It's really good, Richie's big warm palm scruffing him like a kitten. He wants to be wrapped up in that feeling, overpowered and enveloped by it. A shaky breath through his nose, lashes fluttering low for a long moment. Arguing with himself internally. Leaning into Richie's space while he does it.

This is all new, is the thing, but new in a way where their dynamic hasn't strictly shifted, it just has all this other shit threaded through it now. Layers of meaning. Fucking - yearning, if he's being honest with himself, which he's not. He shouldn't be letting Richie touch him out in the open like this, but Richie says let me and Carmy yearns.

Then: "Okay," he says, meeting Richie's gaze again. Sounding sure, even though he's not, doesn't even really know what he's okaying. A massage? A handjob? A valium? Honestly, he'd be fine with all three right now, or even just something to struggle against until his feelings of anger and insecurity and self-loathing settle the fuck down. "I dunno what the fuck you think you can do, cousin, but okay."