[Kavinsky rolls his hips against him and Ronan's breath comes out in a sharp bite of air that's almost a whine. The friction makes him burn, makes his vision blur for a moment as his body jerks up against him in response. He bites at his bottom lip and it pulls a filthy sort of moan from his mouth. He's aching from the lingering effects of the dream, and having K's hands on him before he could even move had just tipped him straight over the edge into something needy. Or maybe that was just having Kavinsky here, body to body again.
He couldn't quite decide if he was willing to be accommodating about the question or not. The way that he called him sweetheart makes him shiver for a moment, just from the familiarity, from how long it's been since he's heard him say it outloud. The way that sounds move different in dreams. He's pretty sure that if he gives him too much that K wont think there's an end to it. But he's not as sharp as he would have been normally, and he can't entirely resist the urge to encourage it.
He grins, filthy and wicked, teeth just above the swell of his bottom lip as he looks up at him, just a touch of a growl in the back of his throat. Ronan was a mess too, still a wild dog at heart, even if it was less outwardly visible.]
Just shut up and touch me. Fuck.
[He doesn't really expect Kavinsky to actually be quiet, so he leans up and tries to make a more persuasive argument with his mouth- lips and tongue, fingers curling in the short strands of his hair to make it deeper. The way he rolls his hips up against him like a plea, like need. He wants this, wants every sexual suggestion he'd ever thrown back in his face. Ronan feels like he's all heat- like they'd lit a spark between them and now it was burning in his chest.]
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He couldn't quite decide if he was willing to be accommodating about the question or not. The way that he called him sweetheart makes him shiver for a moment, just from the familiarity, from how long it's been since he's heard him say it outloud. The way that sounds move different in dreams. He's pretty sure that if he gives him too much that K wont think there's an end to it. But he's not as sharp as he would have been normally, and he can't entirely resist the urge to encourage it.
He grins, filthy and wicked, teeth just above the swell of his bottom lip as he looks up at him, just a touch of a growl in the back of his throat. Ronan was a mess too, still a wild dog at heart, even if it was less outwardly visible.]
Just shut up and touch me. Fuck.
[He doesn't really expect Kavinsky to actually be quiet, so he leans up and tries to make a more persuasive argument with his mouth- lips and tongue, fingers curling in the short strands of his hair to make it deeper. The way he rolls his hips up against him like a plea, like need. He wants this, wants every sexual suggestion he'd ever thrown back in his face. Ronan feels like he's all heat- like they'd lit a spark between them and now it was burning in his chest.]