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    Summary

    Richie pushes off the doorframe and into the office, presses in close enough that he can smell the spices clinging to Carmy's skin. He reaches out, fingers gripping the sharp cut of Carmy's jaw, bruising, forcing Carmy to look at him. Really look. Carmy's breath quickens. Richie doesn't mention it. "No. No, you're not fucking fine," Richie murmurs. Carmy opens his mouth to argue, but Richie slips his thumb inside and presses down hard against his tongue. Richie can feel the flood of saliva against the offending digit, hear the click of Carmy's throat as he swallows. "I know what you need, Cousin."

    Language:
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