As the man between them who had killed a lover, Richard would have argued a statement that he allowed too much. He did give a breathy laugh at the tug towards the bed, straightening a bit - for balance - to follow along. No, he didn't trip on the clothes they were shedding, and if Alec did, the swordsman's strong arm would steady him, holding him close, anyway.

Even as he was kicking off his boots.

He was also listening, and watching. He'd be perfectly willing to take charge or let Alec do what he wanted. Whichever he thought Alec would want - this was not the time to fumble or argue about it. (It might end up quick, bruising, and clumsy - for them, but not conflicted.)

Though burying his fingers into the long strands of hair, maybe tightening them a little, that wasn't something he was going to deny himself. (Later, he might pull. Yank. But not yet.)