photophobic | [IC CONTACT]

Kylo might not have noticed, if it wasn't for the unfamiliar, powerful and infectious swell of Murphy's pleasure accompanying Ronan's absence. He might have slept straight through it. But he didn't.
He's been lying in the dark, wrestling with a host of ugly emotions that only seem to grow in intensity the longer he struggles with them— and now, suddenly, Ronan is here. Warm with pleasure Kylo didn't give him.

His chest, his throat, his fingers— they all tighten with a sudden, spiking surge of heated jealousy— and in the space before thought, he's in motion. He rolls over, striking with unnatural speed as he pins Ronan beneath him, both hands and all his weight crushing his shoulders into the mattress.

The pleasant buzz beneath his skin vanishes the moment Kylo moves. It's all too fast. Ronan cries out in alarm, doesn't even understand what's happening until after Kylo's settled on top of him, trapping him. His shoulders ache beneath that grip. His hands claw uselessly at the sheets on either side of him, as if any amount of squirming could possibly shake Kylo off of him. He can't, of course. Despite their matched size, in a contest of strength, Kylo's always victorious.

Let him struggle. Kylo wants him to— any excuse to tighten his hold rather than loosen it, any reason to grind this fury he doesn't want into him.
And fury isn't all he has. Tonight, thick with all the desire that bled out the edges of Murphy's dream, the solid heft of his cock throbbing between their bodies is no empty threat.

He doesn't speak. He isn't thinking enough to speak. He's little more than the teeth and claws sinking into Ronan's skin, dragging over the back of his neck as he ruts against him.

To say that he has no control over who conjures him up in their dreams is probably no excuse. Summoned or not, Ronan's own arousal is obvious to Kylo, who can read every obscene thought that Ronan has ever had about Murphy. He knows that Ronan was fully present in that fantasy, enjoying his softness and his tightness and his innocent fumbling. It's impossible to conceal that he'd considered materializing in Murphy's bed, the way he'd once done with Kylo, to play out the fantasy in his physical form.

The urgent press of Kylo's need, though, tells Ronan that his greatest sin here wasn't going to Murphy, but going to Murphy alone. He's promised all of himself to Kylo, to always be where Kylo needs him to be. In leaving Kylo to wake up alone, he's committed a betrayal.

The punishment may be well-deserved, but Ronan struggles against it, regardless. He can't help it. Kylo's hurting him, and only going to hurt him more, until he gets the satisfaction he's seeking - what he's forced to seek, since Ronan failed to tend to him.

It stops being a fight to escape and starts becoming a fight to accommodate in spite of Kylo's blind fury. Ronan spreads his legs before Kylo has to pry them apart, and he sinks his knees into the mattress for purchase, pushing himself into a better angle for the inevitable invasion. Adrenaline has him shaking.

He's tried. He's tried so hard to be understanding, to be tolerant and generous and all those other things that don't come easily to him, because he knows what it means, for Ronan. To have a full house rather than an empty one. To be wanted, needed, useful. He's swallowed so many pangs of jealousy, crushed down his fears of insufficiency with the deliberate pressure of truths he knows, knows are no less real now than they have ever been, but this? This is too much.

Because he is insufficient. Isn't he. He isn't soft, or innocent. He isn't sweet and virginal, he isn't small enough to fit in Ronan's arms and make him feel the way Murphy made him feel. He's violence. And if that's all Ronan wants from him, so be it. He can be all the worst things about himself, if Ronan wants to find tenderness elsewhere.

He's never taken Ronan like this before, pushing into him like he means to split him apart— the reflected agony has him hissing sharply as he presses and presses and presses, relentless in his demand that the tight heat of Ronan's body give way and let him inside.

The sound that escapes Ronan is an animal thing, a scream like prey snatched up by sharp teeth. He's punctured deep, and the agony lights every nerve on fire, the shock instantly paralyzing. He goes completely slack, all movement now something inflicted upon him rather than his own action and intention. If absolute submission is something Kylo wanted from him, he has it.

Ronan should have expected this. He'd known what he invited into his house, into his bed. He'd never had any illusions about taming Kylo. In fact, he would never have wanted to. But acceptance is one thing and experience is another. He's realizing here, in this moment, that he might not actually be strong enough to survive loving Kylo Ren.

Damned if he won't try, though, even with Kylo slicing through him like a knife.

He has him. With each hard-earned inch, Kylo possesses him, owns him, contains and penetrates him, utterly saturating Ronan's senses. He won't leave room for anything else.

"Tell me," Kylo commands, his breathless voice somehow sharp and rough at the same time as it hisses by his ear. His pulse slams, shuddering through them both. "Tell me, Ronan. Tell me what you want."

Ronan's answer is a wet gasp, his eyes brimming with tears. What does he want? He wants to not have done what he did, to not have hurt Kylo, to not have pushed Kylo to hurt him. Because the assumption that arose from the act is a wrong one. He's never been insufficient for Ronan. He doesn't have to be innocent and virginal in order to be soft or sweet. And even though he's inflicting violence upon Ronan right now, the violence isn't Kylo.

The words, "I want you," shake out of Ronan. Not a plea - he doesn't need to beg for more, with Kylo already invading him - but an assurance. There's never a time he doesn't want Kylo, even when he's drawn into someone else's dream. If it were possible, Ronan would never be without him.

"I want you to know that I'm yours."

"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?"

Edited (le space) 2019-09-23 16:48 (UTC)

This doesn’t have to be happening. Though Kylo’s physically holding him down, Ronan doesn’t have to exist physically at all. He could dissolve into stardust and be gone before Kylo would have a chance to capture his spirit, escape to safety a hundred miles away in a split second, and Kylo couldn’t follow.

So how is it a question? Why is it something Kylo even needs to ask? Ronan is battling every instinct that tells him to fight and to flee, all in favor of remaining with Kylo, who only punishes him more for his dedication.

When he tries to voice even a word of that sentiment, all that spills out of him is a sob. His legs have gone numb, or maybe it’s just that he can’t feel anything but pain anymore. He’s losing everything to it.

He can’t reach out to Kylo, not with touch or words, so he tries to do it with his mind. He takes the searing ache inside him and tries to remember what it’s like when it’s not so hateful. He thinks of their hunger for one another and their relief whenever they’re reunited. And from there, every other moment they share, the ones that have nothing to do with carnal desire and everything to do with being seen and known.

Maybe it’s always been too much to hope that Kylo could love him. Maybe there isn’t enough, in Ronan, to love, and possession was always the nearest thing to love that a creature like Ronan could experience. But, god, how he’s loved being possessed by Kylo. Even if this is what it means. He wants it more than anything.

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--

Whatever it is Kylo's looking for in this, Ronan prays that he finds it. There's something worth destroying him for, and if Kylo comes out of this with nothing else, let him at least have what he so desperately needed.

Until then, Ronan has to suffer with his failure. He should have served with more devotion. He should have loved more faithfully. He should have learned by now. And the worst thing about it is that he knows Kylo won't forgive him. This isn't his penance, what's playing out here. He doesn't come out on the other side of this with absolution. If Kylo hates him like this now, Kylo will hate him forever.

Ronan lays his head down, giving up. The sheets are cold with his tears. He's shaking so bad that it's a miracle Kylo doesn't lose hold of him completely. The kiss to his nape feels like a goodbye. Blindly, Ronan reaches back, and his fingers barely manage to brush Kylo's thigh. It's okay. Ronan still loves the worst of him. And while it doesn't make a difference to a man who doesn't believe in forgiveness, Ronan's sorry for failing him.

This isn't where he'll find what he needs. Not like this. Not in desecrating his sanctuary. Kylo's rough, violent thrusts are little more than the consequence of momentum, now, aimless, useless things. He's thrashing blindly in the dark. And when he feels Ronan reach for him, his breathing breaks in a sharp, choked stop. He gathers himself for one last, futile attempt to make this work, whatever it is he chose to do instead of everything better— but he can't. He can't.

He slumps, heavy on Ronan's back, saturated with all the misery he's caused and gained nothing from, all the evidence of his monstrosity spelled out in Ronan's tears, his trembling, his faithful desire to be comfort for him, even now.

Kylo doesn't believe in forgiveness. Mostly, because if he did, it would be another grace he was built without capacity for, another respite he could never earn.

He doesn't deserve Ronan's fingers tangled in his own, but he can't stop himself taking them all the same.

This is it, Ronan's sure. Kylo can't squeeze the very last use out of him. What's left for him here, if Ronan can't serve the only purpose he was meant for?

He's been in this position before, with Adam, and he'd wondered back then why he couldn't be like his mother. She had lived for no one but Niall Lynch, with indefatigable patience and perfect love, and she inspired it in return. No matter how far he went or how long he was gone, Ronan's father had returned to her with an adoration that never seemed to fade. Niall had never uttered a word of disapproval about his wife, let alone punished her.

What would she have done, if he had?

Ronan's shivering awfully, enough that it's difficult to weave his fingers between Kylo's. He does it anyway, and squeezes so that Kylo doesn't let go.

"I don't want to hurt you," Kylo pushes past his lips, the confession ragged and, he's sure, meaningless, offered in blatant contradiction to his actions. He presses his face to Ronan's back, floundering in the space between what he's done and what he wishes he had done instead.

"I don't-- I don't want to hurt you any more."

Ronan isn't wholly sure that's true. As someone who wants to hurt people often, he hasn't found that the desire fades so quickly. Then again, Ronan isn't the one who stops himself in those circumstances. There's always someone else who steps in to drag him away from his bad decisions.

Probably, if Kylo wanted to keep hurting him, he would be doing just that.

Ronan starts. Stops. Waits until he's sure he can keep his weeping out of his voice. Then he asks, "Why?"

He doesn't know. He's not even certain why he ever wanted to hurt Ronan, any more. If he did, or whether the hurting simply spilled out.

"I want you to want to be with me," he says, his voice thick with bitter misery. "Not fear it."

"I'm not afraid of being with you."

Ronan's fear is, in fact, the very opposite. Which is the reason he's still clinging so tightly to Kylo's hand. Once Kylo decides to go, Ronan won't beg him to stay. He'll hold on for as long as he can, though, before that happens.

"This is the only place I ever wanna be. With you. Wherever you go."

He takes a hitched breath. Every word is bringing him closer to the point where Kylo tells him he's not excused, that he ruined it, that there's no going back. "I'm sorry I made you stop believing it," he continues, trepidatious. "I'm sorry you don't feel it anymore."

"Don't--" he bites off, desperate not to hear any more apologies, all of them humming with guilt on the wrong frequency— but his fingers only tighten their hold on Ronan's, his chest shuddering. His voice drops, low. "He made you feel so good, Ronan. I felt it. You know I did. He gave you only good things. Only pleasure.
And this. This is what I gave you. Why would you choose pain?"

Ronan doesn't understand the question.

"He didn't... He didn't give me anything."

And Kylo knows that. Ronan knows that he does. He's had firsthand experience with it, the difference between Ronan as a dream and Ronan as a boy. When Ronan's a dream, he's everything his dreamer wants him to be. Which means it's something he's giving. Kylo could do the very same thing with him right now, turn him into a dream of absolute ecstasy.

But Kylo made it clear from the very beginning that the Ronan he wanted was the Ronan who's with him now: brittle and broken, sharp-edged and fragile. He's in pain at all times, and yes, Kylo was violent with him, but the darkness doesn't suddenly clear without Kylo in the picture. Even if Murphy were the sun (and he isn't, not in any way), Ronan has a gloom all his own that can only be cleared when he's prevented from being himself.

"What I'm choosing is you."

When Ronan has a choice at all, it's Kylo he wants. Doesn't he know that?

"I chose you already. I chose you forever."

He's quiet and still for a long moment. Just the pounding pulse of his heart, the tight grip of his hand, all the places their bodies are pressed together. The sheen of sweat cooling on Ronan's skin, the dampness of his pillow.

"You have me," he says, pressing the truth of it to Ronan's spine. His lips are soft, but his kiss is unyielding, firm as a seal. His eyes close. "You have... all of me."

And that's the fear, really. He doesn't have anything more, anything better to give. He has nothing left to offer, should Ronan find him wanting. He kisses Ronan's back again, again, hoping somehow he can restore Ronan's faith. He didn't mean to wound it. He didn't.

"Do you understand? You have everything, and I need—" he cuts himself off, sucking in a shuddering breath. "I won't be a mistake. I won't."

Ronan can't figure out where Kylo's going with this. He's certainly not apologizing. He's not even, to Ronan's mind, implying an apology. And Ronan knows damn well that his own apology means nothing to Kylo, so it's not forgiveness, either.

What's most important, though, is that Kylo's speaking in the present tense. These sins aren't so vile that he can't bear to put his mouth on Ronan's skin.

Turning his head, Ronan looks over his shoulder and slides his miserable gaze to Kylo's eyes. He utters weakly, "You can't be a mistake. A mistake is something you do, not something you are."

It took Ronan a while to learn the difference, too.

"Hurt me if you think I deserve hurting. If you don't, then... don't."

Ronan's confusion is hardly surprising— Kylo doesn't know where he's going or what he's doing, only that he wants to change direction.

Admittedly, he might have found even that realisation impossible not that long ago. So many of Kylo's mistakes have been an unwillingness to let go, an inability to see alternatives, a commitment to the chosen path no matter how far from his original goal it begins to twist. But here, slowly, in increments of barely perceptible progress, he's been trying something new.

And sometimes, usually after a painfully confusing struggle, he tumbles forwards several paces at a time.

"You don't," he says. It's a simple thing, at first. But it isn't enough. His gaze drops away, then draws up again as deliberate focus despite the heat of shame. "You don't deserve to be hurt, Ronan. You never did."

Ronan isn't sure he agrees with that assessment, but he knows Kylo isn't telling a lie.

"Okay. Now you know better."

And just like that, a mistake becomes a lesson.

He wishes he could sort his own feelings so easily. Though they've often been rough with each other - sometimes, even, with more brutal results - there's always been a spirit of playfulness to it. He's never felt Kylo hate him before. And he can't seem to get the hatred out of him. The ache inside keeps reminding him.

Ronan lays his head back down. After a moment or two of tortured silence, he says, "Don't leave me like this. I want you to finish."

"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."

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