[The words grow more urgent, amping up in pitch and desperation, interspersed with a frantic sort of keening; Hurricane shakes, the lithe lines of his body drawn up taut like a bowstring about to snap]

Rye - ah, jesus, that's - please, there, nnnn, god - !

[The stream of endless pleas and encouragement falters, when Rye shifts his fingers to work against that spot inside harder still. Hurricane's mouth falls open in a soundless gasp, his own hand keeping the pressure Rye set against his nipple, pinching and twisting like if he only tugs hard enough, it will be enough to get him off]

[When Rye pulls back all the way, Hurricane's cock twitches and throbs, new precome slicking the shaft]

Wait - wait, wait, don't stop - don't stop, I gotta -

[And then Rye's taking him in again, and Hurricane makes a sound that's pure need]

[His hips have fallen out of rhythm again - shallow, jerky motions that falter to a stop as everything draws up tight and trembling, cock pulsing hard against Rye's tongue. The words are frantic, this time, almost incoherent]

Please - ahh, almost - please, please - just - just a little more -

[And still he doesn't come]