Real sappy shit, but Richie's into it. He keeps his hand on his own dick, though, because he also deserves that, and because he probably couldn't stop even if he tried. The lube and cum mixture is sticky and not quite enough, but he strokes himself anyway, kisses Carmy while he does it, feels the drag of Carmy's wet-tipped dick against the back of his hand.
"Get fucked," he murmurs when Carmy puts a heavy thigh over him and interrupts the rhythm, so he just places his lube-sticky hand on Carmy's hip instead. Nudges his nose over Carmy's cheek, kisses his soft mouth some more. Arches up against him to try and find some friction. Slow, heavy moments. It's really nice.
"I'm gonna fuck you like you've never been fucked." Up against Carmen's lips. Maybe he's addicted to kissing him. "I'm gonna.. fuck you so good, cousin, you're gonna not even gonna realise it until later on when you're doing whatever, and then you think, that was a great fuck. That's how good it's gonna be. Like.. delayed resonance."
"Delayed resonance," echoes Carmy. "Delayed fucking... that's not a thing." He's angling his groin and thighs so he can roll against Richie in tandem with his movements. Fucking insane how well their bodies work together, knowing how to give and take, he's never felt anything like it. It's nice, too, a little warm space between them, the sound of rain. "Why do you, why do you say such stupid bullshit. Delayed resonance. It's gonna be good right now, cousin."
He's not gonna admit how Richie is here because Carmy couldn't stop thinking about the walk-in tryst, how at the end Richie swooped in and pressed their mouths together quick and rough. It had still burned on his lips all the way through to Sunday close. Delayed resonance. He kisses Richie again.
"Anyway," he says, winning an argument that's not an argument. "You're the only person who's ever fucked me. So you're just competing against your own record, right?" Pressing his sweaty forehead, limp curls sticking, to Richie's, and finally reaching down to use his hands, letting himself explore, thumb his shaft, sticky, cup his balls and roll them in strong, precise fingers. Warm and heavy. He wants to bury his face in them. Probably they should be moving on but Carmy's moved past urgency and is — playing, maybe. As if that's a verb he understands, Experimenting might be a better word, all focused perfectionism.
"Fuck yeah. I mean, like. Practice makes perfect, right?"
That's a little shaky, since Carmy's got his hands on his junk and it feels really good, and truthfully he's going to need a while to process the idea of being the only person who has fucked -- who gets to fuck, he decides -- Carmen. Richie palms over Carmy's ass and tips his head back a bit on the pillows, eyes closing, humming pleasure in the back of his throat as he rocks his hips up and back. Meditative, almost. Who would have thought letting his cousin play with his dick and balls would be like that.
"Mm. That's nice, cuz. Like that." He pats Carmy's backside, encouragingly. "You've got, like.. such good hands. Your hands are really hot. Like that's obvious, right, because you're a chef. But it's true. After the, uh. Other day. I was thinking about my turn to suck on your fingers. Fucking gay ass shit like that."
"Jesus, Richie," Carmy says, pained. It's so much easier when they're squabbling, or just swearing back and forth at each other — he can even handle the full chest burn of the love yous because that's never been in question, Richie said "I love you" to him when he was like, five, he has an early memory of being deeply shook by it. He's moved past letting that overwhelm him, maybe even takes it too much for granted. The praise, though. The compliments about his body, about how hot he is, he doesn't have any defenses against that.
"If I put my fingers in your mouth will you shut the fuck up?" Carmy says, pained. "Fuck me. And hey, how come you've got such a nice dick, huh? How the fuck is that fair?" Giving a little of his own back because he's all flushed pleased and doesn't know how else to deal with that feeling. "Like, it's fucking big, man. I felt you the whole rest of the day last time. Look at this." Though if he actually looks it's just Carmy's tattooed hands on him, stroking him off. "You gonna fuck me with this, Richie? Til we get it perfect? Or are you just gonna lie there while I do all the actual work."
A little bit of a low blow, but he'd like to motivate Richie into really nailing him to the futon, even in sappy fucking gay missionary.
"Fuck you, cousin. Like, literally." Richie is annoyed and feeling great all at the same time, maybe annoyed because he wants to feel this good always, and it's probably not going to happen like that. He pushes that Carmy-level thought away and focuses on Carmy himself, looking at him with a complicated kind of frown on his face and pink cheeks, adoring him for being argumentative and for calling his dick big.
He grabs Carmy's ass, squeezes it.
"All right. All right. Fuck." Gathering the strength to stop Carmy touching him when he'd quite like to lie there and let him jerk him off. He lifts his hand to Carmy's shoulder, pushes at him. "Lie on your fucking.. Hey, are you like. Ready? Prepped? Did you do the thing with the -- you've got to like, prepare, right?"
As if he does this every day. Richie moves while he talks, peels himself off Carmy so he can sit up, climb over those muscled legs to get between them, picking up the bottle of lube again. Dick sticking out like something ridiculous, trying not to be self-conscious about it, about his skinny forty five year old body. The rain rattles and sighs against the windows; it feels later than it is, but Richie doesn't try to turn any lights on or anything. He likes it like this, Carmy spread out and mysterious in the soft light.
"What?" Carmy says as he rolls onto his back. Draws a knee up, tosses the other leg out, plenty of space. Tucks an arm behind his head, rests the other low on his stomach near his fat cock, pink and spent but still plumped up and twitching a little with interest.
He is not prepped. Last time Richie finger-fucked him with a bit of spit and that was enough; he got the lube because he wants to go a few times without having to try and activate his salivary glands or cough up some gross smokers' phlegm. He got the good lube because he knows the value in investing in your tools, and maybe because it lends an air of experience that he badly wishes he had. "What the fuck are you talking about," he says, genuinely oblivious. "I bought lube, I took my clothes off, I jizzed in your hand, should I be fucking — what other mise en place is there. Just fuck me already."
It's not entirely unlike certain wet dreams Richie has had, which is a little surreal. But it's also very not, since those dreams don't tend to involve arguing about anal sex, or getting a wicked cramp in your thigh because you're not used to kneeling like this. He squints at Carmy, driving the heel of his hand into his leg, the other still holding the bottle of lube.
"What the fuck? No. You need to, like. Do something up there, I'm pretty sure. It's like, I'm pretty sure it's meant to take some work. Haven't you ever watched fucking, uh, Drag Race? Those gays talk about it all the time." Not that Richie is going to stop what he's doing. He pumps lube into his palm, starts to apply it liberally to his dick, which feels good, so he keeps doing it. After few strokes he looks down at his hand, considers it thoughtfully, then sort of wipes it off underneath Carmy's balls, skating his fingers back and up into the warm space between his ass cheeks, rubbing the lube across him.
Carmy pushes up onto an elbow, and not because of the ass touch. "Sorry, should I call and ask Natalie if she's down for you to fuck her instead?" Carmy bitches, watercolour pink spreading over the bridge of his nose. "No shit it's fucking gay. Fuckface." He collapses back flat again, presses a palm to the bridge of his nose. "Fuck!"
Doesn't close his legs, though. Glances, annoyed, through his lashes. Richie is backlit by the golden doorway. "Just do what you did in the walk in," he says, with the typical Carmy exasperation he gets when other people don't keep up with him, "Except faster, and better."
Sure, Carmy. He's shivering softly, not from cold, because there is a weird emotional aspect to Richie sitting there and fingering him. Vulnerable, terrifying, deeply erotic. He draws his lip through his teeth, trying not to get in his head about it: "You watch fucking Drag Race?"
"Yeah. With, uh. With Tiff. She liked all of that, kind of. Reality TV shit." And, okay, he really doesn't want to talk about Tiff like this, with his dick hard and fingertips probing Carmy's tight little asshole. He clears his throat, rubs his nose with the back of his wrist, doesn't stop what he's doing.
"Okay, I'm just gonna --" He starts, then just goes with it, two lubed up fingers pushing against Carmy and into him. It's different to the walk in, a different angle, and more time to spend feeling how tight and hot Carmy is around him. Richie takes pity on him enough to shuffle forward a bit so he can lean down over him and kiss him while he does it, which is definitely very gay.
He pulls back a tiny bit, enough to talk. Impulsively kisses the tip of Carmy's nose instead.
"Yeah," says Carmy, all the fight gone out of him. He reaches up and idly scratches his nails along the back of Richie's scalp, feeling a little blurry again about being touched gently. About being a thorny cunt and then being touched gently anyway. God.
He likes being nose to nose, not quite kissing, just studying the expression in the shadow of Richie's eyes as he feels fingers probe somewhere hot and personal. He's getting hard again, far more for the romance than the ass touching. "You make me feel really good," he whispers. Arcs his hips up a little, plants his heel, holds there with his abdomen taut. There's less tension inside him though, muscles going hot and loose and inviting for Richie's hand as Carmy"s lashes flutter. "You.. know I love you too, right?"
Turns out there's a big difference to saying I love you to your cousin who isn't your cousin when you're shouting over the lunch rush or in the middle of a fight or on the phone after a long shift, and saying I love you while you're less than an inch away from his mouth, and you have two fingers up his ass, and you're about to have some fantastic sex. Saying it, hearing it, doesn't usually make Richie's stomach flutter. It does now. He hasn't felt that in a long time.
But Carmy says it, and he can't not say it back.
"Yeah." He pushes his fingers in deeper. In and out, screwing into him. "Yeah. I love you too, cousin." And he kisses Carmy as well, which makes the fluttery feeling worse. He wants to come and he wants to cry, but most of all he wants Carmen Berzatto.
"Okay. I need to, uh, be inside you now." Richie pulls his hand out, and takes hold of his lubed up dick instead. Snubs the head against Carmy's hole and pushes forward a little bit before either of them can try and stop themselves. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck, that's good."
Carmy has no fucking intention of stopping him, gaze avid — sure, there's sensation for him, hot friction and pressure, but the advantage of nutting early is he can put it aside a little bit and watch Richie, the interesting movement of his face, the tension in his brow and jaw.
"Hey," he murmurs, "Yeah, get it in me. Stay with me, though." Kind of projecting, because he doesn't wanna dissociate out of this terrifyingly intimate little moment. "I got you, c'mon, that's it. Deep. Fuck."
He has to swallow hard, take a shaky breath as he's penetrated. Last time, high on adrenaline and with the insane position, the rough entry had been hot; here he has to breathe through it, make himself relax so he can take more. Then suddenly it becomes good, like getting a deep itch scratched, and he grunts a garbled affirmative and arcs for it. "Richie," he murmurs, hands on his neck and face and shoulders, sculpting him or checking he's real. "Richie, Richie." Out of invective and encouragement, one thought left.
It's good, it's so good, hot and slicked up from the fancy lube, even better than it was in the walk in. Somehow it feels different, even though it's essentially the same, somehow more intimate this way with Carmy underneath him totally naked, skin against skin almost everywhere. Like they're actually fucking this time. Or making love.
"Jesus," he says, in response to that thought and the whole situation. He sets his forearms either side of Carmy and settles himself into it, between Carmy's thighs, rocking up into his body in deep, careful thrusts, ducking his head to breathe hot against the side of Carmy's throat. Kisses him over his pulse point. "Cousin. Carmen. You feel so good inside."
He can't keep it slow for very long. Animal need starts to take over; he starts to pick up speed, making the futon creak, little slaps of his body against Carmy's, groaning. Faster, faster.
"Fuck. Fuck, it's so good. I don't want it to stop. Carm. Oh, fuck."
"Yeah yeah yeah," Carmy agrees, heat flaring in his stomach at the way Richie is starting to fuck him. Bright blue focus, still, his hand mapping the movement of muscles in Richie's shoulders and back as he thrusts away. This is what he wants to go forever, this intimacy and freedom to just touch.
"You're gonna fuck the cum right out of me, cuz," he tells him, filthy nonsense just because if either of them talk about love again Carmy's going to cry. "You're so fucking good at this. I wanna feel you dripping out of me again."
Though he's not immune to his own words; this is a bad angle to jack off, but he can suck in his stomach and slip a hand between to palm over it, squeeze. "Yeah," he says again suddenly, words stolen, only junk noises left. "Richie, please."
The feeling of Carmen's hand between them as he tries to touch himself is unexpectedly erotic. Richie lets out a ragged noise into the cup of Carmy's ear, dropping his head to nuzzle into him for a moment before he lifts away again. He reaches back to paw a hand over Carmy's thigh and down to his knee, encouraging his legs up higher, shifting his weight back onto his knees and digging in his toes.
"Gonna fuck you so good, cousin," he says, just as messed up about it as Carmy, feeling the sweat breaking and running down his back as he does as he's promised, hands planted on the mattress. He looks down into Carmy's eyes, then down further to watch him jerk himself off, feeling a little dizzy at the sight of their bodies joining.
"Look at that, fuck." Breathless, awed. "We look good."
Carmy whines, nearly brains Richie trying to look, presses their heads close as he curls forward and watches what he can of Richie between his legs. He doesn't really get it, drops back to look at Richie's face again instead, breathing hard.
'Let's just do this," he says, truly out of his mind now because fucking doesn't pay the bills. Running a restaurant barely pays the bills. Renovating a restaurant creates the bills. "Fuck cooking, I'm just gonna be your full time cum dumpster, okay?" He'd be just as good at it, and he feels better in this moment than he has in, maybe ever. "God, it feels so good right there, what the fuck."
He doesn't have a thorough understanding of the magic of the prostate, either, but this angle has Richie snubbing up and across it more often than not and it's building something intense in and behind his balls, hungry throbs like he's gotta pee or is gonna cum. He stops saying stupid shit and pulls Richie back down for more kissing, sloppy, mouth skidding over his face and teeth bumping, making wounded noises right into it.
How a guy with so little experience with relationships manages to come up with the idea of being someone's cum dumpster is a mystery for the ages, but Richie's not arguing with it, he kind of loves discovering this weird little cul de sac of filth in Carmy's otherwise regimented mental world. He goes with it, laughter rumbling in his chest along with the groans of pleasure as Carmy shivers and pushes up against him, leaning down to kiss him all messy, biting at his lower lip and mouthing along his jaw.
"Oh fuck, Carmen. Oh fuck." He's unspooling a little himself, curled over him. Shoves his arms up underneath Carmy's shoulders so he's kind of holding him up, curving up into each other and shuddering along the edge together.
He fucks him in awkward stutters as release builds, pulled along by the noises Carmy is making underneath him and the convulsive clenching of his inner walls. It's hard work but Richie can't stop now he's found a good angle for both of them.
"Carmy, I'm gonna come," he manages to rasp out, half whispering it for some reason. Clumsily kissing the side of Carmy's neck, his ear. "Gonna come inside you, fuck, oh fuck --"
He straightens up a bit, plants a hand on one of Carmy's tits, hips rabbiting as he fucks him hard and fast, groaning loudly without a care for whoever Carmy's neighbours are, without a care for anything really except the need to come. An eyeblink vision of Carmy losing himself underneath him is all it takes and he's spilling out into him in heavy shudders, smacking into his body and grinding up against him, coming so hard he forgets to breathe for a bit and feels a little like he's about to pass out, all static pleasure from his head to his balls. Then he whoops in a breath, croaks out a "fuck" and subsides on top of Carmy, trembling and shuddering.
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.
In the aftermath it's kind of confusing, but not in a way that Richie feels like he needs to worry about. He just lets things happen, half-collapsed on top of Carmy, nudging soft and blurry kisses over the side of his throat. His body feels really good; he groans with overstimulated pleasure whenever Carmy moves. Chuckles low in the back of his throat, stoned on the post-orgasmic high, on the smell and taste of Carmy.
"Fuck," he says again. "Love you, cousin."
He stirs a little bit, thinks about the fact that he should probably pull out and stop crushing Carmy's balls. But he's good where he is, really. Instead, he drops another kiss on Carmy's shoulder and laughs again.
"Fuck! That was really good." A realisation. He lifts his head to look into Carmy's face. "Hey, did you come again? Like, twice?"
Carmy blinks at him, too flushed still for embarrassment to really register on his skin. "Yeah?" he says, rolls his eyes because he knows that's going to make Richie smug. But it's not like he can hide the evidence. "Shut up," he says instead, in advance. Will shut Richie up himself, if he has to. Doesn't show any signs of wanting him out from between his legs, though.
Carmy's fears are immediately realised as a wide and undoubtably smug grin slides across Richie's face. He is completely delighted.
"I gave you fucking multiple orgasms, bro." He paps Carmy's shoulder with a fist for emphasis. Yeah, he's not going to shut up about this. Though he also can't tell anyone, so he makes up for it by leaning in to kiss Carmy before he can be shoved away or told to shut up again.
"Fuck completely off," Carmy says, but then he's being kissed, and despite how concerning it is that this is gonna go to Richie's head, he does feel really good. He did get to come twice.
"The first was just clearing the pipes," he mutters sullenly. Had to get off to bring his brain back into line, so they could have a good time. If this had been a date with a girl he would have done it before she showed up.
But he likes seeing Richie happy, proud of himself. So: "You did good," he cedes reluctantly. Not looking at him Tatted up hand trailing idly through the short buzz of his hair at the back of his neck. "I get all zen and shit when you fuck me, who the fuck knows why."
None of it is enough to pop Richie's bubble; he's too happy right here, even if he's starting to feel the post-nut clarity coming in with a reminder that he's sticky and sweaty and all the activity has twinged up an old ache in his back. He laughs a bit though, leans in to kiss Carmy's cheek and his temple.
"Fuck you. Maybe we should have just stuck something up your ass years ago and saved you from one or two of those mental breakdowns, cuz."
Skidding lightly around something he should probably be more serious about, but maybe the context will save him. Richie shifts a little bit, starts to pull out, wet dick dragging over Carmy's thigh as he rolls sideways and collapses with a groan into the space at the edge of the futon.
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.
"Fuck off, dickhead. I'm a perfect fucking specimen."
He doesn't begrudge Carmy his inhuman ability to recover so quickly, mostly because he got to watch that ass walk across the room and enjoy the thought that all the cum glistening on his skin, on that flat belly and those big thighs, is from something he did. It's a vision of Biblical proportions.
When Carmy comes back, he holds up a hand for the towel or a cigarette or both, assuming like always that his cousin is going to share whatever he has.
"Come sit on my dick and see how tired I am. As if you fucking deserve it."
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"Get fucked," he murmurs when Carmy puts a heavy thigh over him and interrupts the rhythm, so he just places his lube-sticky hand on Carmy's hip instead. Nudges his nose over Carmy's cheek, kisses his soft mouth some more. Arches up against him to try and find some friction. Slow, heavy moments. It's really nice.
"I'm gonna fuck you like you've never been fucked." Up against Carmen's lips. Maybe he's addicted to kissing him. "I'm gonna.. fuck you so good, cousin, you're gonna not even gonna realise it until later on when you're doing whatever, and then you think, that was a great fuck. That's how good it's gonna be. Like.. delayed resonance."
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He's not gonna admit how Richie is here because Carmy couldn't stop thinking about the walk-in tryst, how at the end Richie swooped in and pressed their mouths together quick and rough. It had still burned on his lips all the way through to Sunday close. Delayed resonance. He kisses Richie again.
"Anyway," he says, winning an argument that's not an argument. "You're the only person who's ever fucked me. So you're just competing against your own record, right?" Pressing his sweaty forehead, limp curls sticking, to Richie's, and finally reaching down to use his hands, letting himself explore, thumb his shaft, sticky, cup his balls and roll them in strong, precise fingers. Warm and heavy. He wants to bury his face in them. Probably they should be moving on but Carmy's moved past urgency and is — playing, maybe. As if that's a verb he understands, Experimenting might be a better word, all focused perfectionism.
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That's a little shaky, since Carmy's got his hands on his junk and it feels really good, and truthfully he's going to need a while to process the idea of being the only person who has fucked -- who gets to fuck, he decides -- Carmen. Richie palms over Carmy's ass and tips his head back a bit on the pillows, eyes closing, humming pleasure in the back of his throat as he rocks his hips up and back. Meditative, almost. Who would have thought letting his cousin play with his dick and balls would be like that.
"Mm. That's nice, cuz. Like that." He pats Carmy's backside, encouragingly. "You've got, like.. such good hands. Your hands are really hot. Like that's obvious, right, because you're a chef. But it's true. After the, uh. Other day. I was thinking about my turn to suck on your fingers. Fucking gay ass shit like that."
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"If I put my fingers in your mouth will you shut the fuck up?" Carmy says, pained. "Fuck me. And hey, how come you've got such a nice dick, huh? How the fuck is that fair?" Giving a little of his own back because he's all flushed pleased and doesn't know how else to deal with that feeling. "Like, it's fucking big, man. I felt you the whole rest of the day last time. Look at this." Though if he actually looks it's just Carmy's tattooed hands on him, stroking him off. "You gonna fuck me with this, Richie? Til we get it perfect? Or are you just gonna lie there while I do all the actual work."
A little bit of a low blow, but he'd like to motivate Richie into really nailing him to the futon, even in sappy fucking gay missionary.
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He grabs Carmy's ass, squeezes it.
"All right. All right. Fuck." Gathering the strength to stop Carmy touching him when he'd quite like to lie there and let him jerk him off. He lifts his hand to Carmy's shoulder, pushes at him. "Lie on your fucking.. Hey, are you like. Ready? Prepped? Did you do the thing with the -- you've got to like, prepare, right?"
As if he does this every day. Richie moves while he talks, peels himself off Carmy so he can sit up, climb over those muscled legs to get between them, picking up the bottle of lube again. Dick sticking out like something ridiculous, trying not to be self-conscious about it, about his skinny forty five year old body. The rain rattles and sighs against the windows; it feels later than it is, but Richie doesn't try to turn any lights on or anything. He likes it like this, Carmy spread out and mysterious in the soft light.
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He is not prepped. Last time Richie finger-fucked him with a bit of spit and that was enough; he got the lube because he wants to go a few times without having to try and activate his salivary glands or cough up some gross smokers' phlegm. He got the good lube because he knows the value in investing in your tools, and maybe because it lends an air of experience that he badly wishes he had. "What the fuck are you talking about," he says, genuinely oblivious. "I bought lube, I took my clothes off, I jizzed in your hand, should I be fucking — what other mise en place is there. Just fuck me already."
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"What the fuck? No. You need to, like. Do something up there, I'm pretty sure. It's like, I'm pretty sure it's meant to take some work. Haven't you ever watched fucking, uh, Drag Race? Those gays talk about it all the time." Not that Richie is going to stop what he's doing. He pumps lube into his palm, starts to apply it liberally to his dick, which feels good, so he keeps doing it. After few strokes he looks down at his hand, considers it thoughtfully, then sort of wipes it off underneath Carmy's balls, skating his fingers back and up into the warm space between his ass cheeks, rubbing the lube across him.
He grins. Laughs a bit to himself.
"This is so fucking gay, cuz."
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Doesn't close his legs, though. Glances, annoyed, through his lashes. Richie is backlit by the golden doorway. "Just do what you did in the walk in," he says, with the typical Carmy exasperation he gets when other people don't keep up with him, "Except faster, and better."
Sure, Carmy. He's shivering softly, not from cold, because there is a weird emotional aspect to Richie sitting there and fingering him. Vulnerable, terrifying, deeply erotic. He draws his lip through his teeth, trying not to get in his head about it: "You watch fucking Drag Race?"
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"Okay, I'm just gonna --" He starts, then just goes with it, two lubed up fingers pushing against Carmy and into him. It's different to the walk in, a different angle, and more time to spend feeling how tight and hot Carmy is around him. Richie takes pity on him enough to shuffle forward a bit so he can lean down over him and kiss him while he does it, which is definitely very gay.
He pulls back a tiny bit, enough to talk. Impulsively kisses the tip of Carmy's nose instead.
"How's that? Yeah?"
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He likes being nose to nose, not quite kissing, just studying the expression in the shadow of Richie's eyes as he feels fingers probe somewhere hot and personal. He's getting hard again, far more for the romance than the ass touching. "You make me feel really good," he whispers. Arcs his hips up a little, plants his heel, holds there with his abdomen taut. There's less tension inside him though, muscles going hot and loose and inviting for Richie's hand as Carmy"s lashes flutter. "You.. know I love you too, right?"
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But Carmy says it, and he can't not say it back.
"Yeah." He pushes his fingers in deeper. In and out, screwing into him. "Yeah. I love you too, cousin." And he kisses Carmy as well, which makes the fluttery feeling worse. He wants to come and he wants to cry, but most of all he wants Carmen Berzatto.
"Okay. I need to, uh, be inside you now." Richie pulls his hand out, and takes hold of his lubed up dick instead. Snubs the head against Carmy's hole and pushes forward a little bit before either of them can try and stop themselves. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck, that's good."
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"Hey," he murmurs, "Yeah, get it in me. Stay with me, though." Kind of projecting, because he doesn't wanna dissociate out of this terrifyingly intimate little moment. "I got you, c'mon, that's it. Deep. Fuck."
He has to swallow hard, take a shaky breath as he's penetrated. Last time, high on adrenaline and with the insane position, the rough entry had been hot; here he has to breathe through it, make himself relax so he can take more. Then suddenly it becomes good, like getting a deep itch scratched, and he grunts a garbled affirmative and arcs for it. "Richie," he murmurs, hands on his neck and face and shoulders, sculpting him or checking he's real. "Richie, Richie." Out of invective and encouragement, one thought left.
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It's good, it's so good, hot and slicked up from the fancy lube, even better than it was in the walk in. Somehow it feels different, even though it's essentially the same, somehow more intimate this way with Carmy underneath him totally naked, skin against skin almost everywhere. Like they're actually fucking this time. Or making love.
"Jesus," he says, in response to that thought and the whole situation. He sets his forearms either side of Carmy and settles himself into it, between Carmy's thighs, rocking up into his body in deep, careful thrusts, ducking his head to breathe hot against the side of Carmy's throat. Kisses him over his pulse point. "Cousin. Carmen. You feel so good inside."
He can't keep it slow for very long. Animal need starts to take over; he starts to pick up speed, making the futon creak, little slaps of his body against Carmy's, groaning. Faster, faster.
"Fuck. Fuck, it's so good. I don't want it to stop. Carm. Oh, fuck."
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"You're gonna fuck the cum right out of me, cuz," he tells him, filthy nonsense just because if either of them talk about love again Carmy's going to cry. "You're so fucking good at this. I wanna feel you dripping out of me again."
Though he's not immune to his own words; this is a bad angle to jack off, but he can suck in his stomach and slip a hand between to palm over it, squeeze. "Yeah," he says again suddenly, words stolen, only junk noises left. "Richie, please."
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"Gonna fuck you so good, cousin," he says, just as messed up about it as Carmy, feeling the sweat breaking and running down his back as he does as he's promised, hands planted on the mattress. He looks down into Carmy's eyes, then down further to watch him jerk himself off, feeling a little dizzy at the sight of their bodies joining.
"Look at that, fuck." Breathless, awed. "We look good."
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'Let's just do this," he says, truly out of his mind now because fucking doesn't pay the bills. Running a restaurant barely pays the bills. Renovating a restaurant creates the bills. "Fuck cooking, I'm just gonna be your full time cum dumpster, okay?" He'd be just as good at it, and he feels better in this moment than he has in, maybe ever. "God, it feels so good right there, what the fuck."
He doesn't have a thorough understanding of the magic of the prostate, either, but this angle has Richie snubbing up and across it more often than not and it's building something intense in and behind his balls, hungry throbs like he's gotta pee or is gonna cum. He stops saying stupid shit and pulls Richie back down for more kissing, sloppy, mouth skidding over his face and teeth bumping, making wounded noises right into it.
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"Oh fuck, Carmen. Oh fuck." He's unspooling a little himself, curled over him. Shoves his arms up underneath Carmy's shoulders so he's kind of holding him up, curving up into each other and shuddering along the edge together.
He fucks him in awkward stutters as release builds, pulled along by the noises Carmy is making underneath him and the convulsive clenching of his inner walls. It's hard work but Richie can't stop now he's found a good angle for both of them.
"Carmy, I'm gonna come," he manages to rasp out, half whispering it for some reason. Clumsily kissing the side of Carmy's neck, his ear. "Gonna come inside you, fuck, oh fuck --"
He straightens up a bit, plants a hand on one of Carmy's tits, hips rabbiting as he fucks him hard and fast, groaning loudly without a care for whoever Carmy's neighbours are, without a care for anything really except the need to come. An eyeblink vision of Carmy losing himself underneath him is all it takes and he's spilling out into him in heavy shudders, smacking into his body and grinding up against him, coming so hard he forgets to breathe for a bit and feels a little like he's about to pass out, all static pleasure from his head to his balls. Then he whoops in a breath, croaks out a "fuck" and subsides on top of Carmy, trembling and shuddering.
"Fuck.. fucking.. Holy shit."
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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.
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"Fuck," he says again. "Love you, cousin."
He stirs a little bit, thinks about the fact that he should probably pull out and stop crushing Carmy's balls. But he's good where he is, really. Instead, he drops another kiss on Carmy's shoulder and laughs again.
"Fuck! That was really good." A realisation. He lifts his head to look into Carmy's face. "Hey, did you come again? Like, twice?"
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"I gave you fucking multiple orgasms, bro." He paps Carmy's shoulder with a fist for emphasis. Yeah, he's not going to shut up about this. Though he also can't tell anyone, so he makes up for it by leaning in to kiss Carmy before he can be shoved away or told to shut up again.
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"The first was just clearing the pipes," he mutters sullenly. Had to get off to bring his brain back into line, so they could have a good time. If this had been a date with a girl he would have done it before she showed up.
But he likes seeing Richie happy, proud of himself. So: "You did good," he cedes reluctantly. Not looking at him Tatted up hand trailing idly through the short buzz of his hair at the back of his neck. "I get all zen and shit when you fuck me, who the fuck knows why."
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"Fuck you. Maybe we should have just stuck something up your ass years ago and saved you from one or two of those mental breakdowns, cuz."
Skidding lightly around something he should probably be more serious about, but maybe the context will save him. Richie shifts a little bit, starts to pull out, wet dick dragging over Carmy's thigh as he rolls sideways and collapses with a groan into the space at the edge of the futon.
"Next time we go slower maybe."
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"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.
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He doesn't begrudge Carmy his inhuman ability to recover so quickly, mostly because he got to watch that ass walk across the room and enjoy the thought that all the cum glistening on his skin, on that flat belly and those big thighs, is from something he did. It's a vision of Biblical proportions.
When Carmy comes back, he holds up a hand for the towel or a cigarette or both, assuming like always that his cousin is going to share whatever he has.
"Come sit on my dick and see how tired I am. As if you fucking deserve it."
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