[Hurricane's breath catches as the tentacles inside him push deeper - stutters and then picks up again with quick, shallow breaths]

[He squirms against the intrusion - against the feeling of being so full - against the twin tendrils inside him, so much thicker than before and pressing so much deeper. When one of the appendages pulls his hand away from his erection, he outright whimpers, tugging against the hold to try and break free. His cock is a deep red by now, so hard it aches; it's slick with precome, and even now it twitches, a new drop falling free to damp the comforter beneath]

W-wait, don't - you gotta - you gotta let go of my hand. I need - I need something touching me, lemme - lemme rub off -

[When Rye maneuvers him so that they're facing each other, Hurricane whines in desperation, struggling hard against the hold of the tentacles. The sheer sight of it - of Rye stroking his own cock, slow and leisurely - feels like a bolt of lightning crashing through him, all heat and coursing electricity. His cock jerks hard, oozing new precome, the pounding pulse of need from the pheromones so sharp and insistent that he's gasping with it. He begins to squirm in earnest, now, trying to press back against the tendrils inside him or to get some friction from the one frotting between his thighs]

Rye, I - I can't - Oh my god, I need - t-touch me. Please, I need your hand. I need you to stroke me off - god, please - please -