( oh, but he’s a good at that. kissing. all tongue and teeth and every intention of occupying every single thought that pops into archie’s head. he can’t linger on what reggie looks like when he rolls his hips, if all of his other senses are being put into overdrive. he tastes beer, smells something that’s intrinsically reggie, can hear the rustle of denim and the wet slide of their lips, and he can feel him—hard and insistent, pressed up against the seat of his jeans, and it’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating. he’s used to being the one with someone in his lap and so he’s out of his comfort zone but god, he’s doing that to reggie. that’s what archie keeps circling back to. he’s the reason he’s hard.
he’s disappointed when their mouths separate, although not for long, not when he realizes their kiss is being traded for something more pleasurable. archie’s fingers curl at the back of reggie’s head, gently scraping with his nails and he holds on a little relentlessly, unable to make a sound for a second or two. it's isn't like he's never had a handjob before but it seems new because it's reggie. that's his hand on archie's dick, his fingers curved around him, pumping him. he wishes he had reggie's mouth to stifle his gasps with. )
Shit. ( he curses without vehemence, airy and unrestrained. archie's gaze falls between their laps as his hand retracts from reggie's neck because he wants to see too; what his dick looks like framed by reggie's hand ( fucking amazing ), where his eyes are lingering ( maybe his chest? ), and more importantly: what part of his shirt archie can bunch up in one palm to run the other up the expanse of his stomach. his hands aren't exactly soft from construction work and plucking at guitar strings but he hopes reggie won't mind. ) I wanna—
( archie can't come to the phone right now. not with his eyes slamming shut and his blunt nails digging into reggie's skin, not quite raking down but threatening to when he grunts. )
wow this is a month late. pls don't feel obligated to reply.
he’s disappointed when their mouths separate, although not for long, not when he realizes their kiss is being traded for something more pleasurable. archie’s fingers curl at the back of reggie’s head, gently scraping with his nails and he holds on a little relentlessly, unable to make a sound for a second or two. it's isn't like he's never had a handjob before but it seems new because it's reggie. that's his hand on archie's dick, his fingers curved around him, pumping him. he wishes he had reggie's mouth to stifle his gasps with. )
Shit. ( he curses without vehemence, airy and unrestrained. archie's gaze falls between their laps as his hand retracts from reggie's neck because he wants to see too; what his dick looks like framed by reggie's hand ( fucking amazing ), where his eyes are lingering ( maybe his chest? ), and more importantly: what part of his shirt archie can bunch up in one palm to run the other up the expanse of his stomach. his hands aren't exactly soft from construction work and plucking at guitar strings but he hopes reggie won't mind. ) I wanna—
( archie can't come to the phone right now. not with his eyes slamming shut and his blunt nails digging into reggie's skin, not quite raking down but threatening to when he grunts. )
I want to touch you, too.