[Archie loses his concentration at the progression to skin-on-skin, and at first his mouth stops moving and he just stands there with his lips on the curve Reggie's jaw, breathing, but as he starts to get hard with the movement his forehead drops down into the crook of Reggie's neck. It's warmer than he thought it'd be, softer somehow than he'd ever imagined (though he'd only actually been imagining for a few weeks now.) His fingers curl around the solid bulk of Reggie's arms, and even if the situation is familiar enough—it's certainly not the first handjob he's ever gotten—everything about this time is new and strange.
Exciting.]
God, [he groans, before nodding with his face still hidden against Reggie's skin. It feels good, so much better than his own hand, rendered increasingly inadequate over two weeks of progressively more profound frustration. He wants to melt and he wants to explode, and his eyes are closed (when did that happen?) so he could think of anyone when he starts to roll his hips into the grip around his dick.
no subject
Exciting.]
God, [he groans, before nodding with his face still hidden against Reggie's skin. It feels good, so much better than his own hand, rendered increasingly inadequate over two weeks of progressively more profound frustration. He wants to melt and he wants to explode, and his eyes are closed (when did that happen?) so he could think of anyone when he starts to roll his hips into the grip around his dick.
He could, but he doesn't.] Reggie.