fic, Lost: Sentimental Hygiene (Frank/Sun, Frank/Richard), R, 2700 words
First of the things I shouldn't be writing instead of studying. Eeee.
Title: Sentimental Hygiene
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Frank/Sun, Frank/Richard
Words: 2700
Summary: Frank would have also probably thought you were not just crazy but batshit crazy if you told him that on said island he’d have had a sort of one night stand with a married woman (which is something that wouldn’t really sit well with what’s left of his ethics) and that he’d gain more than a one night stand from someone else not that much later.
Spoilers: major for the finale.
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, pfffff. I wish.
A/N: written for 30_rock_office, who wanted Frank fic at the fanfic wish meme. Now, the request was for Frank domming someone but not in an overboard way, and I started with Sun but then it decided it needed to go also the Richard way and I don't know how well I managed to fill the request, but I hope you like it anyway? ;) using for chem15try #7, law of conservation of energy. Title stolen from Warren Zevon in a moment of desperation that I'd ever find one.
If, some five-six years ago, you’d have told Frank that his life would end up shaped by a fucked up island in the pacific where people time travel, he’d have answered that you were crazy.
Frank would have also probably thought you were not just crazy but batshit crazy if you told him that on said island he’d have had a sort of one night stand with a married woman (which is something that wouldn’t really sit well with what’s left of his ethics) and that he’d gain more than a one night stand from someone else not that much later.
Now it happened, though, which doesn’t mean that the whole business wasn’t batshit crazy altogether. But Frank thinks he can live with it.
I.
With Sun, it’s not something meant to last, and Frank knows that perfectly.
After all, he wasn’t born yesterday, thank you very much, and he knows how the world goes. He also knows that Sun is here for a reason, which is finding her husband, and if right now she’s letting him slowly unbutton her shirt, it’s for another whole reason.
Which Frank can easily get; he was in her same position enough times to know that it happens that you want someone with all of yourself but you can’t be with them, and sometimes you just need to forget it with someone else.
It’s not like Frank has a problem with being that someone else; also, it’s not like it was planned or anything. They were discussing matters after Locke’s funeral and deciding whether following Ben and that other Ilana girl was a sane idea or batshit crazy and then Sun said something, or he said something, he can’t exactly remember, and then they were kissing. He can’t remember who started it, either, but he didn’t push her away and she didn’t push him either, so he figures it’s not really that important.
So she’s letting him, and he’s trying to be considerate about it because hell, they’re doing this because they’re starved for a warm body and some connection, it doesn’t mean that it should be quick and detached.
After all, Frank thinks, if they’re doing this to feel good, then they might as well gain the most out of it, also because he’s fairly sure that it won’t happen a second time and so yeah, well, he intends to give her a fucking great time before they need to go out into the crazy island again.
There’s also something in the fact that Sun is doing this with him that makes want to live up to a standard; hell, she might be tiny but she’s definitely not a damsel in distress, and at the same time she’s determinate and strong and beautiful, everything he likes in a woman, and well, you get it. So as they ease on the ground he takes his time undressing her, he kisses her thoroughly but without being harsh or too fast or too greedy, and he knows he’s doing it right when she arches against him and lets out a small moan from the back of her throat. Her hair is long and dark and thick as it falls freely on her shoulders and brushes Frank’s cheek, and her lips are thin and warm as her mouth reaches his neck; there’s sweat slightly trickling on the stripes of skin left visible by their unbuttoned shirts, and she shivers when he bends down and delicately licks away a drop.
She arches up against him again, and then lifts her hips up slightly and pushes her trousers and underwear down to her knees, then lies back down on a blanket he grabbed from a backpack someone left on the beach when they went with Locke; he knows they won’t go as far as fucking, he’d feel uncomfortable doing that, too, considering the reason she’s here and all, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not the only way, and so he uses just hands, one roaming on her stomach and slowly touching wherever it can reach, and the other down, his fingers bending inside her slowly first and faster later.
She lets out soft moans as she clenches around them and meets his motions, her body soft and thin under his hands (but, he thinks as his free hand grips her hip and brings her closer, it almost feels like clay under his fingertips); she comes eventually, he doesn’t know how much later, clenching even more before she shudders beneath him, a pleased sound coming from her lips (and he’s quick to lean down and swallow it). Her tongue runs along his lips for a handful of seconds before they part; he turns and nods at her as she dresses up again and he disappears for a minute behind a tree, because while he really doesn’t need to ruin the only clothes he has on him, he needs release and as soon as possible. And so when he’s out of sight he opens his trousers’ fly and reaches down with his hand.
When he gets back, her hair is messier and she’s tying it up into a ponytail; she nods at him as a small smile makes her lips curl up.
“Thank you,” she says earnestly, and he shakes his head as he buttons up his shirt again.
“My damn pleasure,” he answers waiting for her to reach his side. They still need to decide what to do, anyway, and whatever was between them just a short while before is over for good.
--
And then she dies and by all means he should have died with her and Jin, and he flies off the island while she’s buried down in the sea with the man she came there for, but Frank had seen them before, in the cages. They had been happy, no question about it. He figures that they had to go down together. He shudders when he thinks he was about to meet the same end as the plane flues away and leaves the island in the distance.
He thinks he’ll miss her, even if their friendship, or collaboration, or maybe even camaraderie, or however the fuck you want to call it, didn’t last long and is definitely over now; still, he knows he won’t forget it and maybe she’d have liked him to remember.
Not that he still isn’t surprised that he actually has a life to live, but damn, he can’t complain.
A minute later, Richard is behind him.
“Everything okay in there?” Frank asks.
“Yes, I figure it is,” Richard answers, and Frank thinks that there’s happiness in his voice. Good. If for a change someone’s happy, he won’t complain about it for fucking sure.
“Well then,” Frank says when Richard, instead of going back, occupies the other seat, “what about you? What are you going to do now?”
“I…” Richard’s voice trails for a second, and then he shakes his head as he stares at the sky ahead. “I don’t have a clue.”
“Fantastic. Neither have I.”
Richard lets out a small laugh and Frank does, too; not having a clue doesn’t feel so daunting as it should.
II.
With Richard, it’s something that might last even if it’s almost as batshit crazy as everything else put together, and Frank thinks he might not be wrong about it.
He hadn’t really expected to get out of the damn island alive, nor to end up living with a former immortal guy, but hell, Kate and Claire had run into the sunset together to search for their kid and Miles is keeping an eye over Sawyer or James or how the fuck he goes by now and they actually live on the above floor since there were a couple rooms to rent, and well, since Frank is the one who actually had an apartment to share and an identity and a lot of other useful things that Richard lacked, here they are.
It could be damn worse, and so Frank doesn’t complain about it. At the beginning, Richard was what you’d describe as your ideal roommate; never nosy, never loud, and well, considering that he was pretty damn fucking happy of getting off that island, he also was mostly in a good mood all the time, and Frank can’t complain about that either.
The problem is that Richard is kind of crap at living like a normal human being who ages and gets gray hair and has to do normal shit, but then again spending more than a century on an island being a pawn in some fucked game between two demi gods or whatever which no one has understood, as far as Frank is concerned, allows you to get away with being crap at dealing with normal stuff. Not to mention that from what Richard told him, his life before said island wasn’t a basket full of cherries, especially the enslaving part of it. It’s kind of weird, seeing him like this; this, meaning without that layer of calmness that Frank had sort of associated with Richard since they ended up taking a walk towards a foot of a statue. Fuck, the guy was the embodiment of collected, and it’s just strange seeing his eyes widen at times and hearing him swear against the coffee machine because he can’t figure out how the fuck it works.
(“Didn’t you Others have coffee in those cozy houses?”
“Yes, they did, but I didn’t exactly drink it. Or make it. And anyway I never lived in the cozy houses.”)
“I think I just lost a purpose and regained another too quickly,” Richard says once, and it makes sense, Frank thinks. It tends to put you out of place. Especially when meanwhile you’re also trying to find some job (and thank fuck that Sawyer knows something about faking documents, advantages of having an ex con living on the upper floor) which doesn’t require many qualifications. Because, as Richard puts it, knowing Spanish doesn’t help much when you don’t have a piece of paper to show for it.
Anyway, this whole situation is what ends up becoming that something that might last, or at least it’s what it turns into when one evening some three months after the rescue Richard comes from some job interview that obviously didn’t turn out that great muttering that he’s useless at this, which might not be untrue but isn’t really the point of it.
It’s not really funny, that it happens like it happened with Sun. First they’re talking and Frank is trying to tell Richard not to be an idiot and to just suck it up and get a grip without being too harsh because the guy doesn’t need harsh, Richard tries to argue the contrary, and it ends with Frank kissing Richard just because he needs him to shut the hell up.
Well, at least this time he remembers who started it; except that Richard doesn’t stop it. He actually reciprocates and it’s fast and harsh and it lacks finesse, but Richard’s lips are warm and his mouth burns like fire as he kisses back. Frank is surprised for a second, but then he just goes the fuck along because it feels good, it feels strangely right, too, and there’s something in the way Richard’s hands are clutching at his hips that screams need, and Frank can’t find it in himself to ignore it.
He doesn’t even want to, and so what starts in the living room ends in Frank’s bedroom with Richard arching up under his hands and kissing him like a man starved for it.
Which maybe he is, Frank figures, it’d just make sense, and well, he figures, why not. They’re in this together after all, and he does like Richard quite some after three months of shared space, and not just talking about the fact that the man is a damned sight for sore eyes. Also, there’s no one else in the picture, or somewhere else; it’s just the two of them doing it because they want to (fuck, Frank wants to, and Richard does, too, from the way he grinds against him), and that’s good, he figures. And considering that Richard hasn’t obviously got laid recently, Frank settles on making it good, indeed.
He does, and fuck if the moans coming from the back of Richard’s throat while Frank has his mouth on Richard’s earlobe and his right hand jerking Richard off not as fast as Frank could if he wanted aren’t hot.
This time, Frank doesn’t give a damn about clothes.
It isn’t a one time thing; it happens again, and again, and again, and it’s clear that it isn’t a question of friends with benefits after the third time or so. It’s written in the way Richard looks at him most times, like he doesn’t know where they stand but he’d really like them to keep on standing there anyway, and it’s spoken in the way they touch each other (Richard’s hands always reach everywhere, bringing him down, tangling in his hair, and Frank tries to be slow and not as greedy, and for some reason there’s a fucking good balance somewhere in there, not to mention that in the end Frank always wins the match) and Frank can hear it in the sounds always coming from the back of Richard’s throat when he comes under him every goddamn time.
Which is why, after a bunch of times, Frank figures it’s time to make clear where the hell they stand.
He doesn’t usually say much after, he never was one for pillow talk and Richard is quiet by nature or so it seems, and so they never do much of that, but this particular time, instead of drifting off to sleep, Frank grabs Richard’s wrist when he’s about to turn on the other side.
“You want to make this whole thing official, you just gotta say it. Just giving you heads up.”
Richard raises an eyebrow looking almost comically confused. “Excuse me?”
“Instead of staring at my back like you do every goddamn time, just spill it out. You want this to keep on being friends-with-benefits fucking, you’re my guest. You want it not to be casual, spill it out the same. Neither of us is fucking thirteen, which is pretty much the age limit for not getting it, and I’d like it to stay that damned way. So?”
Richard stares at him for some ten seconds, looking every inch the embodiment of calmness Frank remembers from before-the-thing-that-wasn’t-Locke-took-him-out-just-like-that, and then he shakes his head letting out a breath and suddenly he doesn’t seem that calm anymore.
“So… I’d like it. If it was not casual.”
“Fine. Then it isn’t.”
“Wait. That’s… that’s all there is to it? Shouldn’t that be… more… complicated?” Richard asks, clearly baffled, and Frank just moves closer and looks at him straight in the eyes.
“Sometimes,” he says, “when you want to do this being a mortal thing, it doesn’t fucking have to be. And thank fuck for that, I’m sick of complicated stuff.” I had enough of that on the damned island, he adds in his head but doesn’t say.
And then he kisses Richard before he can answer, and damn if Richard doesn’t kiss back in return, and yeah, complicated? It’s goddamn overrated. Maybe before the island it might have been a clusterfuck, but he has been through too much crap already and whatever this ended up being, he’d rather keep it as it is.
Especially, he thinks as he swallows Richard’s moan down and can feel the lips against his own slightly curling up into the kiss, when it works so well and you didn’t expect it. If he still doesn’t have an idea (and neither has Richard) of what the fuck the both of them are going to do in the long run, it doesn’t really matter; and since they stated how things are, he figures that maybe they can be up for a round two, and he pushes Richard down into the mattress.
When Richard just kisses him harder, he’s pretty sure he’s having this right.
End.
Title: Sentimental Hygiene
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Frank/Sun, Frank/Richard
Words: 2700
Summary: Frank would have also probably thought you were not just crazy but batshit crazy if you told him that on said island he’d have had a sort of one night stand with a married woman (which is something that wouldn’t really sit well with what’s left of his ethics) and that he’d gain more than a one night stand from someone else not that much later.
Spoilers: major for the finale.
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, pfffff. I wish.
A/N: written for 30_rock_office, who wanted Frank fic at the fanfic wish meme. Now, the request was for Frank domming someone but not in an overboard way, and I started with Sun but then it decided it needed to go also the Richard way and I don't know how well I managed to fill the request, but I hope you like it anyway? ;) using for chem15try #7, law of conservation of energy. Title stolen from Warren Zevon in a moment of desperation that I'd ever find one.
If, some five-six years ago, you’d have told Frank that his life would end up shaped by a fucked up island in the pacific where people time travel, he’d have answered that you were crazy.
Frank would have also probably thought you were not just crazy but batshit crazy if you told him that on said island he’d have had a sort of one night stand with a married woman (which is something that wouldn’t really sit well with what’s left of his ethics) and that he’d gain more than a one night stand from someone else not that much later.
Now it happened, though, which doesn’t mean that the whole business wasn’t batshit crazy altogether. But Frank thinks he can live with it.
I.
With Sun, it’s not something meant to last, and Frank knows that perfectly.
After all, he wasn’t born yesterday, thank you very much, and he knows how the world goes. He also knows that Sun is here for a reason, which is finding her husband, and if right now she’s letting him slowly unbutton her shirt, it’s for another whole reason.
Which Frank can easily get; he was in her same position enough times to know that it happens that you want someone with all of yourself but you can’t be with them, and sometimes you just need to forget it with someone else.
It’s not like Frank has a problem with being that someone else; also, it’s not like it was planned or anything. They were discussing matters after Locke’s funeral and deciding whether following Ben and that other Ilana girl was a sane idea or batshit crazy and then Sun said something, or he said something, he can’t exactly remember, and then they were kissing. He can’t remember who started it, either, but he didn’t push her away and she didn’t push him either, so he figures it’s not really that important.
So she’s letting him, and he’s trying to be considerate about it because hell, they’re doing this because they’re starved for a warm body and some connection, it doesn’t mean that it should be quick and detached.
After all, Frank thinks, if they’re doing this to feel good, then they might as well gain the most out of it, also because he’s fairly sure that it won’t happen a second time and so yeah, well, he intends to give her a fucking great time before they need to go out into the crazy island again.
There’s also something in the fact that Sun is doing this with him that makes want to live up to a standard; hell, she might be tiny but she’s definitely not a damsel in distress, and at the same time she’s determinate and strong and beautiful, everything he likes in a woman, and well, you get it. So as they ease on the ground he takes his time undressing her, he kisses her thoroughly but without being harsh or too fast or too greedy, and he knows he’s doing it right when she arches against him and lets out a small moan from the back of her throat. Her hair is long and dark and thick as it falls freely on her shoulders and brushes Frank’s cheek, and her lips are thin and warm as her mouth reaches his neck; there’s sweat slightly trickling on the stripes of skin left visible by their unbuttoned shirts, and she shivers when he bends down and delicately licks away a drop.
She arches up against him again, and then lifts her hips up slightly and pushes her trousers and underwear down to her knees, then lies back down on a blanket he grabbed from a backpack someone left on the beach when they went with Locke; he knows they won’t go as far as fucking, he’d feel uncomfortable doing that, too, considering the reason she’s here and all, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not the only way, and so he uses just hands, one roaming on her stomach and slowly touching wherever it can reach, and the other down, his fingers bending inside her slowly first and faster later.
She lets out soft moans as she clenches around them and meets his motions, her body soft and thin under his hands (but, he thinks as his free hand grips her hip and brings her closer, it almost feels like clay under his fingertips); she comes eventually, he doesn’t know how much later, clenching even more before she shudders beneath him, a pleased sound coming from her lips (and he’s quick to lean down and swallow it). Her tongue runs along his lips for a handful of seconds before they part; he turns and nods at her as she dresses up again and he disappears for a minute behind a tree, because while he really doesn’t need to ruin the only clothes he has on him, he needs release and as soon as possible. And so when he’s out of sight he opens his trousers’ fly and reaches down with his hand.
When he gets back, her hair is messier and she’s tying it up into a ponytail; she nods at him as a small smile makes her lips curl up.
“Thank you,” she says earnestly, and he shakes his head as he buttons up his shirt again.
“My damn pleasure,” he answers waiting for her to reach his side. They still need to decide what to do, anyway, and whatever was between them just a short while before is over for good.
--
And then she dies and by all means he should have died with her and Jin, and he flies off the island while she’s buried down in the sea with the man she came there for, but Frank had seen them before, in the cages. They had been happy, no question about it. He figures that they had to go down together. He shudders when he thinks he was about to meet the same end as the plane flues away and leaves the island in the distance.
He thinks he’ll miss her, even if their friendship, or collaboration, or maybe even camaraderie, or however the fuck you want to call it, didn’t last long and is definitely over now; still, he knows he won’t forget it and maybe she’d have liked him to remember.
Not that he still isn’t surprised that he actually has a life to live, but damn, he can’t complain.
A minute later, Richard is behind him.
“Everything okay in there?” Frank asks.
“Yes, I figure it is,” Richard answers, and Frank thinks that there’s happiness in his voice. Good. If for a change someone’s happy, he won’t complain about it for fucking sure.
“Well then,” Frank says when Richard, instead of going back, occupies the other seat, “what about you? What are you going to do now?”
“I…” Richard’s voice trails for a second, and then he shakes his head as he stares at the sky ahead. “I don’t have a clue.”
“Fantastic. Neither have I.”
Richard lets out a small laugh and Frank does, too; not having a clue doesn’t feel so daunting as it should.
II.
With Richard, it’s something that might last even if it’s almost as batshit crazy as everything else put together, and Frank thinks he might not be wrong about it.
He hadn’t really expected to get out of the damn island alive, nor to end up living with a former immortal guy, but hell, Kate and Claire had run into the sunset together to search for their kid and Miles is keeping an eye over Sawyer or James or how the fuck he goes by now and they actually live on the above floor since there were a couple rooms to rent, and well, since Frank is the one who actually had an apartment to share and an identity and a lot of other useful things that Richard lacked, here they are.
It could be damn worse, and so Frank doesn’t complain about it. At the beginning, Richard was what you’d describe as your ideal roommate; never nosy, never loud, and well, considering that he was pretty damn fucking happy of getting off that island, he also was mostly in a good mood all the time, and Frank can’t complain about that either.
The problem is that Richard is kind of crap at living like a normal human being who ages and gets gray hair and has to do normal shit, but then again spending more than a century on an island being a pawn in some fucked game between two demi gods or whatever which no one has understood, as far as Frank is concerned, allows you to get away with being crap at dealing with normal stuff. Not to mention that from what Richard told him, his life before said island wasn’t a basket full of cherries, especially the enslaving part of it. It’s kind of weird, seeing him like this; this, meaning without that layer of calmness that Frank had sort of associated with Richard since they ended up taking a walk towards a foot of a statue. Fuck, the guy was the embodiment of collected, and it’s just strange seeing his eyes widen at times and hearing him swear against the coffee machine because he can’t figure out how the fuck it works.
(“Didn’t you Others have coffee in those cozy houses?”
“Yes, they did, but I didn’t exactly drink it. Or make it. And anyway I never lived in the cozy houses.”)
“I think I just lost a purpose and regained another too quickly,” Richard says once, and it makes sense, Frank thinks. It tends to put you out of place. Especially when meanwhile you’re also trying to find some job (and thank fuck that Sawyer knows something about faking documents, advantages of having an ex con living on the upper floor) which doesn’t require many qualifications. Because, as Richard puts it, knowing Spanish doesn’t help much when you don’t have a piece of paper to show for it.
Anyway, this whole situation is what ends up becoming that something that might last, or at least it’s what it turns into when one evening some three months after the rescue Richard comes from some job interview that obviously didn’t turn out that great muttering that he’s useless at this, which might not be untrue but isn’t really the point of it.
It’s not really funny, that it happens like it happened with Sun. First they’re talking and Frank is trying to tell Richard not to be an idiot and to just suck it up and get a grip without being too harsh because the guy doesn’t need harsh, Richard tries to argue the contrary, and it ends with Frank kissing Richard just because he needs him to shut the hell up.
Well, at least this time he remembers who started it; except that Richard doesn’t stop it. He actually reciprocates and it’s fast and harsh and it lacks finesse, but Richard’s lips are warm and his mouth burns like fire as he kisses back. Frank is surprised for a second, but then he just goes the fuck along because it feels good, it feels strangely right, too, and there’s something in the way Richard’s hands are clutching at his hips that screams need, and Frank can’t find it in himself to ignore it.
He doesn’t even want to, and so what starts in the living room ends in Frank’s bedroom with Richard arching up under his hands and kissing him like a man starved for it.
Which maybe he is, Frank figures, it’d just make sense, and well, he figures, why not. They’re in this together after all, and he does like Richard quite some after three months of shared space, and not just talking about the fact that the man is a damned sight for sore eyes. Also, there’s no one else in the picture, or somewhere else; it’s just the two of them doing it because they want to (fuck, Frank wants to, and Richard does, too, from the way he grinds against him), and that’s good, he figures. And considering that Richard hasn’t obviously got laid recently, Frank settles on making it good, indeed.
He does, and fuck if the moans coming from the back of Richard’s throat while Frank has his mouth on Richard’s earlobe and his right hand jerking Richard off not as fast as Frank could if he wanted aren’t hot.
This time, Frank doesn’t give a damn about clothes.
It isn’t a one time thing; it happens again, and again, and again, and it’s clear that it isn’t a question of friends with benefits after the third time or so. It’s written in the way Richard looks at him most times, like he doesn’t know where they stand but he’d really like them to keep on standing there anyway, and it’s spoken in the way they touch each other (Richard’s hands always reach everywhere, bringing him down, tangling in his hair, and Frank tries to be slow and not as greedy, and for some reason there’s a fucking good balance somewhere in there, not to mention that in the end Frank always wins the match) and Frank can hear it in the sounds always coming from the back of Richard’s throat when he comes under him every goddamn time.
Which is why, after a bunch of times, Frank figures it’s time to make clear where the hell they stand.
He doesn’t usually say much after, he never was one for pillow talk and Richard is quiet by nature or so it seems, and so they never do much of that, but this particular time, instead of drifting off to sleep, Frank grabs Richard’s wrist when he’s about to turn on the other side.
“You want to make this whole thing official, you just gotta say it. Just giving you heads up.”
Richard raises an eyebrow looking almost comically confused. “Excuse me?”
“Instead of staring at my back like you do every goddamn time, just spill it out. You want this to keep on being friends-with-benefits fucking, you’re my guest. You want it not to be casual, spill it out the same. Neither of us is fucking thirteen, which is pretty much the age limit for not getting it, and I’d like it to stay that damned way. So?”
Richard stares at him for some ten seconds, looking every inch the embodiment of calmness Frank remembers from before-the-thing-that-wasn’t-Locke-took-him-out-just-like-that, and then he shakes his head letting out a breath and suddenly he doesn’t seem that calm anymore.
“So… I’d like it. If it was not casual.”
“Fine. Then it isn’t.”
“Wait. That’s… that’s all there is to it? Shouldn’t that be… more… complicated?” Richard asks, clearly baffled, and Frank just moves closer and looks at him straight in the eyes.
“Sometimes,” he says, “when you want to do this being a mortal thing, it doesn’t fucking have to be. And thank fuck for that, I’m sick of complicated stuff.” I had enough of that on the damned island, he adds in his head but doesn’t say.
And then he kisses Richard before he can answer, and damn if Richard doesn’t kiss back in return, and yeah, complicated? It’s goddamn overrated. Maybe before the island it might have been a clusterfuck, but he has been through too much crap already and whatever this ended up being, he’d rather keep it as it is.
Especially, he thinks as he swallows Richard’s moan down and can feel the lips against his own slightly curling up into the kiss, when it works so well and you didn’t expect it. If he still doesn’t have an idea (and neither has Richard) of what the fuck the both of them are going to do in the long run, it doesn’t really matter; and since they stated how things are, he figures that maybe they can be up for a round two, and he pushes Richard down into the mattress.
When Richard just kisses him harder, he’s pretty sure he’s having this right.
End.