"Fuck you, cousin. Like, literally." Richie is annoyed and feeling great all at the same time, maybe annoyed because he wants to feel this good always, and it's probably not going to happen like that. He pushes that Carmy-level thought away and focuses on Carmy himself, looking at him with a complicated kind of frown on his face and pink cheeks, adoring him for being argumentative and for calling his dick big.

He grabs Carmy's ass, squeezes it.

"All right. All right. Fuck." Gathering the strength to stop Carmy touching him when he'd quite like to lie there and let him jerk him off. He lifts his hand to Carmy's shoulder, pushes at him. "Lie on your fucking.. Hey, are you like. Ready? Prepped? Did you do the thing with the -- you've got to like, prepare, right?"

As if he does this every day. Richie moves while he talks, peels himself off Carmy so he can sit up, climb over those muscled legs to get between them, picking up the bottle of lube again. Dick sticking out like something ridiculous, trying not to be self-conscious about it, about his skinny forty five year old body. The rain rattles and sighs against the windows; it feels later than it is, but Richie doesn't try to turn any lights on or anything. He likes it like this, Carmy spread out and mysterious in the soft light.