Ronan sort of groans his protest to Frank's words, but that sound becomes encouragement instead as Frank finally pushes inside him, steadily, not slow but not enough yet.
"God, fuck me, Frank," he says, still demanding more than asking because he's Ronan.
His eyes are closed, because Frank's hand is over them. Is this easier without looking? Maybe. It's less personal, less embarrassing. He doesn't say things like this.
What would Kavinsky say? Something filthy. He'll never admit to himself or anyone else in a million years that he takes dirty talk inspiration from Kavinsky, but that's what he thinks of.
"I want your cock," he manages. It's a bit halted, stumbling. He really doesn't say things like this, but he wants so badly to do what Frank wants him to.
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"God, fuck me, Frank," he says, still demanding more than asking because he's Ronan.
His eyes are closed, because Frank's hand is over them. Is this easier without looking? Maybe. It's less personal, less embarrassing. He doesn't say things like this.
What would Kavinsky say? Something filthy. He'll never admit to himself or anyone else in a million years that he takes dirty talk inspiration from Kavinsky, but that's what he thinks of.
"I want your cock," he manages. It's a bit halted, stumbling. He really doesn't say things like this, but he wants so badly to do what Frank wants him to.