[Ronan couldn't help the way that he whined as Kavinsky slid down his neck, each nip of his teeth drawing a hot sound from his mouth, kisses making him shiver with the warmth. Even if they'd managed to get here before, he never would have been so raw and honest about it. But K had seen his dreams, they'd been in dreams together, all fingers and touch and hands and mouths and pleasure; one creature or two, starved and hungry. What could he possibly have left to hide?
So he lets K hear him, lets himself touch him and cling to him and want in a way that's visceral and burning. They want the same thing, now. K was under his skin, and here and he needed it. He arches into his grip on his dick, the way that he strokes slow, pleasure and friction. But it just makes him want more. And then K is asking about lube and he tries to make his brain work.
He doesn't answer with words, but manages to shift enough that he can tug open the drawer of the side table, and it's lotion and not lube, but it's the closest thing he has. He hadn't exactly planned for this, hadn't exactly done this before. Not like this, where it was real, though K would be forgiven for not noticing that with the tenor of his dreams.]
Here--
[He presses the small bottle into his other hand, a low gasp of want as Kavinsky's mouth presses to his jaw. He looks into his eyes, tugs him up so that he can kiss him, slotting their mouths together again. There's no way to deny that he wanted it, that he was complicit in this. But he couldn't be bothered to give a shit about the aftermath when all he could think of was how much he needed him and how good his hands felt on his skin.]
no subject
So he lets K hear him, lets himself touch him and cling to him and want in a way that's visceral and burning. They want the same thing, now. K was under his skin, and here and he needed it. He arches into his grip on his dick, the way that he strokes slow, pleasure and friction. But it just makes him want more. And then K is asking about lube and he tries to make his brain work.
He doesn't answer with words, but manages to shift enough that he can tug open the drawer of the side table, and it's lotion and not lube, but it's the closest thing he has. He hadn't exactly planned for this, hadn't exactly done this before. Not like this, where it was real, though K would be forgiven for not noticing that with the tenor of his dreams.]
Here--
[He presses the small bottle into his other hand, a low gasp of want as Kavinsky's mouth presses to his jaw. He looks into his eyes, tugs him up so that he can kiss him, slotting their mouths together again. There's no way to deny that he wanted it, that he was complicit in this. But he couldn't be bothered to give a shit about the aftermath when all he could think of was how much he needed him and how good his hands felt on his skin.]