Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10908486.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      SKAM_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Even_Bech_Næsheim/Isak_Valtersen
  Character:
      Even_Bech_Næsheim, Isak_Valtersen
  Additional Tags:
      Mental_Health_Issues, Corsetry, Light_Dom/sub, Porn_with_Feelings, Oral
      Sex
  Series:
      Part 2 of Skam_Sunday
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-05-15 Words: 1554
****** Cling Tightly ******
by riyku
Summary
     Even is more aware of his own body when he's like this.
Notes
     for tebtosca, my fairy godmother.
It was something Even had said once, late at night and curled around Isak in
their bed. The new place hadn't smelled like them yet, crumpled clean laundry
at their feet and most of their stuff still in boxes. They'd been talking in a
wandering sort of way, real slip-stream of consciousness stuff, Even building
grocery lists out loud, Isak giving him shit about never having seen Roshomon
when he fancied himself a filmmaker, the relative merits of yellow versus blue
curtains.
Even had buried his nose in Isak's neck and told him about how he sometimes
didn't want to feel his body, other times was afraid not to. If it had been
anyone but Even, Isak might have made a joke out of it. But he knew Even as
well as one person can know another, had been starting to figure out that Even
was like a riddle that didn't make sense the first time around, would sit in
the back of his mind to be occasionally picked apart, and then one day, while
in the middle of a biology quiz or the bus ride home or halfway through washing
his hair in the shower, it would click. Eventually, all of Even's nonsense
would rearrange itself to make sense.
So Isak had done the one thing he could think to do, rolled Even onto his back
and crawled on top of him, straddled his middle and tightened his thighs along
Even's ribs until Even's eyes grew dark and his cheeks flushed pink and his
hands found Isak's hips.
"When you want to be numb, try and remember this, alright?" Isak had said, and
Even had wrapped those long, brilliant fingers of his around Isak's thighs,
licked his lips and asked him to squeeze harder.
Two weeks later a box had arrived on their doorstep. Nondescript brown paper
wrapping. Even's name printed on the outside in indelible black marker. Even
had opened it, looked at Isak with question-raised eyebrows and Isak had
smiled. A few days after that, Isak had come home with another box and it had
been Even's turn to smile.
                                      ~*~
They don't talk about it. They don't have to. Even needs this. It's understood,
like the way Even will stay in bed for as long as it takes so he will never
again be the reason that Isak wakes up alone.
The corset is black with silver eyelets and hooks, a shock of dark against
Even's ghost-boy skin. Curved, rigid ribbing and a little lace here and there.
Long enough to reach from the center of Even's chest to just above the slight
jut of his hip bones. Custom-made for a tall, skinny kid.
"Breathe out. Hold it," Isak says low, and Even does, lifting his arms up along
the doorframe in their bedroom. It stretches him out, shifts certain things in
the architecture of his body. Isak's fingers are smarter now than when they
started, and he walks them up the criss-crossed laces along Even's spine,
finding slack and eradicating it. Tying it all up with a little double-bow at
the bottom that he wishes he knew how to make prettier, snapping the waistband
of Even's black panties to let him know he's done.
Isak's heart is a bass drum in his ears and he's half-hard already, has been
since Even laid the corset on the bed, arranged the panties and garter beside
it, spread out the stockings like a long anticipated second skin. Now he's
getting all the way there, palming the arch of Even's spine, his artificially
cinched-in waist, the solidity of his body when Isak presses his chest to
Even's back and checks how far his hands can reach around his middle.
Even is more aware of his own body when he's like this. He's always had a sorta
unlikely grace for a guy so tall, a double shot of James Dean swagger mashed up
with the charm of an alley cat, leading-man material tucked away in a low-rent
district of Oslo, but now there's more intent to his movements. The vulnerable
slope of his neck when he dips his head down and turns toward Isak, his elbows
tucked a little closer into his sides. The slow way he breathes and twists to
test the boundaries of the corset.
Isak kisses his shoulder, draws a line along it on the way to Even's neck, his
mouth, a full-body shiver as Even licks into him that he hopes can pass through
skin-tight satin.
"You're not done yet," Even says as he pulls away, tugs on Isak's hair a
little. And fuck if Isak doesn't almost shoot from that alone, from the low
timbre of command in his voice and the roughness at the edges of it. Isak curls
his lips into a snarl, doesn't want to lose the press of Even's cock against
his hip, the taste of him in his mouth.
"The rest of it was your idea anyway," Even points out. He taps two fingers on
Isak's shoulder and immediately Isak drops to his knees, crazy about this guy
in a way he never thought possible, dismantled by Even's downturned gaze and
the sink of his teeth into his bottom lip.
Isak holds the garter belt out for Even to step into, slips it up as slowly as
his pounding heart and damp, sticky cock will allow. When he starts in on the
stockings, Even loses his balance a little, hand finding the back of Isak's
neck to steady himself. He keeps it there long after he has to, towering over
Isak and flexing his fingers into his skin, hand spread huge and possessive at
the base of his skull while Isak fastens the garter with fingers that aren't at
all smart anymore.
The last clip fastened, Isak falls on his haunches, sighs out a quiet moan when
he drags his eyes up Even's body. Even's lips are parted, roses in his cheeks,
something shy in his expression as he calls Isak hot and that's just fucking
ridiculous because here he is, standing there like a dream boy out of one of
those romance novels that Isak's never read. Black lingerie like an inkblot on
fine bone china.
Even takes a half-step toward him and Isak meets him there, tips forward to
kiss the soft, bare skin right above the stocking, nuzzles into the cut of his
thigh and breathes in the scent of him. Isak's fucked up over the jump of
Even's hips and hot bulge of his cock against his cheek. Undone entirely by the
small breathless sounds Even makes as Isak mouths at him through the panties,
turns them a darker shade of black, gets them good and wet before he pulls them
down just far enough to get at Even's cock.
There's no time for teasing, to smudge the tip of Even's cock along his lips,
let it slap against his tongue until Even's squirming and cursing and asking
for it in all the prettiest ways he knows how. Right now Isak is one touch away
from getting off, maybe less than one touch. Fucking teenage libido. Fucking
Even, and he swallows him down, grappling at the edge of the corset, fingertips
sneaking under it, Even's skin beneath it slippery with sweat.
Even tastes as good as he smells, best thing Isak's ever known, invading his
mouth like a bright shock. Isak hums into it and Even's hips lunge forward, his
cock huge and slick and hot in Isak's mouth, cutting off his air and nudging
into his throat. Even paws at the back of Isak's head, holds him there, a moan
rattling out of him as he backs up a fraction and slides in again.
Even slams in further, groans a little louder, goes deeper until Isak's nose is
buried in his pubes. Isak's jaw might come unhinged and his throat is raw, his
knees are burning like a motherfucker and his orgasm almost doesn't register,
it all feels like a fresh slice of heaven, like something's unlocking in him
that he never knew was there.
One more thrust and Isak flattens his tongue around Even, come shooting down
his throat and making a sloppy mess of his chin, his whole body trembling with
the effort off keeping him on his feet.
Even gives up, sinks down in front of him, rips the stockings all to hell and
doesn't seem to notice. He's panting, kissing the corners of Isak's mouth
between gasps. He hasn't stopped shaking. Neither of them have.
"I can't fucking breathe," Isak says, and wipes at his chin with the back of
his hand.
"Yeah," Even says. He laughs and it sounds so vital. Happy. Present. "Me
neither."
                                      ~*~
The ribbing always leaves marks on Even's flesh, slender red lines that stand
out against the paleness of his skin on his sides, two on his back and two more
on his stomach. Later, Isak will trace them with his lips, draw his fingers up
and down them, make Even giggle and squirm and still not push him away. He'll
think about the other marks as he watches them fade and slowly disappear, those
marks that live on the inside, the ones that sunlight never hits. Maybe they'll
fade too. Maybe they won't. At least he can see them.
--end
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