"I will," Carmy promises, nonsensical. Bites him, though not too hard, just marking his neck up at the edge of his stubble. "My hand," he murmurs, strained, quite focused on the steady movement of the hand in question. "My mouth, my hole, all the time, whenever you want it." Making the impossible sound possible with the sheer heated intensity of it.

Then he lifts his mouth and they're kissing again, Carmy all pliant tongue and eager hunger. He, too, is thinking about the possibility of their getting caught, turned on by it and also a little rushed by it, covering Richie's mouth with his own, speeding up his strokes.

He doesn't actually really have a plan for what to do when Richie comes, pressed close and not particularly careful.