[The words are breathless, now, rushed - strung together like he can't get them out fast enough]

God, yes, there, right there, it's - christ, your mouth is so hot, your - your throat is so good, I -

[The words give way to a heartfelt groan; Hurricane's back bows up off the mattress, driving him as deep as he can go. Every part of him goes still and tense; his eyes flutter closed, and his mouth falls open]

[And... nothing happens. His cock twitches hard, buried in the wet heat of Rye's mouth, but nothing leaves it except a new blurt of precome]

[The moan tapers off into a long, wavering whine of frustration, and Hurricane's hips begin to move again, shaky and arhythmic]

Keep - keep going. I'm so close, I -

T-touch me more, I'm almost -