Jinglejangle
“One of these days you’ll strangle yourself with these,” he had teased Orlando, closing his fingers around the jingling-jangling items dangling from Orlando’s necklaces.”
“Yeah, as you’ll get killed in a swordfight when you keep taking Anduril wherever you go,” Orlando had chuckled against half-opened lips, lazily pulling the shirt down Viggo’s arms.
And sometimes, between sleeping and waking, it’s as if he could still hear those little clinking-clanking sounds when those pendants were slowly gliding down his spine, cool on damp skin, smooth, metallic, when he lay there, opened-up and hungry, and Orlando was just about to fuck him.
