Chapter Text
Victoria Slaite, AIA, graduated from MIT with a BA in Architecture in 1986. Her earliest employment was with Donovan Architectural in Billings, MT while living off-the-grid near the Red Rock Lakes. It was there Slaite established herself as a name American Architecture with her designs for the Stark Mansion in Malibu, CA. She is most commonly known as the architect of 92-story Stark Tower in Manhattan and for her pioneering work in Mutant Ergonomics.
Slaite credits both her degree and her fame to her connection with Tony Stark. She met Mr. Stark at MIT, where she worked as his typist and assistant until her graduation. After her mutant status was outed as part of the Humans First! 'Know your neighbour' campaign in 1984, Slaite was disowned by her family. Mr. Stark funded the remainder of her education and commissioned her with the design of his Malibu home. In response, the scandal sheets have identified her as his secret lover, bastard half-sister, and/or a robot.
Despite Slaite's reclusiveness, her high-profile architecture work has put her repeatedly in the public eye. As a result, she is credited as a founder of contemporary mutant fashion, pioneering the the blend of modern Arabian and early 19th century British Empire favoured by mutants with touch-activated powers. She has appeared inconsistently in the Power 100 list by Surface magazine, with six mentions in the last 20 years; it is widely believed that a wider public presence would raise her to the standing of Yoko Ono and other perennial members.
-- Famous Mutants: Making it in the Unevolved World, pg 74.
Tony Stark liked corsets. Why shouldn't he? They were engineered underwear. They've given him the illusion of a waist and hips when he walked a documentary crew through his tower as it's lead designer, Victoria Slaite. And, when the time came, fooled SHIELD as 'she' met with them during the re-design of he top floors into Avenger's headquarters.
He remembered Tory's first - a simple affair of black satin lined in cotton voile - clearly. He got it because all too soon puberty would shape him into a man. He got it from Peggy's shop down in the lower East Side, because she never spoke about her clients. He got it because the physical constriction needed to pull off Victoria Slaite was nothing compared to the mental constriction of being the heir to Stark Industries; and he wasn't ready to let her go.
Decades later, After Afghanistan, Tony Stark commissioned his first corsets from a fifth-generation Italian craftsman. Stitched from the same summer-weight wool as the suits they were to be worn with, they bound bruised ribs in place more effectively than any tape while the bone around the arc reactor and his other lingering wounds healed. He'd armored himself in it; the stays holding him tall and strong against the press.
Since becoming Iron Man, wearing his bespoke corsets along with his bruises enabled him to sit through more than one board of director's meeting.
(Back when he used to show up with a drink in one hand and a member of the Swedish bikini team in the other, he'd choosen the most uncomfortable chairs available for the boardroom. They looked fantastic, but, as planned, meetings always adjourned in under ninety minutes. Swapping them out for something comfortable would mean admitting what he did, and that was never happening. Corsets were.)
His measurements were on file with the half dozen fashion houses that did his suits, and these days Peggy came to him in a discreet black car, but Tony was still the only one who bought himself the soft silk undershirts and heavily boned undergarments. When his paramours or one-night-stands did gift him with silk underthings, the were repurposed into lint-free rags for use in his electronics clean room or JARVIS's server core.
"Mr. Stark, the crew from Good Morning America are going to be here in less than thee hours and you're still in a suit."
"Pepper-" he whined.
"They've been hounding Ms. Slaite for months. It's not my fault you agreed," she cut him off, then paused and collected herself. "Finish this up. I need Ms. Slaite in Malibu yesterday."
He wasn't sure why he agreed to meet with the media; but better to do so now than have someone try to crash the Malibu-based review session for the net-zero modular housing he'd commissioned from himself months ago.
Tony showered, shaved, and shaved again. He was headed for the dumbwaiter, towel low slung low around his hips, to see what outfit JARVIS had sent up when Pepper tutted at him.
"Your clothes are on the bed, Mr. Stark," she said.
He looked. He'd never seen them before, but they were perfect.
"Thank you, Ms. Potts," he replied, bussing her cheek and pinching her butt as he passed by. She slapped his ass in return, Extremis giving her the strength to land a smack he'd feel for hours.
"Ms. Slaite," she warned him, "You'll find that for the next 12 hours, until we land in Malibu, that I am the CEO and you are the architectural consultant."
Tony laughed and dropped the towel, both so she could see the red impression of her hand and to start dressing. First a high-necked silk undershirt and matching briefs in a thick midnight blue. Then the matching brocade corset. The laces were just slack enough Tony could close the brass fittings himself. Once clasped, Pepper tugged it into place with practiced fingers, aligning the curves with his frame.
Tony gripped the wrought iron railing on the balcony looking over the penthouse lounge as he presented his back to Pepper. All too soon he could see the room illuminated by flickers of Extremis's orange light as she called on it to pull the lacing tight. So very tight.
"Exhale," she ordered, and her next tug forced the air out faster than he'd intended in an undignified whuff. "Good girl."
"You realise that I could just be a woman, right? That," he waved an arm at the whole setup, "all this is unnecessary?"
"Are you questioning my assistance, Ms. Slaite?"
"Not at all, Ms. Potts. Not at all."
"Smart. Exhale."
He turned to look at himself from all angles thanks to the mirrors in his dressing room; his waist was nipped in, giving the illusion of both a small bust and small hips and yet - even without using Extremis to slim down - no part of the corset cut into him. Pepper must have had it made to measure, something he'd never dared. Men's corsets, yes, but one for crossdressing? He didn't dare breathe a hint of that, lest anyone look to closely at the pictures of his college typist and realise that the barely-legal girl in punk leathers or headscarves was Tony himself. But Pepper; Pepper could procure anything, anywhere, without leaving a scent in the wind for the vultures that circled Tony and SI.
Pepper was waiting for him when he emerged from the dressing room, hijab in her hands and makeup spread across his desk. Deft fingers arranged the cloth tightly around his face, securing it at the side of his face with a twisted brass brooch of the biohazard symbol fused into a trinity knot: mutant. Next came wide-legged pants in blue slate, and a cream colored caftan with a thick band of the same blue at the high-low hem.
He let Pepper's fingers mold his face: the Extremis within him responding to her touch by arching his brows and narrowing his chin. A blink later and he no longer needed the the gray contacts he used to wear behind stupidly thick-framed hipster glasses (although he still wore the glasses, they were part of Slaite's image.) Pepper did his eyes, lining them with a steady hand and applying powder with elegant long-handled brushes. Her delicate fingers buttoned cream gloves up to his elbows, and in the end no hint of Tony remained in the reclusive architect.
"You look beautiful, Ms. Slaite," Pepper praised him. She lifted his head into a kiss, holding him still with a single hand on his bound waist. "Let's get through this dog-and-pony show, and then you'll have six hours on the plane to sell me on the merits of your modular housing."
"Yes Ma'am." Tony replied, cheekily, only to find another swat landed on his still smarting cheek. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about relaxing into a sofa as if he owned he place. Laughing, he let Pepper lead him into the elevator.