Kylo shudders with it. The howling fury of being so, so far removed from what he wants. He wants to be pleasure, not pain. Safety, not destruction. Stability, security and refuge, not chaos, crisis and torment. He wants, so much, to be restoration. To be everything Ronan is for him. He aches to be where Ronan turns for solace.

And here he is, tearing and shredding into him instead. Destroying him, because he can't bear not being what he needs. He doesn't know how to stop. He's never, ever learned how to stop.

He trembles, dropping a furious, blunted kiss to the back of Ronan's neck where the intricate black-inked maze of his tattoo gives way to pale, tender skin. It hurts. So much. Everything hurts. It was so good, what they had. Wasn't it? It was so precious, so perfect, so rare, and all he had to do was be gentle, to preserve it. Such a small thing. Just choose to be gentle. He'd do it better. If he could. If he could go back, why is there never, ever a way back--