[By all indications, Hurricane isn't going to last even if Rye isn't talking like that. His thighs are drawn up tight and trembling, the way they get just before he finishes; he makes a sound into the kiss as Rye slots their erections together, finally getting the angle just right]

[The kiss is urgent now, a little clumsy; the hands on Rye's chest come back down, both palms grazing over his nipples, this time. Hurricane's hips work almost feverishly, rubbing up against Rye with absolute abandon]