The position alone is good. Carmy wants to keep kissing, eye contact, but getting a break from it is also a quiet relief. Richie's arms around him, Richie at his back, just like in the walk-in, that makes him feel safe. He groans softly, leaning back into it like he's being submersed in a hot bath. Closes his eyes. Runs his hand over Richie's ropy forearm.

"Wow," he says, a little unsteady. This is probably the nicest his cock's ever felt. His other hand, he doesn't know what to do with it, but it clenches into a fist and gets pressed to his mouth as he breathes rapidly through his nose, trying to stop anything else stupid spilling out. A whine in the back of his throat instead. Someone else's hand is so good. The lube is so good. He loves Richie so much. Fuck.

He meant it, when he said he was close and just wanted to get there, and being manhandled into an embrace didn't change that any. He still has to really overcome the urge to keep control, to seem cool and mature and good at sex. He's none of those things. He's none of those things, and Richie knows that.

He pries his hand away. "It's really good," he says, jagged. "It's really good, holy fuck, how is this shit so nice?" The lube, he means. He is aware handjobs are fucking nice. But he's still talking, because he can't see Richie
"Faster? Please, I'm so fucking, I'm almost — shit, I'm gonna." Voice cracking, tossing his head back to arch slowly back into Richie, his knuckles drumming the pillow. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, don't stop, don't fucking stop—"

White out. Cum jetting in thick ropes; he really hasn't been jerking off enough. No more words, just choked little noises. Some frenetic movement before he ragdolls, panting.

A thunderclap, the rain a violently loud sussurrus. Carmy blinks, noticing the weather for the first time since he texted Richie. "'S raining?"