Kylo loves this. Loves it. He can feel Ronan trembling, all of him caught and held captive by the simplest movements. He delves deep and Ronan moans. His tongue twists and curls and explores, slipping free to flick wickedly over his hole, teasing as his strong hands keep their firm, solid hold— and he feels it all. The bright, electric surge of his racing pulse, the shivering tear of his breath. Pleasure and the need for more flashing through his nerves.

Here is Ronan. Alive. Here is Kylo's impossible dream in all his flesh and blood, straining and pleading in his grip. Here he is, spread and vulnerable, utterly his to enjoy. His to break and worship. His to ruin and adore.

He laps and suckles at the soft, tender stretch of skin between Ronan's entrance and the heavy weight of his neglected cock, eyes lifting to Ronan's face... and it doesn't take much, to thread in the suggestion. Ronan's hand, serving Kylo's desire to touch him as he dips back down. A slow, luxurious stroke as Kylo's tongue swirls and pushes back inside.