It's a hot fucking day. Hot and nasty, reeking of garbage, the kind of heavy and oppressive weather before a storm, which means everyone's in a bad mood even if they don't know it yet, snapping at each other out front and back in the kitchen. Mad over nothing, biting each other's heads off. Sweaty, pounding shitty headache bad mood, all in the temples. Hot all over, everywhere except the walk in, where he's got Carmy crowded up into a corner with three of his fingers in his mouth and two stuffed into his ass, gasping and stupid and protesting over it. Mouth and ass are hot as well, hot like a furnace. Hot outside, cold walk in, hot inside Carmy.

"I'm just fucking saying, cousin," he's muttering, into Carmy's ear. "I'm just fucking saying."

He doesn't really know what he's saying, it's just nonsense. He twists the hand in Carmy's ass, works it deeper. Fucks him a little bit with it for good measure and presses his thumb into the place just behind his balls. He's hot there too.

"Just fucking saying you've got to learn how to control your mouth." Ironic coming from Richie, but who's keeping score here? Certainly not Carmy. "Yeah? Otherwise I'll do it for you."