[Ronan is not a boy built for patience, especially not like this, not when his skin is smoldering and he feels like raked-over embers, all raw and burning. And K takes his time, his finger slick as he moves that single digit inside of him. He gasps at the way that his mouth presses to his stomach, then drops to his hip, Ronan's voice shifting into a helpless sort of whine as the other boy bites against his skin. Not hard enough to mark him, but enough that he could feel it. And Ronan was every bit as weak for biting as all of K's dog jokes had ever implied.
He can't help being frustrated, even if it's out of consideration. He feels like he's vibrating with desire. But K licks against his dick and his head goes blissfully blank for a moment. It makes him pliant as the other boy adds another finger, and Ronan lets him press it into his body, his breath uneven and already sort of wrecked. The friction of it, the slick slide of his touch is an ache, and he's hungry for it. His heartbeat is all need, and he lets himself trust that K knows what he wants, and wont be too much of a jerk to give it to him. It's a sort of trust that comes from shared dreams.
He's on edge with anticipation, soft murmurs and whimpers with every shift of his hand. Those dangerous blue eyes clouded ever with desire and lust, all of it for Kavinsky. He'd told him that life wasn't drugs and sex the last time he'd seen him, and his body arches into his touch like an invitation to show him why he was wrong.
Roan moans, helpless at the way his teeth bite into his thigh and it leaves him shivering. That one he thinks will mark, at least for a day or two, hard enough that it makes his hips jerk, has him pressing back against his fingers. A sort of knot of tension in his stomach as K stretches him, opens him up for him. Ronan tight around his fingers and all flushed and unbelievably turned on. No one's ever touched him like this, and the way K gets him ready is almost brain-melting.
They'd touched in dreams, but it was all metaphor and fantasy, wasn't like this, the reality, how visceral it is with heat and promise. The way that K's fingers inside of him make him feel like his skin is boiling. His voice a mess of muttered pleas, catching and breaking on the words as he trembles, needy.]
no subject
He can't help being frustrated, even if it's out of consideration. He feels like he's vibrating with desire. But K licks against his dick and his head goes blissfully blank for a moment. It makes him pliant as the other boy adds another finger, and Ronan lets him press it into his body, his breath uneven and already sort of wrecked. The friction of it, the slick slide of his touch is an ache, and he's hungry for it. His heartbeat is all need, and he lets himself trust that K knows what he wants, and wont be too much of a jerk to give it to him. It's a sort of trust that comes from shared dreams.
He's on edge with anticipation, soft murmurs and whimpers with every shift of his hand. Those dangerous blue eyes clouded ever with desire and lust, all of it for Kavinsky. He'd told him that life wasn't drugs and sex the last time he'd seen him, and his body arches into his touch like an invitation to show him why he was wrong.
Roan moans, helpless at the way his teeth bite into his thigh and it leaves him shivering. That one he thinks will mark, at least for a day or two, hard enough that it makes his hips jerk, has him pressing back against his fingers. A sort of knot of tension in his stomach as K stretches him, opens him up for him. Ronan tight around his fingers and all flushed and unbelievably turned on. No one's ever touched him like this, and the way K gets him ready is almost brain-melting.
They'd touched in dreams, but it was all metaphor and fantasy, wasn't like this, the reality, how visceral it is with heat and promise. The way that K's fingers inside of him make him feel like his skin is boiling. His voice a mess of muttered pleas, catching and breaking on the words as he trembles, needy.]