"I'm not going to leave you," Kylo murmurs, seizing onto Ronan's words as they break through the silence left in the wake of his stunted and deformed understanding of apology. I'm not going to leave you. Like this, or at all. He's inside Ronan. They're inside each other. And, he thinks, it should be clear by now— for better or worse, this is what he is. He'd destroy Ronan before he'd leave him.

Maybe that's what Ronan needs to understand. Maybe that one, dark constancy he has to offer would be more safety and security than any number of strained attempts at kindness. Kylo shifts, drawing himself up, deeper, leaning in to Ronan's ear.

"You're mine," he reminds him, almost more threat than promise. His hips roll, slow. Fresh heat shudders up his spine as the words sink into him, too. Does Ronan know what it means, to belong to him? To be his prize? "You're mine. And I'm never letting you go. Never. No matter what you do. Who you turn to. You belong to me. Pain or pleasure. And I am never giving you up."