[It's incredible; it somehow isn't enough. Every wet motion from Rye's throat or press of Rye's fingers make him sure - sure - that all he needs is one tiny touch to push him over the edge. His words grow increasingly disjointed: desperate pleas, and Rye's name on trembling lips, and how good it feels, and how he needs just a little bit more]

[When Rye pulls back, he groans like he's dying - shudders up toward him, hips coming up off the bed, trying to get his mouth back, or those fingers, or something - anything, to tip him over the edge]

Aah, jesus, n-no, don't - don't stop. I'm so close, I just - just need -

[Then Rye speaks, and Hurricane's eyes flicker up toward his face. His eyes go wide as realization dawns, and desperation with it. His cock twitches hard, a new drop of precome sliding down the slick length of it]

That - o-oh my god, it's - I can't, it's gonna make me crazy. I g-gotta - jesus, even the thought makes me wanna - I - I'm right there -

[He's reaching for his cock, then, not even the audience enough to keep him from trying to finish himself off. He takes hold and begins to stroke like he's dying for it, the whine that leaves him as soon as he takes hold some mix of relief and frustration]