"Fuck me yourself, cousin," is the nonsensical response, especially considering their current positions. Richie enjoys Carmy's struggles in his arms, grinning against the side of his neck when he sucks on him, his cock indeed throbbing in his jockey shorts with every desperate little movement, pads of his fingers skating over the hot wet flat of Carmy's professionally trained tongue. He fingers him at an awkward angle, in danger of spraining his wrist if Carmy moves the wrong way, but too horny to care.

When Carmy spits him back out he just paws at his face instead, then drops his hand to grope his tits through his sweaty t-shirt while Carmy scrabbles to get his dick out. He wants to suck bruises into the side of his neck, but that's a bad idea, so he just rubs his stubbly cheek against him instead.

"Yeah," he agrees, trying to look down over his shoulder and watch him jerk off, "yeah, yeah yeah." He rocks up against Carmy, rattling the shelves. Pulls his fingers out of his ass to shove down the front of his own pants, palming clumsily at the buttons on his jeans, pushing them down. "Wanna fuck you like this. Can I?"