[It would be warm, Ronan thinks. It would be like this, but tighter. With an edge of danger to it, because he's so big and Noah's so small, and everything is breakable when it's in Ronan's hands. He thrusts again, his fingers curling in Noah's hair and his other palm sliding along Noah's side, feeling sharp ribs beneath it. If he was inside Noah, he would never want to leave. If it feels this good to simply imagine it, attended only by Noah's mouth and his hand, then it would have to be incredible to have Noah completely. Ronan wants to be trapped in the confines of him, squeezed and held and cradled in him, two bodies locked in pleasure.]
[Noah shudders, biting down on Ronan's skin, hard enough to leave a distinct mark. His mind pushes out a litany of curses and praises, and his hand's steady rhythm skips, speeding up without intention. He tries to contribute to the fantasy, but his thoughts are disorganized, just a tangle of image and sensation - the delicious pleasure-pain of sinking down onto Ronan, the unbearable adoration, the slow, stuttered pace.]
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