Frank only hummed against Ronan. There was nothing else to do, after all. His mouth was occupied, his hands busy holding Ronan at the ankle and stroking him teasingly. This was a lovely place to be, a lovely thing to do. Ronan was pliant but not limp or overwhelmed, just at that lovely stage of letting things happen to him.

Between filthy swipes of the tongue and vulgar presses in against the tight ring of muscle, Frank murmured quiet praise to Ronan's skin. Like he could breathe it into him, make him believe that he was a desirable thing.