[There's a grunt as his back hits the wall, and he squirms under the intensity of Will's gaze, but he's not Seth. And he never will be. Richie doesn't have to listen, or so he tells himself. Like a horse that has yet to be broken, or a dog that has yet to be trained, he can't resist testing the boundaries, pushing them to the limits just because he doesn't think they should apply to him. And so he scowls and snarls and refuses to budge, furiously wishing he'd hidden the gun on himself rather than under the pillow where he can't get to it if only so he can make the other man go away.]
[Spam]
Or what?