[Hurricane whines, soft and urgent, as Rye tugs at his nipples - rocks his hips forward, and then back, and then forward again, trying to get Rye to move - to fill him up, to quell that maddening need]

Ah, god - god, yes, do it, I need - touch me, fuck me, fill me up -

[His hand keeps working at his own cock, growing more desperate by the second - long, full strokes from base to tip, twisting a little, now, when he reaches the head. It's intense, if his body language is anything to go by; he twitches and jolts and presses harder into it, half sobbing when Rye takes his hand away from Hurricane's nipple to drink down the vial]

Don't stop - I need - it's eating me up inside, I want it so b-bad -

[He twists around, as best he's able, to see what the delay is - catches sight of those tentacles. His hand stutters in its rhythm; his eyes go wide, and he tries to turn a little farther, need still razor sharp but eclipsed, momentarily, by the surprise]

A-are those, like - ?