"Me neither," says Carmy, quiet, into his neck. "But I dunno how to do like, anything else."

He feels a little raw, like Richie's kisses have abraded him, scored his skin. After a second he wiggles off to the side a little. He kind of wants to fuck again, not a real feeling of arousal but a compulsion to seek sensation that takes him out of his own head for even a few moments.

"If we set an alarm for five we can go again before work," Carmy suggests, shifting his thigh over Richie, draped on his chest, clearly not intending to let him go anywhere, snuggling the fuck in and listening to the soft steady hush of the rain. It's good. He feels, terrifyingly, very good.