"Delayed resonance," echoes Carmy. "Delayed fucking... that's not a thing." He's angling his groin and thighs so he can roll against Richie in tandem with his movements. Fucking insane how well their bodies work together, knowing how to give and take, he's never felt anything like it. It's nice, too, a little warm space between them, the sound of rain. "Why do you, why do you say such stupid bullshit. Delayed resonance. It's gonna be good right now, cousin."

He's not gonna admit how Richie is here because Carmy couldn't stop thinking about the walk-in tryst, how at the end Richie swooped in and pressed their mouths together quick and rough. It had still burned on his lips all the way through to Sunday close. Delayed resonance. He kisses Richie again.

"Anyway," he says, winning an argument that's not an argument. "You're the only person who's ever fucked me. So you're just competing against your own record, right?" Pressing his sweaty forehead, limp curls sticking, to Richie's, and finally reaching down to use his hands, letting himself explore, thumb his shaft, sticky, cup his balls and roll them in strong, precise fingers. Warm and heavy. He wants to bury his face in them. Probably they should be moving on but Carmy's moved past urgency and is — playing, maybe. As if that's a verb he understands, Experimenting might be a better word, all focused perfectionism.