It's very successful in taking Carmy's mind off whether or not this is okay, is what it does to him. A shiver, nipple tightening under Richie's finger. Richie's hands on him, his gaze on him. A bashful little grimace, and he leans in to bump his nose against Richie's jaw, annoyed that he's flattered but always a little too easily swayed by Richie's charisma. He feels — young, doing this, and not in a good way. He's gotten too used to being a genius beyond his years, forgot that outside the kitchen he's nothing.

"You can," he says quietly, "You can do whatever." Coy little all-access pass, though he reserves the right to unearth a lengthy small print terms of service and boss Richie around about it. To get his head back in the game and get back to work instead of fucking around. But later, later.

Right now: another fierce kiss, a little sloppy. "Um. So are you planning to fuck me on the table, cuz, or..."