Scrungo collars

Leatherwork had never been Magnus' strongest suit, but working for so long in a trade town, he knew his way around more manual arts than the average person.

He knew how to braid long stretches of leather, though nothing particularly fancy. Largely it was just something to do, when the callouses from idle whittling gave him too much trouble.

He knew his fingers kept making the same design with offcuts, over and over, before unravelling or trashing it, but he shook his mind clear of the accumulated warm fuzz before he could think too long on it.

He knew how Lucas loved to /pull/. Always tearing at his clothes and tugging his hair and biting, messy, down the line of his neck. Like something feral. He knew they both liked that, even though neither of them were much good at expressing it out loud.

Regardless of what he knew, it took Magnus a while to admit to himself what he wanted.

He wanted the tight tug of restriction around his neck. Not for the purpose of cutting his breath, but just enough to /feel/.

He wanted to be chained, or bound, /linked/ to Lucas in a way he could display outside of the motions of his body.

He wanted to be /good/; hold still while Lucas used him, dripping against his mouth. He wanted to be tugged closer, to beg, to be used and useful and wanted.

The braided leather collar practically wove itself, in the end. His fingers were never much good at being still, and as he worked the leather, his mind was free to wander. It took a little courage to go through with it, clamp metal finishings on each end and a hearty lock at the front, but Magnus steeled his focus on how delighted Lucas would surely be. His heart pricked, nervous and excited, at the thought.

Leatherwork had never been Magnus' strongest suit. But he knew how to get what he wanted.