[Hurricane makes a soft keening sort of noise, as Rye reminds him of the audience - that they're watching as he falls apart, as he begs, as he works his own cock like he's dying for it. He clenches hard around Rye; his hand stutters to a stop, as though he means to try and tone it down, humiliation rushing through him hot and sudden]
[But he can't - he can't - and it's all of three seconds before he whimpers and has to pick up the pace again, needing it too badly to hold off. The begging, though - that, at least, he can tamp down on, and he turns his face in toward the covers, biting down to stop the words coming out of his own mouth]
[It can't stop the noises, though; he's making needy, punched-out little sounds every time Rye presses forward. His hips are starting to fall out of rhythm, the way they do when he's about to come]
[He goes still and shuddering; his eyes squeeze shut. He whines, high and pleading, teetering on the knife's edge of orgasm, clenching down hard - and still he doesn't come]
no subject
[But he can't - he can't - and it's all of three seconds before he whimpers and has to pick up the pace again, needing it too badly to hold off. The begging, though - that, at least, he can tamp down on, and he turns his face in toward the covers, biting down to stop the words coming out of his own mouth]
[It can't stop the noises, though; he's making needy, punched-out little sounds every time Rye presses forward. His hips are starting to fall out of rhythm, the way they do when he's about to come]
[He goes still and shuddering; his eyes squeeze shut. He whines, high and pleading, teetering on the knife's edge of orgasm, clenching down hard - and still he doesn't come]