( archie isn’t complex. reggie’s hand tightens around him and he stirs on his lap, knees digging into his hips. it shines a spotlight on how simple it would be to take and experience without giving anything back. his lips part, this time divided with a grin to showcase his enjoyment. words like always require conviction that archie doesn’t have in this—in them. reggie’s one of his best friends . . .
and his fingers drift lower anyway, beneath his navel. please, god, please fans the fire, engulfing him completely. he navigates by touch alone, fumbling with reggie’s belt ( if he’s wearing one ) and the front of his pants. how hot is that? tasting him on his lips, knowing where this is going, hearing his encouragement.
he has to insert some space between them, scooting down on reggie’s thighs some to make this feasible. he feels his heart jump into his throat ( this is happening, it’s happeningit’shappeningit’s ) and he swallows, too, acting before he can change his mind. archie chews hit bottom lip, eyes downcast, gazing unabashedly as he spreads reggie’s jeans open as wide as he can and promptly cups him through his underwear. he’s firm and warm, and archie sucks in a slow breath, wets his lips, and carefully withdraws reggie’s dick from the confines of his underwear. he can’t look at him, doesn’t want to know if reggie’s waiting expectantly, wondering when he’s going to get into it. so he traces him with his index finger and thumb, hand curved around his dick, while he tries to wrap his mind around how someone else’s erection feels on his skin. he does look up then, during the slow but steady drag of his touch, trying to mirror reggie’s ministrations as much as what he thinks is pleasurable.
he grasps at reggie's shoulder with his other hand, needing grounding of some kind. he wants to say something but nothing comes out, not when his mind's alight with possibilities, things like reggie against him — side by side, on top of him, beneath him. archie's really not fussed. )
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and his fingers drift lower anyway, beneath his navel. please, god, please fans the fire, engulfing him completely. he navigates by touch alone, fumbling with reggie’s belt ( if he’s wearing one ) and the front of his pants. how hot is that? tasting him on his lips, knowing where this is going, hearing his encouragement.
he has to insert some space between them, scooting down on reggie’s thighs some to make this feasible. he feels his heart jump into his throat ( this is happening, it’s happeningit’shappeningit’s ) and he swallows, too, acting before he can change his mind. archie chews hit bottom lip, eyes downcast, gazing unabashedly as he spreads reggie’s jeans open as wide as he can and promptly cups him through his underwear. he’s firm and warm, and archie sucks in a slow breath, wets his lips, and carefully withdraws reggie’s dick from the confines of his underwear. he can’t look at him, doesn’t want to know if reggie’s waiting expectantly, wondering when he’s going to get into it. so he traces him with his index finger and thumb, hand curved around his dick, while he tries to wrap his mind around how someone else’s erection feels on his skin. he does look up then, during the slow but steady drag of his touch, trying to mirror reggie’s ministrations as much as what he thinks is pleasurable.
he grasps at reggie's shoulder with his other hand, needing grounding of some kind. he wants to say something but nothing comes out, not when his mind's alight with possibilities, things like reggie against him — side by side, on top of him, beneath him. archie's really not fussed. )