"Do you," Kylo all but snarls, dragging back and tearing deep into him again, gasping with the exertion and the blinding scream of pain leaping in fire through Ronan's veins. His veins. There's no pleasure, in this. It isn't even satisfying, all the suffering he's inflicting, making himself a punishment.

But it's too late now. In his bitterness, the hurt of feeling his attempts at gentleness proven inadequate, he's done what he always does; abandoning it and hurling himself into the opposite. He's ruined it. He's taken a demonstration of union and turned it into something Ronan has to endure. He's made himself into something to be endured. He can't take it back.

"I know you're mine," he hisses. "I know you belong to me. I can have... anything. Take anything I want. But do you."

He slams into him again, vicious. He'd never needed Ronan to give himself, if owning him was all he'd wanted.

"Do you know it? Do you? Are you mine? Do you want to be?"