"Jesus, Richie," Carmy says, pained. It's so much easier when they're squabbling, or just swearing back and forth at each other — he can even handle the full chest burn of the love yous because that's never been in question, Richie said "I love you" to him when he was like, five, he has an early memory of being deeply shook by it. He's moved past letting that overwhelm him, maybe even takes it too much for granted. The praise, though. The compliments about his body, about how hot he is, he doesn't have any defenses against that.

"If I put my fingers in your mouth will you shut the fuck up?" Carmy says, pained. "Fuck me. And hey, how come you've got such a nice dick, huh? How the fuck is that fair?" Giving a little of his own back because he's all flushed pleased and doesn't know how else to deal with that feeling. "Like, it's fucking big, man. I felt you the whole rest of the day last time. Look at this." Though if he actually looks it's just Carmy's tattooed hands on him, stroking him off. "You gonna fuck me with this, Richie? Til we get it perfect? Or are you just gonna lie there while I do all the actual work."

A little bit of a low blow, but he'd like to motivate Richie into really nailing him to the futon, even in sappy fucking gay missionary.