[He moans, softly, as Rye works more of the suit down - as those strong hands take hold of his ass to bring them into closer contact]

[He's panting by now, hands running restless over Rye's chest and shoulders, skimming along his sides and ribcage. The motion is restless, almost greedy, like he needs to touch; he moans again, louder this time, at the combination of the glorious friction and the images painted by Rye's words]

A-aah. Jesus, dude. I ain't - I ain't gonna last, if you keep talking like that.