Kylo's eyes are dark. He's thinking something over.

"Could you, now," he murmurs, his head turning as he leans in to press his lips to Ronan's inner thigh, moving on a torturously slow trajectory inwards. He captures each fresh inch of pale, tender skin between his teeth, lavishing it with rich, lazy attention before allowing it to escape, tongue soothing and caressing as he moves on.

He's so close, now, nuzzling between Ronan's legs.
"Coffee?" he suggests, lips parting, teeth catching lightly again. His tongue runs in loose, looping figures.