Ronan doesn't move to kiss Frank, not because he actually cares about where his mouth has been but because he likes where he's being kissed just fine. He tilts his head so Frank has better access to his neck, like a dog finally trusting someone it doesn't know well with its belly. Maybe it's not that different a thing.

Ronan moves with Frank, reaching for him absently. His eyes close and his hips move with Frank's hand. The lube is cold, but Frank isn't, so it's a balance.

"Yes, fuck," he says, barely a whisper. These admissions of want are hard for him.