Ronan exhales a sound that could be a prayer or a curse, if it had enough form to be a word. He wants to tug at Kylo's hair and capture him like that, with a mouthful of him, but he doesn't. His body quivers with suppressed urge to thrust, an instinct he can barely deny himself. All this soft attention only makes him want more.

But what more could he even take? Kylo has worked his way down and swallowed him up. Any further and he'd be choking, which is no way to reward someone for their effort.

That mouth. He loves that mouth and the way it loves him. Kind or cruel, cushioned or scraping, Ronan will accept any form of worship. He tempers his need by focusing on what Kylo's already given him: slick heat all around him, leaving Ronan keenly aware of every muscle working, from Kylo's tongue to his jaw.

God, he could live here.