[He's loud, as Rye picks up the pace, even through the tentacle muffling his mouth; the noise he's making sounds suspiciously like a wail, the vibrations from it adding to the sensation of the slick wet heat of his mouth around the tentacle buried down his throat]

[He hasn't stopped trying to move - hasn't stopped struggling to press back onto the tentacles inside him or the ones against his cock - twisting and writhing, the rhythm of his hips shallow and erratic. His nipples are hard little nubs, reddened from the suction; he's still drawn up tight and shaking, back arched like a bow and toes curling, poised as though he's on the very edge of orgasm, inches from tipping over]

[But he doesn't. Instead, he only clenches down harder as the pleasure coils tighter inside him, up and up and up, with nowhere to go]

[And then the tentacles are coming, inside him and against him, and Rye's cock is spilling, too, in a tantalizing display. Hurricane's eyes are wide and desperate as he takes it all in, lashes damp with tears. He clenches down again hard as the show sends another spike of need through him, ratcheting him ever higher; his cock twitches in an agony of want, deep red, the precome spilling over to slick the shaft and the suckers still working at him]

[He makes a wavering, needy little sound as Rye finishes and the pace of the tentacles inside him begin to slow - squirms more desperately against the hold, pleading little whimpers escaping around the tentacle that fills his mouth]