Trapped in Lace (lgbt)

Ch 1

Mikayla this, Mikayla that. He was tired. His father had always yearned for another son, but the moment he expressed himself as such the world was ending and he was bound for hell. His mother could do nothing but weep as he refused the frills and lace that were too confining, too constricting. She believes it is because as a child he had too much freedom. They cannot begin to comprehend that as a child he could do and be whatever he wanted. As an adult he is forced to be something he is not. He is a man, regardless of what he appears now. He did not have to put up a rouse then, he refuses to put up a rouse now.

"Please," his mama begged.

He had eyed the ruffles with mistrust. He was a simple man, but he would rather die than admit he enjoyed the caress of lace on his skin. It made him weak, it made them right. That in the end and in their eyes, he will forever be a women– nay, a girl.

He knows there is nothing inherently wrong with being female, but it is not who he is.

"I will consider it mama," he had whispered.

"That is all I ask."

With the doors closed he knew he could not stay.

It was the beginning of the season and he was to be married. He was to follow his parents' charade of being something, someone, he is not. He was to be paraded in the hopes of securing a lord of high standing. He would want for naught. But that is not what his heart desired. He desired freedom, love. True and wild.

He bit his lip at the thought. He looked down at himself, he stared at his breasts and hated what he saw. Hated the twists and curls of his hair.

Decided, he grabbed the sheers hidden in his desk.

The sound as the blades snipped and chopped were nothing short of satisfying.

And he stared at his reflection, hair tussled and short, finally feeling right.

A soft knock and a high-pitched voice, "Mikayla?"

He only opens the door because he recognizes the one on the other side, "Victoria."

A sharp gasp and he yanks his sister in before anyone can see him.

"What have you done?" She asks in shock as the door clicks shut.

"Don't you like it?" He wonders with a little proud smile and slow turn on his heel.

"It...It looks wonderful on you si-brother," she sighs, "but why so sudden?"

"I cannot stay Vicky," he explains.

And that is when her eyes stray to the dress displayed on her sibling's bed.

"With Elizabeth wed, I am next in line and the season is nye," he continues.

"What are you going to do?"

"I plan on leaving," he admits, "tonight."

"Mikhail," she tuts.

"I must and you know it."

She does as much as she wished she didn't.

"But where will you go?"

"Far?"

And he hates how it comes out as a question.

"Father will send for you," Victoria warns, "our brothers will make sure you are brought back safely."

"Far it is," he states decidedly, unsure what far actually is.

"Mikhail-"

"I love you, sister," Mikhail states, pulling her into a gentle hug.

She wraps her arms around her elder brother and buries her face in his chest. The gravity of the situation sinking in.

"You have always been by my side, have always believed in me, respected me for who I am. Believe me now sister, that this is for the best," he whispers.

"You must write to me once you are far and safe, you must not forget me, brother. I love you too and wish nothing but the best for you."

"Be strong Victoria, for when I am gone the responsibility will fall to you, and that is my only regret."

"Hush," she soothes, brushing a couple strands away from his soft face, "Have you packed?"

"Not yet," he sighs, melting just a bit.

"Let me help."

In silence they make a bag that can easily be strapped to the mare Mikhail plans on taking. He packs mostly pants he has snatched from his brothers without their knowledge. He packs a blouse or two and sneaks in lace.

He grabs a warm cloak, the last bits of frost melting away with the arrival of Spring, but the nights still beckoning the northern winds.

"They shall be asleep soon," Victoria muses.

"I shall sneak then," Mikhail smiles, feeling lighter than ever before.

"Before you part, I made you something," Victoria says.

She slips from his room and returns with a white cloth.

She urges him to unwrap it and he is confused at what he finds.

"It is a binder, to bind your chest," she explains, "same mechanism as a corset. I altered a plain one after speaking with the modiste for pointers."

Mikhail stares at it speechless. He feels tears well in his eyes and he sniffs to fight them back. A losing battle.

"Oh sister!"

Victoria smiles, flush high on her cheeks.

"Help me?" He asks.

He undresses quietly, leaving nothing but his undergarments. Victoria helps wrap the faux corset right over his chest. She pulls and tightens, and it feels like he cannot breathe, but he has never felt lighter. Happier. Freer.

"Thank you," he whispers hoarsely.

"I will always love you," she promises.

They hug and Mikhail sheds a few more tears as does his younger sister.

When the moon is high.

When the creaks stop.

When the chatter dies.

He slips out from the house that was once his home.

He makes his way around to the stables and soothes his mare. He looks around to make sure no one heard the slight disturbance from the waking horse.

"I'm sorry love," he coos at the beast, "I am putting my freedom on you."

He fastens the saddle and straps his bag before mounting on.

He looks up and follows the moon.

The hooves beating on the ground, the wind whipping around and mussing his short curls, filling his lungs even as the corset tightens around his chest.

This is freedom, he thinks with a smile, this is right.