[The urgency only increases, when he notices that Rye's hands have strayed between his legs to give himself attention, and Hurricane whimpers, fucking into the wet heat with something very close to desperation]

O-oh my god. You feel so good.

[The fingers in his hair haven't let up, but they're not actively tugging, this time - just holding on, steady and firm, as he chases the peak of pleasure he needs so dearly]

How are you so good?