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Laced Up Tight

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It was already dark outside, the sky cloudless, stars shining brightly; signs of an oncoming chilly night. Armie was coming back late after a long day of filming. He loved travelling for work, but this time, he was more than happy with staying at home in LA. The source of his happiness being no other than a certain curly-haired, pale-skinned beauty of a man.

It was the greatest feeling to come back home and find Timmy napping on the couch, or trying (and failing) to cook them dinner, or, if he was especially lucky, lying spread out naked on their king-sized bed, with three fingers up his ass.

However tonight, he came back to a darkened and quiet house. He kicked off his shoes, shrugged off the coat that Timmy chose for him, since there was no way he could keep wearing that hideous patterned jacket. Not his words, obviously. He got a real kick out of annoying Timmy with it, though. Like when he wore it for the Poetry in Wild thing and Timmy couldn’t even be mad at him, for digging the jacket out of the bottom of his closet (where he hid it from Armie, since Timmy himself was too emotionally attached to it to actually throw it out, but that’s another story), because his heart has made its mind up.

Armie made his way through the house, calling for Timmy with no answer. At last, he heard some noise from the bathroom. Some shuffling and then a thump, that sounded like something hitting the cupboard. A yelp.

"Goddamn it!"

More shuffling.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

A groan.

"That's a brilliant idea you had there, Timmy." Armie chuckled at that. He knew Timmy talked to himself when he was alone. Sometimes just to curse himself (as he did now), and sometimes when he felt lonely or uneasy being alone.

"Timmy, I'm home!" He reached for the handle of the door, but it was locked.

"Don't come in!"

"Is everything alright? Do you need help?" Armie was starting to get a bit worried, considering Timmy’s slightly panicked voice and the sounds he heard seconds ago.

"No! Everything’s fine. I’m just trying to-" A groan. "I'm sorry, this will take a bit longer. Would you mind showering in the guest bathroom?"

"Sure."

"And will you, please, come to bed once you're finished?"

"Of course, where else would I go," Armie smiled. Timmy was up to something and he couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

So, he took a quick but thorough shower to wash away the remnants of the day, along with the makeup that covered up the tattoo on his chest. Some people laughed at it, saying it was basic, cliché, but it was important for him. When he decided to pursue the life he was actually meant to lead, as opposed to the life others have chosen for him, he needed a reminder to go easy on himself. The process was going to be difficult and painful for everyone included, and the last thing he needed, was to put unnecessary pressure on himself.

Armie shook his head. He did it. It was a journey, but he got there in the end. They did.

He quickly dried himself off with a towel, a smile sneaking its way to his face. When they were buying stuff for their house, Timmy insisted they splurged on high-quality towels. Armie didn’t get it at first – a towel is a towel – but he got it now. The plush fabric felt heavenly on his skin, absorbing the droplets, brushing over his chest hair, his nipples…

Curiosity then got the best of him, so he quickly put on a pair of boxers and made his way back to the bedroom. The door of the adjoining bathroom was still closed.

"Timmy? Are you still in there?"

"Yes, but I'm ready. Get into the bed and turn off the light."

Armie did as he was instructed, the room falling into a deep darkness. Then he heard the lock click and the door open. He still couldn't see anything, since the bathroom was also dark, and his eyes haven't yet accommodated to it.

"Okay." He heard Timmy take a deep breath. "Turn on the lamp."

There he was, leaning against the doorframe in feigned nonchalance. He wasn't naked, no. He was wearing a black pair of expensive-looking silk boxers and... that.

Armie’s sight landed on a panelled piece of fabric snug tightly around Timmy’s waist. It had some sort of hooks or buttons down the centre. Wait. Was that… a corset? And if it was, did it mean it was laced up in the back? Armie’s brain shortcircuited.

"Can you please say something?" Timmy nervously bit his lip and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Armie, in fact, couldn't say anything, as he was too mesmerized by the sight in front of him. All he managed to do, was stare, mouth slightly agape, gaze flicking all over Timmy’s lean frame. With the corset accentuating his waist, his shoulders somehow seemed broader, stronger. Not to mention the way the shadows fell on the curve of his protruding collarbones.

Some people would maybe expect Timmy to wear something over-the-top extravagant – well, corset itself could probably be considered extravagant – but that wasn’t really Timmy. What he had on right now was, on the other hand, very much like him. The corset was of a simple cut, made from a stark black damask that seemed plain at first, but when the light hit it from the right angle, delicate floral patterns showed up. The contrast of the dark corset made Timmy’s skin look almost luminous – was the lamp illuminating him, or was he illuminating the world?

Armie didn’t realize they made men’s corsets, or maybe he just never gave it enough thought (which he definitely should have, considering he was of a – let’s say – kinkier nature), but what Timmy was wearing, was most certainly not a classic women’s corset, as it ended about two inches below the rosy buds of his nipples.

"Armie?" Timmy’s voice quivered and he hugged his fabric-clad torso with his arms, fingers sliding over the boning of the corset, trying to shield himself from any oncoming ridicule. "Oh fuck, this is stupid. I am stupid. Jesus, what did I even think? Can we please forget about this? I'll just take it off and-"

"Don't," said Armie a little breathlessly, making Timmy's head shoot up and meet his gaze. The green eyes open and vulnerable. The blue darkened, pupils blown.

"You don't have to- this is- it's fine. I get it. It's ridiculous," Timmy stammered and started backing up into the bathroom.

"Stop it, Timmy." Armie was using his borderline authoritative, yet incredibly soft and caring voice. He got up from the bed and made his way to his lover.

This was Timmy being vulnerable, brave, coming forward with: This is me. This is what I also like. It’s unconventional, but I want to share it with you, and I think you might like it too. It tugged at Armie’s heart, because Timmy chose him. Timmy chose to share this – share himself – with him.

And he made him feel rejected. Again. The first time years ago, when things were very different. When he still had a wife, when he still was in the closet and in denial of that particular closet. It was way back, when he had hurt Timmy (and himself) so badly, it almost broke them. Almost.

Timmy forgave him. Said he understood it was hard and confusing for Armie. Told him, that back then, they both had some growing up to do. Told him, that what matters is, they got here in the end. But Armie would never forget the look on Timmy’s face, when he told him he didn’t feel the same, that Timmy got it all wrong – when in fact, Timmy understood him way better than he ever understood himself.

So now, when he saw a faint flash of a similar expression cross Timmy’s face, a sense of dread came over him...

He wanted to say something. God, he wanted to say so much, but none of the words he knew could encompass Timmy and what Armie felt for him. Timmy was more than beautiful. More than brave. More than loved. He was everything.

"I love you," was all Armie managed to say, as he tried to communicate the rest with his eyes, the tone of his voice, hoping Timmy would understand, already knowing he would because that’s who they were.

Timmy would know what Armie meant, because there were times, when words betrayed him too, because he felt a great deal more than he was able to verbalize, and I love you slowly became a code for I feel so much, so deeply, that I might never be able to fully explain it, so these three words will have to do, for now.

Armie reached out but stopped in his tracks. "Can I touch you?"

Timmy nodded; his breath caught in his throat. He still wasn’t completely persuaded Armie wouldn’t laugh at him or think it was stupid (as if he’d ever do that). Armie would sell his soul just for Timmy to never feel unsure about himself ever again.

The weight of the situation sent Armie to his knees, as if to show Timmy, how utterly floored he could make him feel; the power he held over him, despite his slighter build. He hugged Timmy’s thighs and kissed the corset right on his belly, then he looked up in pure adoration.

Armie watched Timmy’s face go through a myriad of emotions – from confusion mixed with surprise to disbelief to pure affection and about a hundred micro-expressions in between (plus, Armie thought, he might have seen a flicker of something resembling a victorious smirk).

Timmy ran a hand through the dark blond strands, tugging a bit. "Come here," he mumbled, helping Armie upwards and then kissing him with everything he had.

Armie only interrupted the kiss to say: "I love you." Kiss. "I adore you." Kiss. "I worship you."

"Armie…" Timmy’s voice breaking a little, before surging up to crash their mouths back together.

Armie finally let his hands roam across the corset, fingertips dancing over the lacing in the back, he could no longer resist…

"Turn around for me?"

Timmy obeyed wordlessly. He heard a sharp intake of breath.

"I- I couldn’t figure out the thing that’s supposed to go underneath, so I just tied it without it."

"The thing is actually called a modesty panel," Armie’s voice dropped, he leaned down and murmured into Timmy’s ear, "and I think we both know, you’re way past modesty."

Armie then stepped back and just…. looked at him, marvelled at the way the corset made his waist even more pronounced, his shoulder-blades jutting out above it.

It made Timmy nervous, not seeing Armie, him not saying anything – he felt the need to fill in the silence.

"I know I didn’t tie it properly at the bottom. I couldn’t see down there, and the ribbons kept slipping…"

"Can I?" asked Armie.

Timmy heard him step closer. He looked back at him over his shoulder. "Yeah, sure."

Armie took the silky black ribbons and undid the knot and the bow that Timmy managed to tie there. He fixed the bottom of the lacing – Timmy’s arms probably got tired by the time he got to that part – and started tightening it. At one particularly strong tug, Timmy gasped.

"Too tight?"

"No," he mumbled, but Armie wasn’t persuaded.

"Timmy…" Just a hint of warning in his voice.

"No, really. I’m fine. It’s just…" he sighed. "It’s tight, but not too tight. But you, tying me in it. It’s making me feel… owned."

Those words made Armie twist Timmy in his arms and crash their mouths together in a bruising kiss, tongue exploring, his hand finding its way to Timmy’s neck and jaw.

"You’re mine." Armie leaned in to connect their mouths yet again, this time more tender. "And I’m yours," he whispered.

He then turned Timmy back around and finished tying the ribbons with a bow. "Can you breathe okay?"

"Mhm."

Armie enveloped Timmy his arms, pressing the length of his body against his back, erection nudging Tim’s ass-cheeks. He kissed his way from the bony shoulder to the elegant column of his neck, sucking a faint mark right below his ear, biting the earlobe softly. “See what you’re doing to me?” he murmured, accentuating the statement by rolling his hips.

Finally, they settled themselves on the bed – Timmy on his back in the centre, Armie kneeling at the foot of the bed in between Timmy’s legs. He grasped the slim ankles and smoothed his way over the hairy shins, gripping at Timmy’s thighs, dipping his fingers underneath the silky boxers.

"These look incredibly expensive. Better take them off, you wouldn’t want to ruin them, would you?"

"Why don’t you take them off yourself?" Timmy quirked an eyebrow and lifted his hips.

Armie let Timmy’s cocky attitude slide, getting a hunch that the younger man was up to something. So, he started slowly pulling the silk boxers down Timmy’s narrow hips, revealing his hardness. He couldn’t help himself as he leaned down to kiss the pink head of Timmy’s cock, slipping it into his mouth and sucking briefly. A shallow whine came from above him. Armie then let go of his length and proceeded to take off the boxers.

Timmy helped Armie by raising his legs in the air and he watched Armie’s gaze sharpen, as he noticed a glint of something between the pale cheeks. Timmy smirked.

"You didn’t…" Armie gasped, black silk flying through the air, he grasped Timmy’s knees and spread his legs open, so he could inspect what exactly Timmy prepared for him. Well, it was pretty obvious what it was – a glass plug. In combination with the corset a life hazard for Armie, if you asked him.

He shuffled closer to kneel between Timmy’s milky thighs, first he just drew circles around the base of the plug – surprised at how warm it was, considering it was glass, Timmy must have been wearing it for a while – then he tapped it a few times and proceeded to push it deeper in.

A whine coming from above him drew him from his trance. He looked up to see Timmy watching him, his eyes wide and needy, chest raising and falling in quick succession, as his breathing became more laboured, which reminded Armie of the corset his lover was wearing. It was too much to take in; the corset AND the plug.

Armie decided to spend some more time between Timmy’s legs, so he kept toying with the plug, pulling it half-way out and then popping it back in, watching Timmy’s rim spread wide around the glass. It wasn’t a small plug, the diameter of the widest part being nearly as thick as he was.

"Fuck, you look so good like this."

"I’d look even better on your cock," remarked Timmy, which earned him a slap on his right cheek.

When Armie finally pulled the plug all the way out, Timmy’s rim twitched but was left gaping a little. "Fuck," Armie muttered and gently tugged at Timmy’s entrance with his index finger. "How long did you have it in?"

"Couple of hours, probably."

"I can slip right in."

"That’s kind of the point."

Armie could no longer ignore the pressure in his boxers, so he quickly took them off and reached into the bedside drawer for the lube.

"On your hands and knees, I want to see your beautifully laced-up back." Timmy did as he was instructed, in the meantime, Armie lubed himself up, rubbing the excess around Timmy’s hole, drying his hands on the sheets (they’d have to wash them anyway).

Instead of grabbing Timmy’s hips, as he would normally do, he took hold of his waist, wanting to feel the fabric as he slowly entered him. There was something insanely erotic about Timmy not being completely naked as they fucked, the laced-up pattern on Timmy’s back and the ribbons falling around his ass looking positively sinful. Armie didn’t pick up his pace, instead he dragged it out to the point of torture.

"Come on, I wear a corset for you, expecting some frantic fucking and this is what I get?"

"I am trying to savour it. Do you have any idea how you look?" He squeezed Timmy’s waist to accentuate his point.

"Excuses, excuses. I think you’re getting tired."

"Oh, is this how you wanna play it?"

With the sheer force of the next thrust Timmy’s elbows gave out and he collapsed face-first into the sheets. He tried to get back up, but the pace Armie had set made it nearly impossible, so he resigned to lying on his arms, with Armie holding the lower half of his body up by his waist and hips, he let himself be fucked into oblivion. Soon, he was coming untouched.

Timmy’s walls clenching around his cock made Armie hurl towards the edge in no time, he slid out and swiftly manhandled Timmy, to get him to lie on his back. They locked gazes.

"Tim, can I- can I-"

"Yes!"

Before either of them could think about how the hell they’d wash it, pearly droplets of cum started landing on the damask of the corset. As the last spurts of cum escaped his body, he collapsed onto Timmy with his full weight, not holding himself up, knowing Timmy enjoyed the feeling of being pressed into the mattress.

"Next time you wear that corset, I’m going to tie you up."

"You mean?"

"Yes."