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Stiles steps back through to the bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist, his skin still singing from the ridiculous water pressure of the shower. He thinks having sex in there would probably be a religious experience. He should probably bring that up.

Chris is sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in his work clothes, which always look so rough and rugged, even when they’re fresh on. Stiles thought he’d be downstairs with Peter having breakfast by now, but from the look on his face, he was waiting. Stiles likes being looked at like that, it makes him worry his lip between his teeth in anticipation, his cock starting to stir.

“Did you enjoy your shower?” Chris asks.

Stiles jabs his finger over his shoulder. “That thing’s amazing.”

“It is,” Chris agrees. “I think it’s 90% of why Peter bought the house.” He adjusts himself on the bed, sitting up a little straighter. “I got you something.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles asks, feeling himself start to flush. Some little voice still warns him to be wary of gifts, but he knows they’re not trying to buy him. They just care. He’s flattered that they think of him.

“Come here,” Chris directs.

Stiles steps up to him, standing between his spread thighs, and he wants so badly to lean down and kiss him, but he also wants his present. Chris gives him a little smile, reaching behind himself and pulling out a black corset. Stiles takes it, even though he’s not sure if it’s being offered, unable to stop himself. His cheeks heat, thumb rubbing over the fabric. It’s nothing fancy, simple black material, little silver hooks up the front, black laces on the back.

“Today’s a study day, right?” Chris says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, blinking up at him. “I have some reading to catch up on and an assignment to finish.”

This is something they’ve discussed, the way that Stiles always slumps down in his chair while he’s studying, getting into uncomfortable positions and then having an aching back later. He has no self-discipline. He doesn’t need it with this though. It will keep his back straight, stop him slipping down in his chair or just abandoning his desk and sprawling on the couch at an awkward angle instead. It will be a reminder to be good. His spine will thank him for it. Chris looks like he might thank him too. Stiles holds the corset back out towards him.

“Will you put it on for me?”

“Of course I will, sweetheart,” Chris says. “If you’re sure you want to put it on. There’s no obligation.”

“I asked for it,” Stiles points out.

“And it’s yours, whenever you want it,” Chris says.

“Now,” Stiles says definitively. “I want it now.”

Chris smiles, that look in his eye that always makes Stiles want to simultaneously shiver and drop down to his knees. Chris could take anyone into a submissive headspace with that look alone. Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever wield as much power as that, but for him it’s all about balance.

“Let’s lose this towel,” Chris says, placing the corset down beside him on the bed and then reaching for Stiles’ towel, giving it a tug to loosen the knot before he lets it fall to the floor. Stiles makes a little noise despite himself as Chris’ eyes shameless slide up and down his naked body. “There’s my boy,” he says breathily, reaching up to trace his hand from Stiles’ chest down to his stomach.

Stiles sways towards him, feet edging forward, placing a hand on Chris’ shoulder to both steady himself and draw himself closer. Chris meets his eyes and Stiles dips his head, tentatively joining their mouths. Chris slides a hand into his damp hair, parting his lips as his tongue surges into Stiles’ mouth, making him moan and go a little dizzy. Chris is fucking amazing at this. Stiles goes slack, letting himself be kissed, so happy to hand himself over. Chris’ other hand slides over his hip, fingertips curling around to his lower back, holding him steady, grounding him in a way that somehow lets him slip under at the same time.

When Chris pulls away, Stiles stays close for a moment, feeling the warmth of him, the security his proximity brings. Stiles can’t enough of how unerringly sure he is, and how secure he makes Stiles feel in his decision to give up everything to these people. It’s the most rewarding thing he’s ever done.

As Stiles steps back, Chris reaches for the corset, adjusting it in his hands. He reaches around Stiles, placing the laced section against Stiles’ back and starting to bring the sides together at his front before he stops, looking up at Stiles.

“How do you feel about this?”

It’s a question he likes to ask, and Stiles doesn’t have to answer with certainty, just honesty. Discussion is a huge part of what they do.

“I already like it,” Stiles says. “The feel of it against my back, just from you holding it. It’s feels nice. Safe.”

“We can just do it like this,” Chris says. “We can play with it.”

Stiles looks down at himself. He likes the way it looks, Chris’ strong hands holding the corset, the way he feels it all the way around, like he’s being held. He likes Chris being in control of that. That’s maybe something he’d like to explore. Chris has to go to work though. Stiles needs to go study. They can’t stand here like this all day. That means one of two things can happen next, and when he puts it like that, he truly is certain.

“I want you to fasten it,” Stiles says firmly. “Tight.”

Chris gives a little nod, getting all he needs from Stiles’ tone, the look in his eyes, the way he holds himself. Sometimes the actual words don’t even matter. Communication is a many layered thing.

Chris tugs the corset to meet in the middle, Stiles moving closer with it. He looks down, watching as Chris’ fingers work the little hooks and eyes at the front, starting at the top and slowly, carefully, patiently working his way down. Chris’ hands are so big and rough but Stiles already knows from experience they’re good at delicate work too. Intricate designs on wood. Taking a person apart. Stiles can feel it getting tighter, surrounding him, holding him in. He likes it. By the time Chris is putting the last hook into place, it feels so pleasantly snug around him. He knows they’re not done yet though. A little thrill goes through him.

“Turn around for me, gorgeous,” Chris says.

Stiles turns without question, already hardwired to follow Chris’ instructions, but also eager for what comes next. Chris gets hold of the laces, giving a little tug, and Stiles already feels it going straight through him. He closes his eyes, concentrating on the sensations as Chris pulls systematically on the laces, drawing them taut, cinching Stiles in a little more each time.

He can feel his posture changing already, standing up taller. It feels somehow like battle armour. He loves the pressure of it, how it’s like being held, like Chris’ arms wrapped tightly around in the way that always makes him feel so safe and protected. Chris’ strength makes him feel small but empowered at the same time. The corset is the same, but this he doesn’t have to let go of. He can keep it with him all day.

Chris starts to tie off the laces, tickling Stiles’ ass as he makes loops with them, and Stiles frowns, opening his eyes to look at Chris over his shoulder.

“You can go tighter.”

“I can,” Chris says. “And you would take it beautifully. But it’s your first time and you’re going to be on your own all day. Or with Lydia?”

Stiles shakes his head. “She has her TA thing today. I’m flying solo.”

“Then we keep you safe,” Chris says. “And we make sure you can get out of it if you need to.” He reaches for Stiles’ hand, guiding it back to feel the laces. “You pull right here, the whole thing will slacken off. If it gets hard to breathe or you’ve had enough, one pull, then you can get at the hooks easier, or if you can’t co-ordinate, just pull it, the laces will free up enough that it won’t feel suffocating anymore.”

Stiles nods his head, feeling the laces, taking it in. He’s been open about his anxiety, about how stress from schoolwork or his placement can give him illogical panic attacks, how sometimes the kink helps, gives him the perfect release or escape. Chris and Peter were both open to that and willing to work with him on it, so long as he was always honest about how he felt and what he needed and kept his safeword on hand. Stiles hasn’t had to ask for that yet, but he’s so grateful that he can, that they’ll figure it out together.

He turns, taking hold of Chris’ hand. “Thank you.”

Chris smiles at him softly, pure affection. “You’re welcome.” He takes him in, free hand skimming down the side of the corset. “You look amazing. It feels like a shame to send you out of the door like this.” He sighs, his eyes going back up to Stiles’. “You can’t really call in sick when you’re the boss though.”

He gets to his feet, Stiles taking a step back, giving him the space to stand but keeping hold of his hand. Chris leans in, brushing their lips together, his tongue tracing the lines of Stiles’ slightly parted lips before he’s pulling away with a squeeze of Stiles’ hand.

“I’m going to get some breakfast,” he says before nodding towards the bathroom. “You should check yourself out.”

Stiles smiles shyly, letting Chris’ hand slip from his. His eyes go to his clothes and then towards the bathroom, deciding to follow Chris’ suggestion. The steam has mostly gone by now, but the mirror still has a slight soft focus to it as he looks at himself. The black of the corset if stark against his pale skin, hiding nothing in terms of modesty, and yet he feels so put together wearing it. He runs his hands down the sides where he’s pulled in, and he’s always skinny, but it looks like something else now. He looks waspish and it makes him feel powerful. He back is straight, his shoulders back, as though he’s proud. He is, he realises. The posture unlocks something in him and all he wants to do is preen.

He manages to drag himself away, knowing that he has textbooks waiting for him and the longer he puts it off, the more he’ll regret it in the long run. He also has breakfast waiting for him, Peter leaving him in bed while Chris was in the shower this morning, pulling on pyjamas that Stiles knows are soft because he’s borrowed them. He exited the room with a promise of French toast and Stiles’ stomach hungers at the reminder.

He pulls on his clothes, all of them feeling different in the context of the corset. He can’t stop adjusting his T-shirt, not because he wants to hide the corset, certainly here he has no shame, but because he can’t get over how differently it sits, even if it’s baggy enough that the reason why isn’t immediately obvious. It’s like a thrilling little secret that he doesn’t mind being discovered. He kind of wants to show off about it.

As he walks down the stairs, he notes how it makes him move differently. The proper posture is certainly part of it, making him hold his head up high. Things literally look different from this vantage point. He feels like he could do anything.

Peter is stood at the stove, Chris seated at the table, both of them looking at him as he enters the room. He can never get enough of their attention.

“How do you feel?” Chris asks, reaching out a hand to grip the side of his waist through his T-shirt, undoubtedly feeling the corset underneath.

“So good,” Stiles says honestly.

“You look so good,” Chris agrees. “You look like my good boy.”

Stiles blushes, feeling himself go soft. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way those words make him feel. He doesn’t want to. He always wants them to be exactly as special as this.

“Come get some food,” Peter prompts.

Stiles goes over to him, Chris’ hand dropping away as he crosses the kitchen to collect the plate Peter puts together for him. He leaves a kiss on Peter’s cheek before going to sit back down, the domestication so cosy and warm.

Chris is the first to leave, kissing Peter first, lingering and open-mouthed, and then returning to the table to give Stiles exactly the same treatment. Stiles and Peter are more leisurely with their breakfasts, chatting and nibbling and putting off the day. Stiles has responsibilities though, so he says his goodbyes and kisses Peter in the hallway when he walks him out. It starts out gentle but turns quickly more pornographic, Peter’s hands roaming over the corset through his T-shirt as his tongue fucks into Stiles’ mouth.

“You should just stay here,” Peter says, pressing another kiss against his neck. “We could fuck all day. Doesn’t that sound great?”

“That sounds amazing,” Stiles agrees. “But grad school is really expensive, I need to pass.”

Peter sighs dramatically. “Yeah, fine, go be incredible.”

“I’ll text you later,” Stiles says, giving him a last peck on the lips as he frees himself.

“It better be a dick pic,” Peter says, blowing a kiss to him as he makes his way to his jeep.

Stiles feels more alert as he drives, as though he’s looking down on everything, giving him a better overview than he’s used to. It makes him feel in control. When he gets home, he sits down at his desk with his laptop and his notes, ready to start his assignment. He doesn’t think he’s ever sat at his desk as smartly as this. It puts him in the perfect headspace to get his work done and he feels like he’s ready to face anything.

He manages to get his assignment finished by lunchtime and he stays upright the entire time, no slouching or hunching over. It feels good to not ache when he stands up and have to stretch it out. He grabs some food and then sits on the couch, legs folded neatly under him, back straight. He texts Peter like he promised, chatting while he eats, Peter bitching about some manuscript he’s going through. His devastating commentary makes Stiles laugh but he feels sorry for the author.

When he gets back to his work, he’s not as focussed as he was before. He just has his reading to go now and it feels so passive compared to putting his assignment together. His hand keeps sneaking under his T-shirt to run over the material of the corset, feel the curve it gives him, trace the boning that’s sewn into it. It’s more than a little distracting. He keeps thinking about Chris lacing him into it this morning, the care and attention, the way he’d made sure he was okay and knew how to get out. He thinks about Chris at work now, those skilled hands doing rugged, manly things. Maybe Chris is thinking about him, thinking about Stiles in his corset, the way he looks, the way he feels.

The way Stiles feels is increasingly hazy and nice. He likes the pressure against him, like being held so firmly in the way that Chris’ hands do when he’s holding him down, or the way Chris’ arms do when they’re wrapped around him. He likes being Chris’, feeling small for him, submitting. He did that this morning when he was a good boy putting it on, and he’s still a good boy because he’s still wearing it. It’s such a subtle little scene but one that doesn’t have to end until he lets it.

He leans back against his chair, his back still straight but his reading forgotten. He picks up his phone, feeling the warmth of Peter’s messages, how cosy and loved they make him feel. That’s what he wants, to be in that happy space with both of them. He feels like he’s slipping there whether he wants to or not. He sends a text to Chris, his heart beating a little too fast in his chest.

I know I was just there last night, but can I come see you guys later?

His phone rings almost immediately, Chris’ face lighting up his screen.

“Is everything okay?” Chris asks. “How are you feeling?” His voice is calm and level, but Stiles can tell he’s braced for a panic attack.

“I’m good,” Stiles assures him. “I feel good. Nice. Kind of floaty.”

“That I can work with,” Chris says. “I don’t want you driving like that though. I can call you a cab, or if you can wait an hour I can come pick you up when I finish work. Peter’s there now though if you don’t want to be alone.”

“I can wait,” Stiles says. “I’m fine, just kind of wanted to be near you guys.”

“Good,” Chris says. “We like it when you’re near us. Text me your address, okay?”

“Thanks, I will,” Stiles agrees. “I’m probably not going to tidy up though.”

“No judgement here, sweetheart,” Chris says lightly. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

Stiles abandons his reading, going through to the bathroom instead and lifting up his T-shirt to look at the corset in the mirror. If Chris is coming for him, Stiles feels like he can let himself go, let that fuzziness at the edges of his brain turn into that lovely warm place inside him. He looks and he touches and he embraces the feelings, owning this part of himself and then readying to hand it over to Chris.

When Chris arrives, he wraps Stiles up in a hug, warm and solid, placing a kiss against his temple. He squeezes his waist through his T-shirt and corset, still holding him close.

“Do you want me to take this off?”

Stiles lifts his head. “No. The opposite of that.”

Chris looks at him fondly. “Okay. Let’s go then.”

He sits up proud in the passenger seat of Chris’ truck that smells of sawdust but is somehow pristine. “Thanks for this,” he says. “I don’t want to come off clingy. It’s very uncool. It’s just in my brain we kind of started something.”

“We did start something,” Chris agrees. “But I don’t want you to feel like you need a reason to come and see us. You can bring your work and come and study at the kitchen table if you want. You can come for cuddles or to take a nap on the couch or just sleep in our bed with us. We both like it very much when you’re there. Don’t think you have to come here with a scene in mind or feel like there are expectations of a certain outcome when you walk through that door. We enjoy spending time with you, whatever the context. You’re a part of this relationship all the time.”

“How are you so amazing?” Stiles asks. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“Crying’s allowed,” Chris says. “It’s that completeness, right? Acceptance.” Stiles nods his head. “We feel so lucky that we found you.”

“You know, I get this physical, tingling sensation when you say stuff like that,” Stiles says.

“Does it feel nice?” Chris asks.

“It feels amazing,” Stiles says.

“I’m going to always say things like that then,” Chris says.

Stiles smiles happily, slipping his hand under his T-shirt to run over his corset, letting himself sink into that lovely headspace Chris put him in this morning. He knows that it’s safe to go there.

By the time they get to the house, Stiles is feeling delicate in the best possible way, everything but Chris and Peter and his own wants stripped away. And the corset. Chris places a hand on the small of his back, guiding him into the house, and Stiles feels like he’s floating.

Peter is sprawled out on the couch with a manuscript, looking at them upside as they come into the room. He reaches a hand above his head towards them. “Hey. I missed you.”

“Who?” Chris asks.

“Both of you,” Peter says sweetly.

Chris takes hold of his outstretched hand, leaning over him to give him a kiss. When Stiles doesn’t move, Peter makes a needy little noise, wriggling his fingers that Chris has let go. Stiles smiles, going to kiss him, long and drawn out, craving the intimacy. Peter’s so good at being kissed, at giving exactly what’s required, reading a mood and responding. It’s an underrated talent, the depth of his submission.

“You should bring him home every day,” Peter says when they part.

“I’d love to,” Chris agrees. His hands go to Stiles’ waist, his corset clad waist. “Now what can I do with you?”

Stiles licks his lips, nervous and excited, trying stamp down on the flighty thing that tells him he’s asking too much just by being here. They want him here. They’ve both proved that. He’s not intruding. He belongs.

“You could tighten the corset,” he says.

Something passes over Chris’ face, like he wasn’t expecting that. “You want it tightening?”

“You said it could go tighter,” Stiles says. “I want it tighter. I want you to really pull me in so that it’s inescapable.”

“Okay,” Chris agrees, thumbs rubbing up and down his sides. “Anything else?”

Stiles feels himself blush but he doesn’t shy away. “I’d like to kneel for you. And suck your cock. And maybe have you fuck my face, but not like you do to Peter, I’m not that good.”

“He’s had a lot of practice,” Chris says, looking down at Peter fondly. “My pretty little cock slut.”

Peter looks up at him. “You don’t take me to the clubs to choke on cock as often as you used to,” he says wistfully.

“We can arrange that,” Chris says. “Maybe Stiles would like to come and watch you in action.” He turns his attention to Stiles. “If you’d like.”

Stiles nods. He’s been intrigued by the BDSM clubs since the first time Peter mentioned them when they were messaging on KinkConnect, and as intimidating as they sound, when he hears Peter talk about them so easily, he knows he wants to see them for himself. He wants to explore that side of Peter, even if all he does is watch.

Chris lifts a hand up, stroking the side of Stiles’ face, Stiles leaning into him. “I’d love for you to kneel for me though,” Chris says. “And take my cock in your mouth.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees breathily, knowing that he’s failing to close his mouth but not really caring.

“Anything else?” Chris prompts.

Stiles looks down at Peter whose attention is back on his manuscript, but after a moment he realises he’s being looked at and raise his gaze to Stiles.

“You’re going to drag me into your debauchery?” he asks dramatically. “I’m just minding my own business over here.”

Stiles smiles at him and the softness in his eyes. “You look so comfy.”

“I am comfy, thank you,” Peter responds.

“Can I come snuggle with you?” Stiles asks.

“I suppose that wouldn’t be awful,” Peter says. “If you’re a good boy for Chris, maybe I’ll let you borrow my blanket.”

“He’s always a perfect boy,” Chris says, leaning in to brush his lips against Stiles’ temple. “Now let’s get you squeezed in tight for me, then let’s get you on your knees.”