Kylo's eyes aren't quite sightless, as they stare back. They aren't empty. Rather, they're one part of a boundless network of eyes, one iteration of a conglomerate entity, a matrix of sense that chooses Ronan as its focus. That's the difficulty that comes with an awareness of the Force— or at least it had been, before Kylo had learned how to select one shape over another.
He reaches, still, for Ronan. Everything tied into his will reaches for Ronan. He holds onto him with his hands, a hundred, thousand blades of grass. He digs up through the soil towards him. He groans and begs with the weight of all the air around them, rushes into Ronan's lungs, seizes him by the arms and nerves.
He knows how to do it, somewhere, how to know which parts of the whole are meant to be his— but it becomes so much harder when everything responds to his desires without offering resistance.
"Help me," he gasps, holding tighter and tighter. He presses in on all sides.
Ronan would utter a similar plea. All he manages is a soft sound of alarm, or maybe agony, as Kylo takes hold of him. It's difficult to tell what part of him Kylo has seized, because Ronan suddenly can't discern the difference between his mind or his body. Possibly, Kylo's found his soul itself and claimed it.
There's no chance to ask for mercy before mercy becomes a thing Ronan can no longer imagine. Help me. Of course he will. However Kylo chooses. And if what Kylo's chosen now is to tear apart the very fabric of his dreamstuff, his nothingself, the idea formerly known as Ronan Lynch - will it help if he ceases? Does Kylo want to absorb his energy?
Ronan doesn't fall like a body. He rains against Kylo like a shower of stars.
It does help. Ronan's melting surrender helps, the same way all pain does— marking a choice that shouldn't have been made. The absence where Ronan's body once was has a defined shape, now, and he wants it back.
He builds it back together with the desire. This is the point he chooses as reference. Everything else can fall into place relative to his need to have Ronan with him.
"No," he thrums urgently, the thick sound of the word falling from his mouth as the thought of it saturates the atmosphere. No, not like that. He doesn't want Ronan consumed. He flows around his border, now, rather than crushing in. "Look at me. Only me. Help me."
And just like that, Ronan is there again, although the abruptness of his reintegration leaves him all the more disoriented. Another pained sound escapes him, like he's just been kicked in the chest with a heavy boot.
Kylo desperately needs him to do something. And he can't.
Intent takes him by the jaw and turns his face up to Kylo, forcing his eyes to focus their gaze on this single target. He thinks Kylo might be hurting him. Or he's hurting himself, for Kylo.
Kylo's distress as he struggles with the question manifests in agony. He inflicts and experiences it, his hands grasping Ronan's shoulders as his dark, terrified eyes lock on Ronan's.
"Show me," he pleads, sharp with desperation. "You- you see me. You know. Show me."
Ronan reaches up, gripping Kylo's forearms as if at any moment he might try to pry Kylo's hands off him. But that's not what he wants. He holds on, even while Kylo's holding onto him. Hard enough to bruise. Soon, maybe, hard enough to shatter bones.
Ronan stares into his eyes. It's true: Ronan sees him. All the beauty and the horror of him. He is such a magnificent, wretched creature, and Ronan adores him. Gazing at Kylo now, despite the pain, adoration is all Ronan wants to show him. He presses in to catch Kylo's mouth, mirroring the desperation, compelled to show him just how beloved he is.
Kylo kisses him like a meteor impact. A car crash. Yes, he pleads, even as his fingers dig into Ronan's shoulders like he means to sink them into him as impossibly deep taproots, even as he pushes his suffering into him in every way his frenzy knows how. Love me. Love me, love me, love me.
And it begins to work.
Ronan's mouth moving against his and the grip of his hands on his skin are a reminder: these are his physical boundaries. This is the edge of his container. His eyes flicker shut— and when his grip loosens, even a fraction, the aggregate volume of pain flooding his senses dims in response. It's a breath later that he grasps the reason why and makes an attempt to ease back.
"Ronan," he whispers against his lips. Shivers. Presses. "Don't stop, don't ever stop, promise me. Swear it, Ronan..."
This is a geas that comes to Ronan so naturally, it would never occur to him that the sentiment is being pressed upon him rather than blooming inside him. Beneath the surface, though, certain doubts he might have held instantly slide out of the back of his mind, and something else locks in their place.
"I swear," he whispers, terrified. Why would Kylo even say that? Is he leaving?
Now it's Ronan who's holding on tighter, crushing their mouths together, silently begging him not to go. To be here with him, instead. To stay. He can't bear to love someone like this from afar. The fear alone makes him want to scream. He would, if he wasn't preoccupied with these feverish kisses.
Kylo's fingers peel away from Ronan's shoulder to slide through his hair, a gentle and soothing touch that pairs with this fear of abandonment, somehow. It's an instinctual knowledge, a memory, a response to the terror of that unvoiced question called out from somewhere in the past— Ronan's past, maybe. Kylo doesn't think it belongs to him.
He has Ronan's head cradled in his hand. His other raises, mirroring the first to frame Ronan's face. Does Ronan remember this? Kylo thinks he does. The smooth, claiming caress of his thumbs over Ronan's cheekbones is like slipping back into the mould he was cast from.
"You're mine," Kylo murmurs in rediscovery, a sudden, shuddering burst. "All of you. You belong to me."
An old assurance to counter an ancient fear. The reminder does help. He only needs the reminder often, because it's a situation that's subject to change. He has belonged to so many people, so many people who asked him to love them for eternity then left him behind.
Ronan shuts his eyes, leaning into that touch. It gives him the strangest feeling of being led home. Not home like the Meadows or home like the Barns, but home like Cabeswater. Like a dream. Like the dream they built together nearly nine months ago. And Ronan realizes that Kylo, then, can't possibly be leading him to a farewell. It's the opposite. Kylo is dragging him toward their forever.
"I'm yours," Ronan confirms. Even with his eyes closed, the world feels like it's spinning around them. There's a pressure in his skull forcing his attention away from anything else, fixing it on Kylo's words.
Was it even in question? Kylo's ownership of him. Ronan wants nothing but to serve him. He exists for Kylo. He will end without Kylo. Every molecule of him is devoted to granting Kylo's wishes. It's his greatest joy to give Kylo exactly what he wants.
That's better. That's so, so much better. This is what Kylo wants to be— Ronan's refuge. The place Ronan belongs. He breathes out, slowly, drawing Ronan to himself and kissing the crown of his head as he wraps his arms around him, warm and heavy. Protective and possessive. As long as he has Ronan, as long as he can feel that love, that pleasure of devotion, nothing else matters.
"And I'm good to you," Kylo adds softly, pressing it into Ronan's hair. His head. His thoughts. "I'll always be so good to you, Ronan. Everything you need. Anything. You know I'll give it to you."
Ronan submits gratefully to that embrace. Kylo's the cure to his dizziness. This orients him, getting closer, allowing his thoughts to be led. The less he struggles - the more he trusts Kylo to guide him - the easier it gets. The pressure tapers off. The kisses and words whispered into his hair stabilize him, until everything is still and silent except for the two of them.
"Thank you," Ronan whispers, nuzzling against his savior. His arms encircle Kylo, anchoring his body against him. These are all obvious statements, yet it's so soothing to hear them spoken aloud, like a vow. Ronan believes every word without question.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He reaches, still, for Ronan. Everything tied into his will reaches for Ronan. He holds onto him with his hands, a hundred, thousand blades of grass. He digs up through the soil towards him. He groans and begs with the weight of all the air around them, rushes into Ronan's lungs, seizes him by the arms and nerves.
He knows how to do it, somewhere, how to know which parts of the whole are meant to be his— but it becomes so much harder when everything responds to his desires without offering resistance.
"Help me," he gasps, holding tighter and tighter. He presses in on all sides.
no subject
Ronan would utter a similar plea. All he manages is a soft sound of alarm, or maybe agony, as Kylo takes hold of him. It's difficult to tell what part of him Kylo has seized, because Ronan suddenly can't discern the difference between his mind or his body. Possibly, Kylo's found his soul itself and claimed it.
There's no chance to ask for mercy before mercy becomes a thing Ronan can no longer imagine. Help me. Of course he will. However Kylo chooses. And if what Kylo's chosen now is to tear apart the very fabric of his dreamstuff, his nothingself, the idea formerly known as Ronan Lynch - will it help if he ceases? Does Kylo want to absorb his energy?
Ronan doesn't fall like a body. He rains against Kylo like a shower of stars.
no subject
He builds it back together with the desire. This is the point he chooses as reference. Everything else can fall into place relative to his need to have Ronan with him.
"No," he thrums urgently, the thick sound of the word falling from his mouth as the thought of it saturates the atmosphere. No, not like that. He doesn't want Ronan consumed. He flows around his border, now, rather than crushing in. "Look at me. Only me. Help me."
no subject
Kylo desperately needs him to do something. And he can't.
Intent takes him by the jaw and turns his face up to Kylo, forcing his eyes to focus their gaze on this single target. He thinks Kylo might be hurting him. Or he's hurting himself, for Kylo.
Help me.
"How?" he gasps.
no subject
"Show me," he pleads, sharp with desperation. "You- you see me. You know. Show me."
no subject
Ronan reaches up, gripping Kylo's forearms as if at any moment he might try to pry Kylo's hands off him. But that's not what he wants. He holds on, even while Kylo's holding onto him. Hard enough to bruise. Soon, maybe, hard enough to shatter bones.
Ronan stares into his eyes. It's true: Ronan sees him. All the beauty and the horror of him. He is such a magnificent, wretched creature, and Ronan adores him. Gazing at Kylo now, despite the pain, adoration is all Ronan wants to show him. He presses in to catch Kylo's mouth, mirroring the desperation, compelled to show him just how beloved he is.
no subject
And it begins to work.
Ronan's mouth moving against his and the grip of his hands on his skin are a reminder: these are his physical boundaries. This is the edge of his container. His eyes flicker shut— and when his grip loosens, even a fraction, the aggregate volume of pain flooding his senses dims in response. It's a breath later that he grasps the reason why and makes an attempt to ease back.
"Ronan," he whispers against his lips. Shivers. Presses. "Don't stop, don't ever stop, promise me. Swear it, Ronan..."
no subject
"I swear," he whispers, terrified. Why would Kylo even say that? Is he leaving?
Now it's Ronan who's holding on tighter, crushing their mouths together, silently begging him not to go. To be here with him, instead. To stay. He can't bear to love someone like this from afar. The fear alone makes him want to scream. He would, if he wasn't preoccupied with these feverish kisses.
no subject
He has Ronan's head cradled in his hand. His other raises, mirroring the first to frame Ronan's face. Does Ronan remember this? Kylo thinks he does. The smooth, claiming caress of his thumbs over Ronan's cheekbones is like slipping back into the mould he was cast from.
"You're mine," Kylo murmurs in rediscovery, a sudden, shuddering burst. "All of you. You belong to me."
no subject
Ronan shuts his eyes, leaning into that touch. It gives him the strangest feeling of being led home. Not home like the Meadows or home like the Barns, but home like Cabeswater. Like a dream. Like the dream they built together nearly nine months ago. And Ronan realizes that Kylo, then, can't possibly be leading him to a farewell. It's the opposite. Kylo is dragging him toward their forever.
"I'm yours," Ronan confirms. Even with his eyes closed, the world feels like it's spinning around them. There's a pressure in his skull forcing his attention away from anything else, fixing it on Kylo's words.
Was it even in question? Kylo's ownership of him. Ronan wants nothing but to serve him. He exists for Kylo. He will end without Kylo. Every molecule of him is devoted to granting Kylo's wishes. It's his greatest joy to give Kylo exactly what he wants.
"All of me belongs to you."
no subject
He breathes out, slowly, drawing Ronan to himself and kissing the crown of his head as he wraps his arms around him, warm and heavy. Protective and possessive. As long as he has Ronan, as long as he can feel that love, that pleasure of devotion, nothing else matters.
"And I'm good to you," Kylo adds softly, pressing it into Ronan's hair. His head. His thoughts. "I'll always be so good to you, Ronan. Everything you need. Anything. You know I'll give it to you."
no subject
"Thank you," Ronan whispers, nuzzling against his savior. His arms encircle Kylo, anchoring his body against him. These are all obvious statements, yet it's so soothing to hear them spoken aloud, like a vow. Ronan believes every word without question.