Holy shit is right. This is like nothing he's ever felt; being stimulated in ways he didn't know he could be stimulated. It feels like he's already coming. He likes it, feeling Richie use his body to wring an orgasm out, but unlike the walk-in there's no discomfort, no paranoid ear out for coworkers. They're both making noise and he doesn't care, doesn't give a shit if his neighbours hear him grunting his, "Oh, oh, fuck, yes, Richie," kinda shit on each thrust.
He's clinging, blunt nails clawing at Richie's back, maybe not cutting him up but he might be pinked up after. He has the vague thought he should be doing more to get Richie off, not sure how or what, when he whispers hot into his ear and he lets go of that urge, just keeps doing what he's doing, colliding them until Richie comes apart over him noisily. Beautiful. Perfect. "I love you," he says, because hearing that in the immediate aftermath had been better than the orgasm, "I love you."
And that does it for him, too. Carmy's orgasm feels more like melting, and it's so messy, squirt after squirt over his chest and between them, he's pretty sure he shoots himself in the face a couple of times but he's too overcome to notice. He pulls in a jagged breath, arching, putting his face into Richie's skin and neck as he tries to get even closer because this feels like a panic attack or like he's going to cry even if it's so so good.
A long, low groan and he flops back hard onto the futon, Richie collapsing over him. It shakes at the end like a laugh, and he finally opens his eyes again, hazy, awed. A little wet. Holy shit says Richie and Carmy bites his shoulder, kisses there after. Still clutching him close.
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He's clinging, blunt nails clawing at Richie's back, maybe not cutting him up but he might be pinked up after. He has the vague thought he should be doing more to get Richie off, not sure how or what, when he whispers hot into his ear and he lets go of that urge, just keeps doing what he's doing, colliding them until Richie comes apart over him noisily. Beautiful. Perfect. "I love you," he says, because hearing that in the immediate aftermath had been better than the orgasm, "I love you."
And that does it for him, too. Carmy's orgasm feels more like melting, and it's so messy, squirt after squirt over his chest and between them, he's pretty sure he shoots himself in the face a couple of times but he's too overcome to notice. He pulls in a jagged breath, arching, putting his face into Richie's skin and neck as he tries to get even closer because this feels like a panic attack or like he's going to cry even if it's so so good.
A long, low groan and he flops back hard onto the futon, Richie collapsing over him. It shakes at the end like a laugh, and he finally opens his eyes again, hazy, awed. A little wet. Holy shit says Richie and Carmy bites his shoulder, kisses there after. Still clutching him close.