad’s mouth, but unable to. He pulls away, small trickle of come at the side of his mouth, swallowing.
He stands kissing you hard, and you are glad he tied your hands, as they are pretty much the only things keeping you standing. His hand brushes your spent cock as he roughly pulls himself out, rubbing against your hip, sweat slick skin moving against precome slick skin with a wet noise that makes you sigh again. Lips working over your neck.
You feel him pulse against you, come ribboning out to fall on the black of the corset, Chad’s sighs and grunts pressed into the skin or your neck, and sweat damp hair brushing your shoulder. He leans against you, his weight pressing you against the wooden pole hard until it becomes uncomfortable and you jostle him with a shoulder.
“Can you untie me now?”
“Why should I do that?” He mumbles, standing slightly but with his lips still pressed to your neck so his words are muffled, the vibrations making you shiver slightly.
“Because I want you to.”
His hands move slowly, sliding around your waist and smearing come into the fabric, before reaching sticky fingers to your wrists and fumbling the belt loose. He brings your hands back round infront of you and presses soft kisses to the inside of your wrists, red from the pressure of the belt.
“That was...” He stops, letting a breath out, and you know what he means.
“It was. Now can we get me out of this thing, it’s hurting my ribs?”