Barchie Smut

Stripped and Locked

Original Writer: Tuesdayschildd - on ao3

This was originally varchie but I changed it.
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His footsteps carry in the hall and she listens to the sounds he’s making, likely discarding his clothing behind him. She can picture it- his T-shirt over his head, belt thrown haphazardly, jeans in a pile. She’s snuggled into their bed, down comforter tucked in around her shoulders like a cloud as the moonlight streams in the window. It’s 4 am, and she’s already gotten 7 hours of sleep, and he’s home earlier than she expected.

And then the door is opening slowly, too slowly, he’s drunk, trying ridiculously hard not to make any noise to wake her, but then he’s tripping over something and swearing under his breath as he clutches his foot, hopping around and making more noise in the darkness. She can’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Archie apologizes sheepishly, and then he’s slipping in next to her under the covers, curling his body around hers.

Betty jumps with the shock of his cold hands and feet against her pleasantly bed-warmed skin, squirming out of his clutches as he tries to burrow in deeper around her. “You’re freezing! Get off!” She half laughs, brushing him off and turning around. His eyes are glossy and he’s smiling something evil.  “You look like you had fun,” she whispers to him.

“Too much, Betty, too much.”

“Tell me,” she asks, curious, propping her head up on her hand, elbow bent, a few inches of space between them, his goofy smiling causing one of her own. His good moods always have this infectious tone, radiating out through his skin like summer sunshine on a gloomy day, and it doesn’t matter what she’s doing or feeling, because she has to stop and stare in awe at her husband and his smile.

“Well it’s Reggie, so of course we went to the strip club. They put him up on the stage, Betty, and he...” he trails off laughing hard, “he...started...dancing...on the poll...” it takes him a solid 10 seconds to get the rest of the words out, “...and he started getting tips from the dancers!”

He trails off laughing and hiccuping, gasping for air and wiping tears, and she chuckles at his obvious enjoyment. Reggie’s bachelor party had been in the works for weeks, the penultimate event of the year for the boys, more important than the actual wedding between him and Veronica, and when that Saturday night finally came she sent him off with the same strict instructions she gave him for his own bachelor party: have fun, don’t get arrested, don’t mess up his pretty face, don’t pick up a venereal disease, and please dear god, don’t tell her what he did unless she asks specifically.

Archie’s running his hand through his hair and licking his lips, hard chest bare, and she feels something starting to tingle between her legs at the sight of him. She decides she does in fact want to know more about his evening.

“Which club did you go to?” she inquires, tucking in closer to his side.

“Sapphire 39,” he answers, grabbing her hand to stop her tracing patterns across his chest, lacing their fingers together over his heart and closing his eyes.

“Of course. Nothing but the best for Reggie.” She maneuvers in closer to him, shifting a leg across his pelvis, his other arm instinctively coming down around her back to rest on her thigh to hold her in place.

Since he has her appendages locked in now, she tries another tactic to get his attention, pulling her chin up his chest closer to his ear, “See anything else you liked?” She asks coyly, with just a hint of breathiness, watching as the eye closest to her peaks slightly open to peer down.

“Maybe,” he answers shutting his eye again, a smirk on the corner of his mouth growing. He wants to flirt, too, his hand now playing with the soft skin of the back of her thigh, whispering touches that give her shivers. “A couple things, actually.”