[Hurricane flushes a darker red, at being called out for being so ready to be filled - for being so eager. Because he really, really is. He's aching for it, even before the pheromones, hands fighting to break Rye's hold right up until Rye relents and closes Hurricane's fingers around his own cock]
[He shudders into his own touch, hips bucking forward - whines, long and low, as his hand begins to stroke. They're firm strokes, steady, the kind designed to get someone off fast]
O-oh, jesus. Yes, yeah, that - do it, put it in me, I'll - I'll make it good for you. I'll keep trying, I'll - I'll make myself real tight for you. I wanna - wanna keep trying. I'm so close I can taste it, jesus, please, put it in -
[And then Rye's pushing in, gentle, and he moans in relief, spreading his legs a little wider, wordlessly begging for more. He's not on the edge again just yet, thanks to the brief break, but he shakes and trembles with every stroke of his own hand - with the sensation of being filled]
[It's obvious, as soon as the pheromones kick in. He goes very still, breath catching in his throat, and the whine that leaves him is high and urgent]
That's - o-oh my god. I can f-feel it. You - you turned em on. You - g-god, it's - I want it, please, I - I need m-more.
[His hand works feverishly; his fingers smear a fresh trail of precome along the length of his erection, leave it slick and red and straining. The motion of his hips stutters for an instant, and he breaks the rhythm, too intent on getting Rye the rest of the way inside him to match the pace of his own hand just now]
P-please, I need you deeper. Keep - keep going, please, it feels - I need it so bad -
no subject
[He shudders into his own touch, hips bucking forward - whines, long and low, as his hand begins to stroke. They're firm strokes, steady, the kind designed to get someone off fast]
O-oh, jesus. Yes, yeah, that - do it, put it in me, I'll - I'll make it good for you. I'll keep trying, I'll - I'll make myself real tight for you. I wanna - wanna keep trying. I'm so close I can taste it, jesus, please, put it in -
[And then Rye's pushing in, gentle, and he moans in relief, spreading his legs a little wider, wordlessly begging for more. He's not on the edge again just yet, thanks to the brief break, but he shakes and trembles with every stroke of his own hand - with the sensation of being filled]
[It's obvious, as soon as the pheromones kick in. He goes very still, breath catching in his throat, and the whine that leaves him is high and urgent]
That's - o-oh my god. I can f-feel it. You - you turned em on. You - g-god, it's - I want it, please, I - I need m-more.
[His hand works feverishly; his fingers smear a fresh trail of precome along the length of his erection, leave it slick and red and straining. The motion of his hips stutters for an instant, and he breaks the rhythm, too intent on getting Rye the rest of the way inside him to match the pace of his own hand just now]
P-please, I need you deeper. Keep - keep going, please, it feels - I need it so bad -