Her mouth drags open across her arm, flung up over her head. The pleasure of the sensations is strange, she had been unable to explain it to Stark when it had tangled up the four of them and she is not sure Kylo could put words to it either. She can feel Ronan's, warm and wet and inviting, on her body but not. The senses are real and physical, but she's not sure if her groan or the way her legs splay further open to accommodate a body that isn't there is really her own.

She can see how Kylo might get so drunk on Ronan's service, but he was still thing, a means to an end.

Or is it perhaps just jealousy? How easily an outsider slid into Kylo's arms, mind, and bed while the strings of fate that bound them together often felt more like thorns digging into each others skins or shackles they'd grind down their teeth on trying to gnaw off.

It strokes her own possessiveness. They will never be free of each other, and each day he plays this game is just another day he denies the inevitability of where he truly belongs. For all that Ronan is, he will never be Kylo's other half. She slips her hand between her thighs fingers drawing agonizingly light circles to remind him of that.