[He's whimpering, as he comes down from the edge of orgasm, high and needy and plaintive]
[But he doesn't come down, is the thing. The relief just doesn't come, and he bites down harder on the bed covers, cock twitching desperately in his hand. It pulses hard, as though it didn't get the memo - as though it's offering him some release, instead of just squeezing another long strand of precome from the tip]
[The whimpers grow more urgent, higher-pitched; he flushes dark at Rye's words, because Rye's right. He does want it - does need it. It feels like torture not to be stroking off his own cock, even if what he really wants is Rye's hand instead. He stutters back into motion, beginning to fuck into his own fist again, humiliation churning hot and bright inside him at the thought that the audience is seeing just how desperate he is]
[But he needs it - needs it - needs it - and his hand picks up its pace again, thumb catching at the spot on the head with every stroke and making him shudder and shake. Every inward thrust from Rye feels incredible, fills him up inside and scratches that awful, unbearable itch]
[It's inevitable, really; without time to come down, it's seconds before he's on the edge again, clenching down hard as his whole body goes tight and trembling, straining for a release that doesn't come]
no subject
[But he doesn't come down, is the thing. The relief just doesn't come, and he bites down harder on the bed covers, cock twitching desperately in his hand. It pulses hard, as though it didn't get the memo - as though it's offering him some release, instead of just squeezing another long strand of precome from the tip]
[The whimpers grow more urgent, higher-pitched; he flushes dark at Rye's words, because Rye's right. He does want it - does need it. It feels like torture not to be stroking off his own cock, even if what he really wants is Rye's hand instead. He stutters back into motion, beginning to fuck into his own fist again, humiliation churning hot and bright inside him at the thought that the audience is seeing just how desperate he is]
[But he needs it - needs it - needs it - and his hand picks up its pace again, thumb catching at the spot on the head with every stroke and making him shudder and shake. Every inward thrust from Rye feels incredible, fills him up inside and scratches that awful, unbearable itch]
[It's inevitable, really; without time to come down, it's seconds before he's on the edge again, clenching down hard as his whole body goes tight and trembling, straining for a release that doesn't come]