"Don't," he says, even though he started it. "Don't, okay, don't do it, fuck you." Which could be a threat or just reiterating what he wants to do, Richie's kind of lost in the sauce of Carmy up close like this, all muscle and hot skin in the humid closeness of the bedroom, hard cock sliding over this thigh.

Automatically, Richie drops his hand to take hold of him, give him something to rock up into, feeling the length and throb of him in his palm, silky soft skin over the rigid core. A little slick wetness at the head, vulnerability all the way through. Richie strokes him against the grain and kisses his mouth with clumsy abandon.

Then he pulls back all of a sudden, trying to get back under control. Takes Carmy by the shoulders and sort of shoves him towards his own bed.

"Go on, get on there, hurry up before I fucking lose it, man." He's stumbling up on his own words as he says them, already climbing onto the futon -- fuck yeah, he was right -- and grabbing for Carmy again, rolling onto his back and pulling him over, messing up his own instructions just to taste him again. But they have time, at least. Lots of time.