[His breath catches, as Rye spreads that dollop of precome across the tip of his cock, hips hitching forward into the teasing circles]

I - I ain't saying it's too long. Just saying - just saying it'd make me crazy.

[By the look on his face, he hadn't intended to say that; he flushes darker still - ducks his head, and seems to find something very interesting about the wrinkles in the blankets. When Rye starts to talk about the aphrodisiac plans, he shifts and squirms, hips coming all the way up off the mattress when that nail scrapes his nipple]

J-jesus. That's - yeah. I wanna - yeah. I want you to - to do what you want, as many times as you want, till I can't take it no more. I wanna be so worked up I can't stand it, and - and you just doing whatever feels good.

[The flush has crept all the way to his chest, by now; his words, rushed and breathy, are pitched to be too quiet for the gathered spectators to hear]

[He opens his legs readily when asked - flushes, when he's reminded that they're being watched, and goes to close them again, only catching himself at the last moment. He leaves them where they're placed, though he trembles with the effort, eyes averted and posture self-conscious]

[Then Rye's busy leaning down, and there's wet heat lapping at his cock, and Hurricane can't tamp down the little whimper of pleasure that leaves him. His hips jackknife up off the mattress, and he reaches instinctively for Rye's hair, to try and encourage more]

Oh, jesus. That feels so good. Your mouth is so g-good, keep - keep doing that.