Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11120460.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Riverdale_(TV_2017)
  Relationship:
      FP_Jones_II/Jughead_Jones/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      FP_Jones_II, Jughead_Jones, Original_Male_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Spitroasting, Fuck_Or_Die, Parent/Child_Incest, Rape, Cock_Slapping,
      First_Time_Blow_Jobs, Loss_of_Virginity, Face-Fucking, Sarcasm, Threesome
      -_M/M/M, Gangs
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-07 Completed: 2017-07-11 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 4965
****** Collateral Damage ******
by lucdarling
Summary
     FP's mouth gets him into trouble but he's not the one who pays the
     price.
Notes
     Written for a_prompt at the Riverdale kinkmeme.
     One day I will write a fic for this fandom that doesn't involve non-
     consensual sex but apparently that is not today! All mistakes,
     grammar and otherwise, are my own.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
"Give me a few minutes alone, for fuck's sake." FP growls and the man who
proposed the deal with his hand never far from his gun smirks.
"Yeah sure, boss. No sampling beforehand, mind you." the man jeers and FP turns
on his heel to head to the backroom where Jughead is waiting out yet another
meeting. This isn't the first time his son has tagged along to a Serpents
meeting, but it is the first time he's come up as collateral. All because FP
had pissed off the other gang's leader, the gang they needed as a middle-man
between the Serpents and those down in New York City who would handle the
distribution of what the Serpents were moving. It was a pain in the ass, going
through another gang who didn't see eye to eye with FP when it came to running
a crew. FP may have said some things and instead of punches being thrown like
he expected, the rival had demanded payment.
That's how he ended up cajoling his only son back into the bar itself, hand
clenched too tightly in the denim jacket as he propelled Jughead forward.
"You're whoring me out?" Jughead's usually stoic mask slipped, giving way to
incredulity and shock. FP winced at the crude terms.
"I got no way to make this better, Jughead." FP shook his head. "It's either
that or neither of us are walking out of here."
Jughead closes his eyes at that, tipping his head back. He stays seated at the
crappy card table, homework spread out before him. FP wishes he didn't have to
put this choice on his teenage son.
"Let's get it over with, then." Jughead sighs heavily and stands from the
table. He packs up all his books and laptop most carefully. FP puts a hand on
Jughead's shoulder before he can open the door.
"I'm gonna make it as good as I can, I hope you know that."
Jughead doesn't say anything to FP's promise even though the words hang heavy
between them. FP nods once and fists his hand in the back of his son's jacket
to hide the tremble. It takes no time at all to walk across the bar and both
Joneses stand there in silence before the rival leader motions Jughead up.
"I'm real sorry about this," FP mutters as he uses a gentle hand to spread his
son's knees. Jughead is on top of the pool table, hands and knees with his head
down. He gives no indication he's heard FP's apology.
"Just get it over with," Jughead says through gritted teeth. FP sighs and
strokes down the nobs of his spine. His skin is smooth. FP tries not to think
about how young the kid is, how said kid is related to him.
"That's what I like, eager and willing!" The rival smirks and Jughead, usually
so quick with a quip, stays silent. "Gonna have to take off those pipecleaners
you call jeans, boy."
Jughead takes the direction with a tilt of his head, raising up on knees and
ducking awkwardly so he doesn't hit the lamp. FP takes the smallest step back
from the pool table as his son unbuckles his belt and shoves the black jeans
and boxers to his knees. As an afterthought, he strips off his denim jacket and
leaves it at the edge of the table. He keeps on the red and black plaid shirt.
"Hope you weren't expecting a strip tease, 'fraid I left my music choice in my
other pants." Jughead's voice is dry and FP swallows, waiting for the man who's
directing this performance to take offense. Luckily, he only laughs.
"Your pretty mouth makes up for the lack of coordination," the man says and
unbuckles his own pants.
Jughead goes back down to his hands and knees while FP takes a packet of lube
from his leather jacket. He's grateful it had been in the glove box of his
truck. It should help make things a little easier, at least.
The man on the other end of the table doesn't waste any time as FP generously
slicks up two fingers. He taps Jughead's cheek with his cock, the meaty sound
echoing in FP's head in the sudden silence of the room.
FP rubs the pad of his thumb over his hole, small circles and little pressure.
The man's cock hits Jughead's other cheek, leaving a smear of pre-cum on the
beauty marks.
"Hey," Jughead speaks up. "I don't care if you pull my hair but don't get jizz
on the beanie, alright?" It's still on his head, FP notes. His kid and that
damned hat is a love affair he doesn't pretend to understand any more.
FP slides a finger in as smooth as he can while Jughead he speaks and his son's
voice doesn't even betray the tension that's tightened his spine. FP is a
little proud in that moment and feels sick. He knows he didn't take Fred's
fingers with so little emotion and entertains the possibility that their sons
are repeating history before dismissing the idea outright. He gets back to
work, pushing and pulling his finger over the tight ring of muscle.
"Sure, a favor for a favor's only fair." The man says and pushes into Jughead's
mouth as soon as the words leave his lips. FP grabs his cock with his free
hand, working himself up to hardness with firm strokes. He works another finger
into Jughead's ass in tandem; he's always been good with his hands.
FP can hear the familiar sounds of a cock getting sucked from not too far away;
it's a fairly familiar sound in the bathroom stalls of the Whyte Wyrm. As the
man groans, FP removes his fingers and grips his son's hip with his clean hand.
He wipes the other one on the green felt, feeling no remorse since it's not the
Serpents den and therefore, not his responsibility for cleaning. Lining up with
the now-clean hand, FP watches the movement of the cock in Jughead's mouth to
time his thrust just as the cock pulls out.
He doesn't want to choke his kid on a near stranger's dick, after all. All
thought leaves his mind as he bottoms out, it's so tight around his cock. FP
groans, unable to help himself.
The man chuckles and smirks over Jughead's head at him. "Tight and new, I could
have told you that." FP bites back his smart ass remark that anyone with eyes
could have seen that before tonight his son was a virgin.
He rubs his fingers over the jutting hipbone in silent apology, not wanting to
voice them where anyone, everyone else in the room can hear. And they could,
crowded around the pool table like they are. They don't have their cocks out
but their eyes are hungry as they watch the show in front of them.
FP draws out to almost the tip and pushes back in with little fanfare. He sets
an even pace with long strokes, still amazed that the ass he's fucking can stay
so tight. He pulls out all the way, watching with almost fascination at his
head snubbing the hole and then smearing his pre-come over pale skin before he
thrusts back in.
Jughead gags on the cock in his mouth as he's forced to take in more than he
bargained for thanks to FP's movement.
FP stills as he remembers this isn't a barfly he's fucking into but someone he
actually cares about. To keep up appearances, he shrugs and starts moving in
earnest. The sooner he ends his part in this sick demonstration, the sooner he
can wrap up his boy and take them two hours away to more familiar surroundings.
He still pets at the soft skin of a thigh in lieu of anything he could say.
There's nothing he can say to make this better.
He realizes in the next instant there is; surely getting Jughead to come would
be a little better than not coming at all? He reaches around to grab hold, not
terribly surprised the cock is soft in his hand. He wraps his hand around the
warm skin, starting to jerk his son off in small strokes.
FP watches as the man's hand comes up to cup Jughead's neck in a move of mock
tenderness that they all know he doesn't feel, sliding back to thread thick
fingers in his dark hair. It enables the man to hold Jughead on the length of
his cock, holding him there and smirking at FP as his son's body trembles and
he sucks in much-needed air through a nose buried in pale pubes.
To make up for it, FP adds a twist of his wrist as he slides his fist up
Jughead's cock. It's fully hard now and FP jacks him off as best he can figure
from faded memories of thin walls of a trailer that are softened and made hazy
by too much booze and the passage of time.
FP steps up the pace of his own thrusts as the man in charge releases Jughead,
calling out encouragement as his son splutters for breath and is pulled back
down again in short order. It goes on like that for a while, FP watches, the
man taking pleasure in gagging Jughead on his cock and letting him up just long
enough to catch a shallow breath.
The blond man seems to tire of the noise and slaps his cock against Jughead's
face again. FP wonders how long the guy can last and puts forth more effort in
making Jughead come instead.
He feels the wetness of come dripping over his fist as Jughead comes moments
later with another twist of his wrist at the head and the resulting tightness
around FP's cock is so great there's no hope of movement. It's also enough to
trigger his own orgasm and his eyes shut at the feeling, helplessly grinding in
small circles against his son's ass as his cock pulses.
FP pulls out once Jughead relaxes enough, watching out the corner of his eye as
the hole clenches around empty air as he pulls up his pants. The man getting
the blowjob finally seems interested in coming and fucks Jughead's face with
little mercy, rough thrusts that hit his throat.
Jughead takes it, eyes closed and brow furrowed. FP can still see the tear
tracks in the overhead light, betraying the false sense of calm. FP settles his
hand on his son's lower back, thumb rubbing soothingly over the dip of his
spine in an effort to offer what comfort he can after the events of tonight.
The man grunts loudly and comes, pulling out of Jughead's mouth and splattering
over his chin and the neck of his plaid shirt with the last spurts.
Jughead coughs and the man laughs, making a dismissive motion with his hand
that sends the assembled watchers to elsewhere in the bar.
"That was nice of you to share, FP." the man grins lazily as he tucks his
softening cock away.
"We done here?" FP answers brusquely, holding out a hand to help his son off
the pool table. Jughead doesn't take it, falters through grasping the zipper
pull of his jeans and buckling his belt due to shaking hands.
"Yeah," the blond agrees. "Best watch your mouth from now on, 'cause I know
whose mouth I want to hear from in the future."
To Jughead, the man says "You make some pretty noises, kid."
Jughead blinks, face shuttering to the closed mask he usually wears as he looks
over to FP instead of answering. "I'll get my stuff and meet you at the truck."
FP nods wordlessly and watches as his son walks off, gait in his step
signifying he's just been fucked.
"It's been a real pleasure doing business with you Serpents," the man draws
FP's attention again. FP clenches his hands into fists so he doesn't haul off
and punch the man. By the look on his face, the man knows just what his words
are doing to FP and is enjoying digging the knife a little deeper.
Without letting him get another word in, FP brushes past and lifts a hand in a
careless farewell as he walks toward the door. The men in the room don't hide
their laughter and it rings in his ears as he steps outside.
FP leans against the door, breathing in the smell of summer heat and impending
rain. He takes a minute to breathe it in, to breathe against the guilt that
threatens to crush him for his actions tonight and then takes a step forward.
Another step and another, one foot in front of the other until he's at the
truck he's had since he was in his mid-20s.
Jughead is leaning against the engine, head bowed.
"You okay to sit?" FP says softly. "I think I got a jacket in the back if you
need."
"It'll be fine," his son reassures him and doesn't look up. The beanie on his
head throws his face into shadow but not enough to hide the sheen of tears.
"Let's go home."
"Let's go home," FP echoes and opens the truck door.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry this took a month. It's un-edited but I hope it's as enjoyable
     as the first part.
Jughead gets in the truck and dumps the backpack from his lap to rest at his
feet before FP's even had a chance to turn the engine over. He carefully
doesn't dwell on the thought that the two-hour drive toward the Pennsylvania-
New York border in a car with his father is probably FP's idea of father-son
bonding. Not for the first time Jughead wishes he didn't get motion sick and
was able to read while FP navigates the roads.
They don't speak, the radio's classic rock station louder than the growl of the
pickup's engine an effective conversation killer. Jughead doesn't bother asking
if they could swing by a diner, this isn't his first time as a tag-a-long to a
Serpents errand. He knows they'll get food on the way back, once whatever is in
the back of the truck has been handed over and FP's had a beer or three with
the leader of whoever they're meeting.
Jughead knows better than to ask questions and truthfully, he's happier not
knowing the details.
They pull up to the bar, done in dark wood and looking shadier than the
Serpents' den. Jughead follows FP through the door, pack slung over his back
and not making eye contact with the handful of bikers already present. FP leads
him to a small room in the back, some sort of manager's office if Jughead had
to guess as he notes the papers stacked haphazardly and clipboard on the table.
"Shouldn't be too long, Jughead." FP promises and Jughead's scoff is audible.
He doesn't hide the rolling of his eyes either, both because it's expected of
him as a teenager and because none of these meetings have ever lasted less than
an hour.
It's probably more than enough time for him to make headway on his assigned
summer homework, so Jughead waves a hand carelessly as he sprawls into the
chair at the table.
"You uh, want a soda or something from the bar?" FP tries to offer and Jughead
shakes his head.
"No, I should probably concentrate on making these algebra 2 problems
disappear."
"Right," FP says and leaves the room. Jughead lets out a sigh. His relationship
with FP has been strained ever since his mom left and took Jellybean with her.
The two of them coast along, if that's what it can be called when the supposed
parent figure spends more time passed out on the couch from the bottle or out
of the home doing shady if not outright illegal acts and the kid in the
equation tries to hold it all together so no one had any idea. Jughead's gotten
a job at the drive-in in the past month, thinking he could use what little
money it would give him to save up for a bike; it had gone towards rent and
keeping the electricity running, instead. Other times, less frequent than
Jughead playing the parent role, is when FP tries to be a father. He often
fails dismally - Jughead doesn't know of a single classmate at Riverdale High
who accompanies their dad to business meetings for illegal shenanigans - but
his heart is in the right place, Jughead can admit.
Jughead bends his head to his summer math work instead of worrying about what
he'll do once school starts and he has to cut back on his hours.
He's jarred out of his tunnel vision concerning sine and cosines and tangents
by the door opening. FP shuts the door behind him, frowning. Jughead takes out
an earbud.
"Ready to go eat?" Jughead says with a grin. He's so hungry he thinks his
stomach may try to eat itself.
"We're not leaving yet." FP leans against the door and rubs a hand across his
five o’clock shadow. "I uh, I don't remember meeting this guy before but
apparently I let my mouth get ahead of me and he took offense."
"What a surprise." Jughead says flatly. "You were probably drunk."
FP sighs and it's a heavier sound than normal. "I wish to hell it hadn't
happened. 'Cuz now he's talking about compensation and it's not good."
Jughead takes his other earbud out and gives this conversation all the
attention it clearly deserves. "What sort of compensation are we talking about?
Please don't say they're gonna take off your hand or something medieval."
"Uh," FP starts and then shuts his mouth. "Uh, he wants you."
Jughead blinks, because he certainly hadn't been expecting those words. FP
continues to explain, haltingly, that either Jughead can go out to the main
room of the bar and satisfy the sick voyeuristic tendencies of this group of
ephebophiles masquerading as bikers or say no, and more than likely assure the
last sight he sees is the gravel lot behind the bar. And his father's corpse,
if they killed him first.
"So you're whoring me out?" Jughead finds his voice and takes no delight in
FP's immediate wince.
“I got no way to make this better, Jughead.” FP shakes his head and Jughead
can’t find the words to say maybe start by not bringing me along on your drug
deals and be a father for once in your life. He misses FP’s next words but he
knows that nothing’s getting done while they both jaw about what’s gonna happen
next.
“Let’s get it over with, then.” It’s Jughead’s decision to go, to be the
sacrificial victim in a play he didn’t write. He sighs and starts packing up
his schoolwork, taking care with his laptop. It’s an effort not to jerk away
from FP’s heavy hand as he nears the door.
"I'm gonna make it as good as I can, I hope you know that."
Jughead doesn't say anything to FP's promise even though the words hang heavy
between them.
The blond man gives a wide smile as he blatantly gives Jughead a once over.
“That’s what I like to see, eager and willing!” he says loudly and Jughead
realizes just how many people are in the bar besides the man who can’t get his
dick sucked any other way and his father. It doesn’t stop him from climbing up
on the pool table with little grace.
The man - Jughead doesn’t know his name and doesn’t care to ask, it’s not like
none of them will repeat this night at any point - makes a quip about Jughead’s
jeans. Normally, he’d have a comeback but between the weight of the stares on
him and the knowledge of what’s going to occur strike him mute.
His fingers fumble as he pops the button his jeans and pushes them down.
“Hope you weren’t expecting a strip tease.” Sometimes, Jughead can’t help his
smart mouth. “‘Fraid I left my music choice in my other pants.” He takes off
his jacket for good measure, laying it down carefully on the edge of the table
because it’s got to last him for the coming winter.
The words at least gets the blonde to laugh. Jughead names him Rex in his head.
He tries to spin this as the beginning of a story: The weirdo with few friends
but a strong streak of loyalty that often brought him borrowed trouble, got to
his hands and knees. He watched the man approach with hunger in his eyes -
The clink of a belt buckle throws him out of the script and besides, it’s a
little too close to home. Everyone says “write what you know” but somehow,
Jughead doesn’t think anyone is gonna want to read about this experience.
He isn’t too surprised when Rex takes his cock in hand, stepping close enough
so he can smear pre-come on Jughead’s cheek. It’s exactly like every porno
Jughead’s watched, not that he’s put in the hours because bottle blondes
getting fucked by men with too many muscles set to bad dialogue and worse music
isn’t what gets him off.
There’s a warm hand stroking over his ass, a finger putting gentle pressure on
his hole in small circles. Jughead firmly doesn’t look back, keeping his eyes
forward on Rex.
Rex’s cock slaps against the other side of his face and Jughead keeps the
wisecrack about facials and skincare routines in his head.
“Hey,” since Jughead doesn’t have much else to lose, he opens his mouth. “I
don’t care if you pull my hair but don’t get jizz on the beanie.” He probably
should have taken it off before he walked into the room or got on the pool
table but it’s too late now.
As he’s speaking and Rex seems agreeable if amused, there’s a finger pushing
against the ring of muscle, into him. Jughead always figured he’d be up for a
little assplay at some point in the future, he likes to think of himself as an
enlightened 21st century man, but he didn’t expect to lose his virginity this
soon.
Then there’s a cock at his lips and Jughead opens his mouth without further
prompting. He feels the thickness of fingers, plural, in his ass and tries to
focus on the task in front of him.
Another man’s cock is a heavy weight on his tongue, just as thick as a giant
mouthful of burger but vastly different. Jughead isn’t given time to adjust or
even do much in the way of sucking when Rex pulls out and thrusts back in,
starting a rhythm that Jughead manages to bob with.
He closes his eyes, concentrating on getting this over quickly. They fly open
almost immediately after when a cock pushes into him. It feels like he’s going
to split open, it hurts even with the careful prep he was given.
Rex says something over his head but Jughead is too busy focusing on breathing
through his nose and not letting the tears that are gathering in the corners of
his eyes fall. Every time the cock pushes into him, Jughead’s pushed further
onto Rex’s cock.
The feel of a cock sliding out of him is strange; it’s even stranger when the
glide of it starts to feel something approaching acceptable. (It can never be
good in these circumstances.) Rex’s cock thrusts further into his mouth,
hitting the back of his throat. Jughead gasps when it’s gone, able to snatch a
quick breath before he’s actually choking on it thanks to the ill-timed thrust
pushing him forward on the pool table.
Jughead lets the tears fall when he can’t breathe for a few seconds, finding it
easier to let his body be moved by the actions of the two men on either end of
him. It seems Rex likes the noises he made, because he pushes his cock to
Jughead’s throat again. The cock fucking into him is no longer slow and steady
but setting a rough, quick pace that jars the palms of his hands against the
green felt.
Jughead gives a muffled groan when his own cock is touched by a large hand.
It’s half-hard and Jughead hadn’t even realized it. He’s stroked to full
hardness and it feels good, even as Rex cups the back of Jughead’s neck.
It’s a nonverbal warning that Jughead is going to be pulled onto Rex’s cock. He
chokes again as he’s forced to swallow the hard length, gagging around it.
There’s not much sucking to be done when Rex thrusts over and over.
The hand on his cock twists at the head, thumbing over the tip and Jughead’s
groan is stifled. Rex pulls out far enough for him to take a shallow breath
before he pushes in again. Jughead tries to breathe through his nose instead.
It seems Rex might be close, evident by the thrusts into his mouth becoming
harsher. The hand slides from its bruising grip on his hip up to his lower back
as Jughead closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see any more of the bar or Rex;
he can’t do anything about the weight of the stares on him.
Jughead feels himself come before either of them, his own hips canting into the
hand that holds his cock. He clenches around the cock fucking him before his
body relaxes into post-orgasm haze and Jughead feels a rush of warmth in his
ass not a minute later.
He relaxes further it seems over and the cock pulls out. If he thought being
full of semen was a different feeling, it’s nothing compared to the way his
hole feels. Yes, it’s tender and a little painful but more than that, it’s
empty. Jughead puts his concentration back on the cock in front of him instead
of thinking about it.
Thankfully Rex seems to tire of the noises Jughead can’t help making when his
cock touches his throat, pulling out and allowing Jughead his first deep
breath. He sucks in air through swollen lips and glances a look through his
eyelashes.
Rex’s fist is moving over his cock and Jughead’s eyes shut quickly. Rex grunts
and comes all over Jughead’s face. It’s viscous and Jughead’s sure it’s gotten
on his plaid shirt. That’s no bother, it’s going in the dumpster behind this
place as soon as he steps outside.
He coughs as he accidentally inhales some and Rex laughs. Jughead glares,
futile as it is.
"That was nice of you to share, FP." Rex grins as he tucks his softening cock
away. Jughead raises himself up to his knees on the table and awkwardly knee-
walks to the edge of the table.
“We done here?” FP asks in response, holding out a hand for Jughead. It’s a
little too late, Jughead thinks but he doesn’t knock it away. He doesn’t take
it, either. He tries to catch the zipper on the fly of his jeans and it takes a
few tries for his fumbling fingers to grasp it and pull the tab upward. The
belt buckle is just as difficult but that might be more due to the wetness he
can feel pricking.
“Yeah,” Rex says agreeably. He threatens FP not so subtly, though Jughead could
have told him there was no need because tonight was a more potent warning than
any words.
Jughead blinks at the next words, directed at him. “You make some pretty
noises, kid.” His face settles into his default blank stare but the blinking
means the tears spill over and down his cheeks. Jughead is suddenly too tired
to care.
“I’ll get my stuff and meet you at the truck,” he tells FP instead of
responding like Rex so clearly wants. His voice is hoarse. He makes a beeline
toward the back room, grabbing his jacket off the pool table as he passes.
As soon as the door shuts behind him, Jughead slides to the carpeted floor,
uncaring of how dirty it is. He hurts and he aches and he wants his bed. He
wants a shower, the come is already beginning to dry tacky on his cheek.
At least his silent tears are helping to wash it off, a little. He pulls off
the plaid shirt and rubs roughly at his face. He keeps wiping at his skin until
he’s sure his face is clean.
Jughead slips into his jacket then, pulling it over his chest tighter than it
would allow than if he’d just zipped it shut. He holds the jacket closed with
one hand and pushes himself to his feet with a loud sigh, walking the few steps
across the room to get his schoolwork.
He bends down without thinking to pick his bag up and it makes him bite his lip
so a cry doesn’t escape. He slings it over his shoulder nonetheless and leaves
the room, shirt balled up in one hand.
Jughead takes the fire door at the back instead of the front. He hears the
murmur of voices as he twists the handle and steps into the space behind the
bar. The men’s cut off and Jughead throws the shirt in the dumpster a few feet
away with force.
It’s not a football so there’s not much arc to his throw but at least it’s away
from him. Jughead spins on his heel and walks along the alley of the bar to the
truck. He’s more than ready to go home and pretend this night never happened.
He knows FP won’t ever bring it up again and Jughead certainly won’t.
Besides, he’s got plans with Archie in two days for the Fourth. He can spend
the drive home thinking up what to tell his childhood friend when he asks how
his summer’s been so far.
End Notes
     There will be a Part 2 with Jughead POV up by the end of the week.
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