Carmy whines, nearly brains Richie trying to look, presses their heads close as he curls forward and watches what he can of Richie between his legs. He doesn't really get it, drops back to look at Richie's face again instead, breathing hard.

'Let's just do this," he says, truly out of his mind now because fucking doesn't pay the bills. Running a restaurant barely pays the bills. Renovating a restaurant creates the bills. "Fuck cooking, I'm just gonna be your full time cum dumpster, okay?" He'd be just as good at it, and he feels better in this moment than he has in, maybe ever. "God, it feels so good right there, what the fuck."

He doesn't have a thorough understanding of the magic of the prostate, either, but this angle has Richie snubbing up and across it more often than not and it's building something intense in and behind his balls, hungry throbs like he's gotta pee or is gonna cum. He stops saying stupid shit and pulls Richie back down for more kissing, sloppy, mouth skidding over his face and teeth bumping, making wounded noises right into it.