Maybe it's better, to have someone say shit like that to him instead of eggshelling around it — it still hurts. He resists the urge to turn that feeling into a big deal, to retreat into blame. What's the fucking point. Instead he rolls onto his side, following Richie like there's a string joining them.

"Oh shit, are you all worn out?" He sits himself up, sideways on one hip and the heel of his hand, cum still slipping over his flushed skin. "You fuckin' tired, old man?" Grinning, something light about him even as the oxytocin wears off. Carmy, meanwhile, hops up to his feet, to prove how completely not tired he is. Ignores the ache in his thighs and ass, goes to reach inside the bathroom door for a mostly clean handtowel and grabs his cigarettes, wiping himself off with the former as he teeths a smoke out of the pack and comes back to the bed. "Those some grey hairs I see, cuz?" he adds, though he can't really see shit in this light.