Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13400733.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Riverdale_(TV_2017), Riverdale_(TV_2017)_RPF, Archie_Comics, Archie
      Comics_&_Related_Fandoms, Archie_Comics_(2015)
  Relationship:
      Archie_Andrews/FP_Jones_II, Archie_Andrews_&_FP_Jones_II
  Character:
      Archie_Andrews, FP_Jones_II
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, Shameless_Smut, Light_BDSM, Consensual_Violence, Daddy_Kink,
      Bisexual_Archie_Andrews, archie_tries_his_best, Archie_learns_some
      things, FP_gets_out_of_prison
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-17 Words: 5601
****** The Serpent & The Quarterback ******
by freightcarbarnes
Summary
     FP Jones is released from prison, and Archie Andrews has some papers
     to deliver to him on behalf of Jughead. The request Archie promised
     to fill out goes a very different way indeed...
It’d been a long, exhausting six months of incarceration. Weeks of iron bars
and a shoebox-sized column of sunlight. A hard bed. Stale prison food. The
occasional goading from an officer. Thankfully, FP’s status among the Southside
Serpents had meant he faced little in the way of confrontation from other
inmates — a few scuffles, a black eye, a busted lip — nothing serious.
They’d released him as dusk fell over Riverdale — the best way to avoid a media
frenzy, the last kind of attention the sheriff needed in the wake of FP’s
wrongful imprisonment.
Stones scuttled beneath FP’s boots as he took his newfound free steps across
the dusty ground outside Riverdale Penitentiary. The sun was low, the sky a
fast-fading orange-blue watercolour. The stars were beginning to speckle across
the approaching night as FP made his way, hands in pockets, along the backroads
and streets that he’d been riding around just half a year earlier. The thought
of the wind in his hair, the thrum of his bike between his thighs — it was
enough to double his pace as he headed back towards the winnebago he called
‘home.’
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
A soft sigh escaped the accused’s lips as he rounded the corner at the final
stretch of street. Home. A soft bed, a shower, no bars — with his captive
months behind him, his small home comparatively reached the lofty heights of
The Pembrooke. As he plunged a hand into his pocket to fish for his previously-
confiscated keys, shuffling feet ahead caught his attention. 
Brow furrowed, FP squinted at the blue and gold figure standing upon his porch
in the near distance. A broad, royal blue rectangle of a human, golden arms
hanging nervously at his sides, the Serpent’s pace slowed to a crawl as he
observed the mystery figure lingering outside his home. Only when the visitors
head turned, lifted, did FP recognise, and return to his brisk stepping — a
shock of auburn hair; Archie Andrews.
Keys in hand, FP climbed the few, familiar stairs behind the ginger jock.
“Hey, kid. Don’tcha know a convict lives here?”
An amused smile curled across FP’s lips as his words startled the young man,
cobalt shoulders jumping in surprise, eyes widening.
“O-oh, Mr. Jones, sorry, I didn’t see you—“
Sidling past the somewhat agitated Archie, FP unlocked the door, beckoning for
the redhead to enter as he went.
Archie shook his head, one hand holding up a bunch of lightly crumpled papers;
a delivery boy errand, on behalf of FP’s son, Jughead.
“I know you just got back — well, Jughead said you were out today, and, he had
t’go see Betty, so —“ Archie extended a hand, holding the papers in the biker’s
direction. “Jug wanted me to bring you these. I’ve got some papers for you to
sign.” 
Wry smile still spread across his grizzled face, FP huffed half a laugh at the
anxious quarterback, “C’mon, Andrews. I just got back. Lemme kick my boots off,
then I’ll sign y’paperwork. How’s that?”
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
Flipping the lights on inside the trailer, the handsome brunet led Archie into
his home. There was a sense of anxiousness simmering beneath the macho exterior
of the high schooler — like a mouse, trapped in the lair of a particularly
devilish feline.
As dim bulbs lit, and FP turned to remove his worn boots, his chocolate eyes
fell to the redhead standing barely a foot behind him.
Archie’s fiery hair fell in messy waves over his forehead, soulful, pretty eyes
mirrored his own, and sharp cheekbones pointed towards full, heart shaped lips.
He was bigger than FP remembered. Even beneath the gaudy letterman jacket, the
biker could tell that Archie had filled out — his shoulders were broader, his
arms were thicker, his jaw was more defined. As the Serpent’s eyes dragged down
over the redheads body, he noted exactly how tightly his white t-shirt pulled
across his wide chest, how the thin fabric grazed over a barely concealed,
sculpted stomach. FP’s increasingly starving gaze raked across Archie’s narrow
hips, jeans pulled taut over muscular thighs… Archie Andrews had filled out.
Returning his gaze to meet Archie’s, FP noticed an undeniable flush in the
quarterbacks cheeks. No doubt, he’d caught the convict’s invasive stare —
(unbeknownst to Mr. Jones, it was the first time Archie could recall feeling
visually violated — and he certainly wasn’t hating it) — and his gaze was
fluttering between the floor and, interestingly, the Serpents smirking lips.
Kicking his boots off deliberately slowly, FP moved half a step closer to
Archie. He could smell the edge of the redheads cologne, the scent of
impressing and wooing whichever classroom beauty looked Archie’s way. Smile
still gracing his lips, FP’s eyes traced Archie’s expression; his pink cheeks,
the way his eyes fluttered, before dragging down, shamelessly, to his fabric-
disguised rigid stomach.
Archie’s palm sweated around the papers in his right hand. Take the papers to
FP’s trailer. Ask him to sign them. Return papers to Jughead. It was a simple
task — at least, it would be, if Archie hadn’t harboured some confusing, deep-
seated feelings towards Mr. Jones for as long as he could remember. The smell
of cigarettes and liquor on his breath, the way his leather jacket creaked and
shuffled as he moved, the grizzled stubble spattered across his, frankly,
upsettingly handsome face. His slicked back hair, and the way strands fell into
his deep, dark eyes. The lines across his sun-baked skin. His sandpaper voice.
The threat and the danger. The. Goddamn. Motorcycle.
And here he was; that handsome danger, stepping ever closer, midnight eyes
raking up and down Archie’s form. He’d noticed the way FP’s eyes were no longer
meeting his own — how they devoured him, a wolf-like hunger that seemed to
radiate from somewhere deep and carnal within the convicted biker. 
Archie could feel the heat rise up in his cheeks, a prickly, but not
unpleasant, warmth that seemed to emanate from his core, all the way through
his body. With an attempted steadying exhale leaving his parted lips, Archie
pushed the papers half an inch towards FP.
“Uh — J-Jug said to —uh— sign ‘em, and I can take ‘em back, soon as y’re done…”
The redhead forced out a casual grin, his usual cool attitude — instead, it
read as a nervous, flighty, embarrassed smile, all pink cheeks and shifting
gait. The creak of leather and the scent of cigarettes filled his surroundings,
and he found his eyes glued to the biker’s body — he was thick, as men of that
age tended to be, a body carved from a life on the streets, chasing the wind
and running from cops. His hands were calloused and rough from gripping
handlebars and throats alike, and Archie couldn’t help but let his mind wander
at the thought of them wrapped around his own neck.
Closing the gap between them, FP took another half-step towards Archie, hand
extending to snatch the documents from Archie’s damp grip.
“We’ll get to the papers, kid.”
The words rolled from his mouth, low and gravelly, close enough that Archie
could hear every shuffle and whine of FP’s Southside jacket. Tossing the papers
to the sofa nearby, FP’s gaze once again crawled over Archie’s shoulders.
“You filled out over summer, ‘ey Andrews?”
Carefully eyeing the quarterbacks rosy cheeks and fluttering eyelashes, FP
dared to graze a hand across Archie’s shoulder. With a visible flinch and a
shaky exhale from the redhead, FP quirked an eyebrow, pulling back just a touch
— before reinforcing his grip, a firm, rough hand taking Archie’s shoulder.
Leaning in to close the space between them entirely, fingers pressing into the
firm muscle on the boy in his grasp, the biker’s lips brushed against the
quarterback’s ear lobe.
“Hey, kid. I’ve been locked up for a time, y’know that? Y’know what that does
to a guy like me?”
His words dripped like syrup, thick and sticky, hot breath dancing across
Archie’s skin.
There’s a wobbling breath from the shaken jock, stuck halfway between a sigh
and a gasp, an utterly vulnerable noise from a young man who depends on
bravado.
Archie’s gaze was drawn abruptly to FP’s mouth as the questioning compliment
dripped from his smirking lips; ‘You filled out over summer, ‘ey Andrews?’
It was something he’d heard a hundred times, from a hundred different people;
Kevin, Josie, Betty, even his football coach had commented on his improved
physique — but this was loaded . This came with more roaming eyes and a
starving determination. This came with power, and risk. This came with danger .
Before the redhead could properly digest the remark, FP was gripping his
shoulder, rough fingers pinching at his body just enough to inflict small stabs
of pain, just enough to cause Archie’s cock to twitch inside his denim jeans.
Taking a heavy breath, Archie opened his mouth to say something, anything , but
was cut short by the sudden, hot breath and husky whispers in his ear.
It was enough. 
It was enough to elicit a tender, shuddering sigh from the usually-confident
teen — a sigh, a further tightening in his slim jeans, and an utter disinterest
for the discarded, unsigned paperwork. Mustering every remaining shred of
confidence in his hard body, Archie murmured, “I — I can imagine, Mr. Jones—“ 
This close, FP could feel ginger strands brushing against his nose. He could
hear every shuddering breath and concealed sigh, he could practically taste the
nervous sweat on the redhead’s skin. Still murmuring in his ear, FP moved
closer, until their bodies touched and their hips aligned. There was something
sadistically delightful in watching the overconfident Archie Andrews sweat and
squirm under his grasp, beneath his lips, “Yeah? You wanna help me with it,
Arch? Be doin’ me a real favour, kid…”
The power dynamic — it was something Archie had never pursued, never thought
too deeply about. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Veronica was strong,
confident, undoubtedly in charge… But faced with a grizzled man larger, older,
more powerful than he… Well, the feelings shooting body-length from deep in his
stomach were too mighty to ignore. The answer to FP’s request left Archie’s
mouth almost too fast, almost too obedient, but absolutely undeniable, “S-sure,
Mr. Jones—“
If there were any question left in Archie’s mind, all of it would be demolished
by the rigid outline now cresting the surface of his pants. Rubbing against the
lining of his underwear and the denim of his jeans, there was an ache that only
the biker before him could resolve.
Pulling back an inch from the quarterback, FP’s eyes blazed, his tongue flicked
out across his lips, and he ran a hand across Archie’s cut jaw.
“Now that’s what I like to hear, Arch. You’re a good boy.”
Another flare — this one visible on Archie’s face, an upturning of his brows, a
breathy parting of his lips; the pet name worked wonders, just as FP had
assumed it might. A big, strong boy like Archie was just begging to be bought
down a peg or two. 
With a coarse hand poised on the quarterback’s cheek, the devil-eyed biker ran
a thumb across Archie’s soft, pink lips. He felt the redhead shudder out
another rasping breath, a sound that only spurred him onwards as his other hand
rose to scrape up a fistful of Archie’s t-shirt.
“Take that jacket off. I wanna see how big you’ve got.” 
His command was undeniable. It was no surprise that he ruled the Serpents —
with the gruff voice, the tone, there was a complete inability to deny FP
anything he wanted… Or was that just Archie? Regardless, the quarterback broke
his gaze upon the Serpent only to enthusiastically shrug off the gold and blue
letterman that concealed his cut body. Tossing it towards the discarded
paperwork, Archie’s eyes fell once again upon his senior, his best friend’s
father, King Of The Serpents. The layered gravitas that came with the situation
only fuelled Archie’s lust — albeit nervous, the redhead was willingly at the
behest of FP Jones.
Gold and blue had barely made contact with the nearby sofa, before FP gripped
Archie’s exposed upper bicep. Again, using a grip just sharp enough to induce
pain, (and eliciting another soft moan from Andrews,) FP growled confirmation
at the redhead, “You did good, kid. You did real good… Y’might just be strong
enough to take what I’ve got to give ya…”   
Before Archie could murmur a response, FP’s hand jerked sharply to the
quarterback’s chest. Pushing with considerable force, and catching Archie off-
guard, the convict rammed the muscular redhead into the closest trailer wall.
Hitting with enough force to make furniture shift, FP’s hands reached for the
white shirt concealing the rest of his conquest’s sculpted torso and seized the
garment from his body, fabric tearing and ripping open.
“ Jesus —!“ The curse spilled from Archie’s lips as the breath was forced from
his lungs, the back of his head striking the panelled wall of the mobile home.
Vision blurring for a moment, Archie felt fingers dig into the centre of his
chest, followed by the acute sound of tearing — yep. FP had torn the shirt
straight off his body. Tatters of fabric brushed against his now bare torso,
the flush from his cheeks having spread down his neck and across his chest, as
he refocused on the Serpent before him. There was something absolutely enticing
about his power being removed, and as FP’s hands raked at his strong body,
nails digging into flesh, Archie had to use all willpower to resist melting
completely there and then.
One hand greedily groping at Archie’s hard body, FP raised the other to slide
around his throat. Fingers closing slowly, tightly, lips almost brushing the
redheads cheek, the biker hissed another demand at the malleable man in his
grip.
“What about the rest’ve ya, Archie?” His chest-groping relenting in order to
move, FP slid his empty hand down the length of Archie’s body — it was hard
under his palm, sculpted from marble, perfected, worked on. Archie Andrews
spent his time lifting weights and playing football — a perfect athlete,
prepared to be torn apart by a messy, dangerous convict.
Pressing his fingers into Archie’s abdomen, squeezing the flesh on his narrow
hips, FP knew he’d leave bruises. There’d be small, circular marks on the
flawless redhead for days afterwards, perhaps a few scratches, a bump on his
head from the wall impact. Small marks, small territorial marks of a caged man
just released.
As rough fingers met denim, FP wasted little time in tearing at the jeans
concealing his prize. Button popping and zip tearing open, the biker shoved
away Archie’s pants with little consideration — the whine and buckling of the
knees that the redhead reacted with worked as little more than encouragement
for him. Pushing his fingers beneath the waistband of Archie’s underwear and
tightening his alternative grip around the quarterbacks throat, FP dragged a
calloused hand along Archie’s hard cock. 
One brow peaking, FP met the quarterback’s eyes again, “You havin’ fun, Arch?”
Straight teeth dug into FP’s lower lip, as he encouraged a few breathy moans
from Archie, each one increasing in volume as his palm moved the length of the
redhead’s shaft.
He’d never known anything like it. The way FP’s voice growled and crawled over
his skin, his messy, ravenous groping of Archie’s chest, the violent force at
which the biker tore at his clothing — all of it, all of it. Every pinch and
squeeze that Archie felt bruising his smooth skin, the ever-tightening grip FP
held around his throat. Archie was vulnerable, pliable and malleable in those
devastating hands. By the time FP reached beneath his underwear, Archie was
practically thrusting into his palm.
“M-Mr. Jones, /please/—“ 
It was all Archie could mutter out between increasingly unavoidable moans and
whines. Even Veronica didn’t touch him like this. Her hands were soft,
delicate, feminine. FP’s were heavy and rough. Veronica smelled like roses.
Archie could smell years of smoke, liquor and riding on FP’s jacket, the
masculine, musky scent of a man older than himself… it was utterly captivating.
FP raised an eyebrow at Archie’s strangled, unfinished request, noting the
light rutting of the redhead’s hips into his stroking palm. “Please? Please,
what?” He increased speed, tightened his grip around Archie’s throat until the
quarterback was croaking, wheezing beneath his hand. Oh, it was so sweet, to
have Riverdale High’s redheaded golden boy quivering before him.
Grip around his throat tightening, grip around his dick hastening, Archie’s
eyes fluttered closed for just a moment. It was almost too much — the
combination of both, airways restricted, hand pumping; the intoxicating aroma
of a forbidden lust. Every sense was overcome, yet they’d barely started. With
a gasp for breath, Andrews choked out a response to the teasing question, “P-
please, I n-need you t-to—“  He didn’t know what he needed. He just needed
more. More .
“You want me to fuck you, Archiekins?” FP growled, mock imitating Veronica’s
sickly sweet pet-name for the broad quarterback, “Is that what you want?”
Sharply removing both hands, FP moved half a step back from Archie. He moved to
unbuckle his own jeans, eyes never leaving the blush-red Archie standing in
front of him, head and shoulders leant back against the trailer wall. He was a
treat — standing lopsided, part ravished, pink down to his nipples, statuesque
body heaving to regain lost oxygen, one hand briefly tracing the sore welts
that the biker had left around his throat. His jeans were still bunched at his
ankles, caught on his laced up sneakers, cock bouncing hard and heavy in front
of him.
“Ain’t you just Riverdale’s finest…?” FP cooed, tongue flicking across his
lips. Jeans unbuckled and unzipped, FP pointed towards the arm of the nearby
sofa. All admiration leaving his tone, he commanded the redhead, “There,”
before taking a few brisk steps across the trailer to retrieve the small bottle
of lube from beside his bed.
Archie was still catching his breath when FP uttered more demands. Pulling
himself up to standing, Archie nodded obediently, kicking off his shoes, jeans,
underwear — he was completely naked, the torn shirt having fallen away, and
dreadfully exposed in every sense of the word. Nerves edged the corners of his
consciousness, but the instinct and fire in the pit of his stomach overwhelmed
any apprehension, and he took the necessary steps to reach the arm of the sofa.
Staring down at his own discarded Letterman jacket, hand absent-mindedly
finding his erect manhood, Archie’s mind wandered briefly to Jughead — the
request he’d promised to fill had gone a very different way indeed. He was
still stroking himself when FP’s approaching steps roused him from his
daydream. 
Coating his fingers in the viscous liquid, FP’s other hand rose to shove at the
base of Archie’s spine. Pushing the quarterback roughly over the arm of the
sofa, the Serpent shoved his own restrictive clothing down to the middle of his
thighs, thick cock springing from the fabric. One hand returning to push upon
Archie’s back, FP pressed slick digits at the redheads entrance. He could see
Archie’s back heaving as he let out staggering breaths, moans that timed with
the strokes of his cock. FP circled a finger teasingly around Archie’s tight,
pink, hole, once, twice, before slowly working one slick finger into him. 
The quarterback let out his loudest sound yet — a desperate, vocal moan that
made his knees tremble. Eyebrow raising, FP grinned behind Archie, slowly
sliding in and out, watching hungrily as the redhead purred and gasped.
A little while of working one wet finger into Archie, one became two, became
three. Slowly stretching the jock’s entrance until it was loose enough to
accommodate FP, the convict drew back, slathering lube onto his own rigid dick.
Archie’s legs were already quivering, his cheeks pink, panting, moaning,
pushing himself up with one strong arm to glance back over his shoulder.
With a low growl and rabid hunger in his dark eyes, FP aligned himself to
Archie’s body. The quarterback peered back, lips parted and wet, pupils blown,
ginger hair hanging messy across his forehead. 
“You ready for me, kid?”
“Yeah — Yes … Daddy.”
A devilish smirk curled across FP’s countenance at the epithet — ‘Daddy’ — it
wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
With one hand squeezing at Archie’s hip, FP pushed inside the wet hole before
him. Letting out his own gasp, (and revelling in the sharp intake of breath
from the pliable young man beneath him,) the biker allowed Archie to engulf
him. Pressing slowly, deeply inside him, Archie’s body, stretching to
accommodate, graciously accepted FP’s long-untouched cock. The redhead whined
and moaned and gasped beneath him as FP began to pull back, then moved back in,
rolling his hips slowly as he went. It only took half a minute of slow
manoeuvres for Archie to stutter a one-word request.
“Harder—!”
FP slid in deeper, until his hips were flush with Archie’s ass, his hands
gripping the redhead’s hips. With a sadistic sarcasm, digging his fingernails
into Archie’s smooth skin, the biker hissed, “What’s that, kid? Y’want
something’?” 
Using his palms to pull Archie away from his body, FP thrust into the
quarterback with increasing force, speed and intensity. The movement forced a
loud, breathy whine from the redhead, a sound which only repeated with every
furious thrust. Skin slapping against skin, FP dug fingernails into Archie’s
hip hard enough to bruise. His other hand sliding along Archie’s hard body, the
brunet’s fingernails again dug into flesh — this time, the peak of the
quarterbacks muscled shoulder. With a violent force, FP dragged clawed fingers
the length of Archie’s flawless back, causing the boy to howl and push back
further on FP’s cock. With a gasp slipping between his lips, FP thrust harder,
faster, until the redhead bounced against him, until FP himself was bent over,
one hand against Archie to steady himself. The kid was hard, hot and tight, and
the moans, whimpers and whines that trickled from his mouth were truly music to
FP’s ears.
Archie’s hand beat furiously at his cock. He’d never felt anything like this —
being pushed around, Mr. Jones pawing at his chest, the hand around his throat
— that was something already, but this . At first, it had burned a little, a
not entirely uncomfortable stretch that he’d never experienced. It soon gave
way to something uniquely wonderful, his body filled with Mr. Jones’ thick,
hard cock, moving in and out, hitting places he never knew existed. Eyes almost
rolling back in his head, Archie found a distinct pleasure in being used,
pulled on and off of FP’s body, the sharp pinch of fingernails in his flesh,
the heavy moaning coming from behind him. He longed for Mr. Jones to hurt him,
to make a mess of his flawless skin and perfectly coiffed hair. To break down
the statuesque image that Archie Andrews had crafted for himself. To take away
the things that made him desirable, and leave him a bloody, bruised, used
state, with trembling knees and a bloody lip. All of this — it flooded Archie’s
mind, the thought of Mr. Jones rapping knuckles across his mouth, digging at
skin until blood rose, leaving marks around his neck that he’d have to explain
away to friends, pressing bruises into his thighs that he’d feel aching for
days afterwards. Daddy, please .
With a slight adjustment to his standing, FP pulled the glistening quarterback
up a little from the sofa’s arm. Wrapping a hand around his broad front and
settling his fingers around the redhead’s throat, the other guiding Archie up
to almost-standing, he hissed praise into his ear, “You’ve been such a good
boy, Arch — Who’d’a known, huh? Riverdale’s most popular quarterback —“ He
thrusted again, hips rising to graze Archie’s flesh, “— loves Serpent cock—
Like father, like son, I guess…“
“Wh-what?” Archie’s eyebrows furrowed, if only for a moment. (It was hard to
concentrate on much of anything, when Mr. Jones cock was deep inside him,
hitting the same perfect, powerful spot over and over again. Harder still, as
rough fingers curled around his throat.)
“You heard me, kid.” FP’s grip on the young man’s throat tightened, squeezing,
enough to allow Archie to breathe, albeit uncomfortably. “Good old Fred Andrews
—“ His words punctuated by grunts, moans, thrusts, rolling hips, “— friendly
t’just about everybody— Serpents included— a little too friendly—“
FP could feel Archie struggle a little against his grip, the question stuck in
his throat, behind FP’s squeezing fingers, “Fred — he’d come by the Wyrm — neck
a few beers, let every Serpent in town take their turn —“ Speeding his hips,
the biker pushed deep into Archie, curving his back, adjusting Archie, knowing
he’d hit precisely where he wanted to, smirk crawling across his lips, “You
moan just like ‘im, kid.”
For reasons likely deep-seated and largely unknown to the junior Andrews, the
information only spurred him onwards. What should ordinarily disgust and
dismay, instead encouraged Archie to display the tenacity he’d become known for
— bearing down on the Serpent’s dick, Archie allowed moans to trickle freely,
allowed his body to loosen against FP, let obscenities and requests whisper out
of his parted lips in breathy begs. 
“H-hurt me—“ He uttered, eyes fluttering closed as FP’s movements sped up, hit
him in places Veronica could never hope to reach, “Fuck—!”  Cheeks rosé, chest
flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening over his sculpted body, cock hard in his
damp palm, “I w-want y’to hurt me , Daddy—“
FP needed little encouragement. The feeling of Archie entirely committing his
body to him was reason enough to tighten the grip on the redhead’s throat, but
the secondary wave of requests inspired an excited spike through the centre of
the recently-incarcerated Serpent. Barging his hips hard against Archie, skin
slapped skin until it was red raw, until Archie was choking out uncontrollable
whines and wall-shuddering moans. Fucking him hard, the biker forced away his
own release… Archie wasn’t so restrained.
With FP pulling Archie back, forward, over and over, hard enough that Archie’s
skin stung from the repeated impact, the quarterback began to lose himself
entirely. The closing fingers around his throat, the sparkles that dotted his
vision from the lack of oxygen, Archie palmed at his rigid erection, revelling
in the fullness of his body. Timing his strokes with the Serpent’s thrusts, the
heat in the pit of Archie’s stomach swelled until it was near unbearable — and
with vision exploding into blackness and stars, the redhead’s firm grip erupted
slick. Ropes of thick release hit the sofa, across his discarded jacket, teamed
with an almighty, uncontainable cry.
Teeth biting sharp into his lip as Archie came, FP rode him until the redhead’s
legs were shaking and his body was limp. Hands releasing and pulling out
slowly, the convict gave Archie a moment of reprieve, before grabbing the his
shoulder and spinning him to face him. Grinning at the spent conquest, FP gave
him a nod downwards.
“Get on your knees, boy.”
Archie obliged. Of course he did. With cum splattered across his thigh, eyes
hazy in the stupor of his orgasm, the football player obediently took to his
knees. Adjacent with FP’s somewhat intimidating cock, Archie gazed up at his
elder.
Taking Archie’s face in his hand, FP guided him towards his throbbing length.
Sliding a thumb between the redhead’s lips to open his mouth, the Serpent
hesitated, recalling Archie’s begging from earlier. Glancing down briefly at
the marks around his throat — ones that would surely form bruises by the
morning — FP pulled his hand back. Staring into the deep brown eyes of the
willing quarterback, FP drove an open-hand slap across his handsome face —
Archie jumped with the surprise, eyes widening a little and tellingly, cock
twitching between his bent legs. Before allowing the redhead much time to
process the strike, the Serpent delivered another, slightly harder, forcing a
harsh exhale from Archie. With a third and final strike following soon after,
Archie’s cheek shone as red as the flame atop his head, his breath caught and
stuttered around a breathy whine, and his lip, split, trickled a thin line of
crimson.
It stung. Before Archie could properly focus on the pain radiating from his
cheek, another blow made his ears ring. Blinking back surprise, registering the
flare between his legs, Archie’s lips parted to make a sound, but were swiftly
silenced by a third and final impact. The last one caught his open mouth,
something clipped his lip — perhaps a heavy duty ring, Andrews had noticed that
FP had been prone to wearing those — and a sharp pain blazed through the soft,
pink skin. His tongue flicking out instinctively to locate the damage, Archie
Andrews tasted blood, and realised the dangerous biker poised above him had
split his lip open. 
Fingers once again grazing across Archie’s jaw, FP pulled the kneeling redhead
back towards him. “Make me cum, Andrews. Better than your daddy ever did.”
There it was again. That questionable encouragement. The thing Archie would no
doubt bury deep within his mind, forget about, try to resist dismantling. He
was a competitive kid… But this kind of competitive? Yikes.
Face aching, ears ringing, lip bleeding, Archie leant forward on his knees.
Taking FP into his mouth almost without thought, he closed his lips around the
thick cock in front of him. The biker let out an immediate groan of
satisfaction, and Archie stole a glance upwards to catch FP’s head thrown back.
Rough fingers tangled into his messy hair, ever so slightly guiding his head
back and forwards along Mr. Jones length.
Despite Archie’s inexperience, the hot wetness of his mouth appeared to work
wonders for the nearly-there Serpent overhead. Moving his tongue along FP’s
cock, circling the head, repeating everything he’d seen the girls in porn do,
Archie, as always, tried his best. His hands rose to grip the biker’s thighs
for stability, head bobbing, tongue flicking, occasionally humming around the
rigid member. The sounds leaving the tough gang leader were uniquely special —
gruffer and lower than Archie’s, but moans all the same.
FP fucked the quarterback’s face until he could hold off no longer, pushing his
cock farther into his throat until Archie gagged. Pulling out, hand clasping at
his dick, FP blasted across the redhead’s chest and face, a shuddering series
of moans tripping out of his grizzled maw as he rode the climax to completion.
FP looked defiantly down at the cum-smothered, obedient, sticky conquest. Red
hair matted with sweat curled and twisted in messy swathes across his forehead.
The thin trickle of blood had smeared across Archie’s chin with his enthusiasm,
and his cheek was hot red, a few minuscule open cuts tracing the line of his
cheekbone from FP’s jewellery. His neck was ringed red and purple, faint
bruising sprouting against his pristine skin, and half moon welts peppered his
hips. With a look somewhere between satisfaction and smugness, FP extended a
hand into the damp, red hair before him.
“Y’did real good, Arch,” The biker affirmed, ruffling the athletes hair,
pulling his jeans up, “Now get your shit together. I’ll sign those papers.”
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
Still lost in the surreal haze of the evening’s events, Archie staggered from
the trailer-home. Shirtless beneath his stained gold and blue jacket, the
remains of his t-shirt rammed into his jeans pocket, he’d barely laced his
sneakers up to leave the place behind. The cold night air stung the raw wounds
across his face and throat, and the thick fabric of the school Letterman jacket
stuck to his damp, sweat-soaked back. Hair still awry, face still pink, Archie
stumbled the backroads and pathways to reach his family home. 
The following morning, Archie spent a considerable time staring in the bathroom
mirror. FP’s clawing had left scratches the length of Archie’s back, half-moons
still pressed into his hips, and the bruising around his throat was showing
purple, blue, black. The split lip looked sore and swollen, and thankfully, the
small cuts on his cheeks were small enough to go largely unnoticed. Regardless,
Archie would be rocking a Jughead-esque hoodie for most of the week.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
Sitting in Math class, Archie was conscious of the bruises covering his hips,
thighs, back, stomach, chest. Every slight movement caused a pinch of pain that
reminded him of Mr. Jones, triggered a daydream that left Archie leaving the
class with his books covering his bulging jeans. Despite the physical
discomfort, it wasn’t unpleasant — in fact, the lasting reminders had resulted
in Archie blowing off Veronica for four nights in a row, claiming exhaustion or
plans, instead spending the evening with his hand wrapped around his cock, eyes
squeezed shut, recalling the way FP had knocked him around the trailer.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
Feet rested upon the table, FP Jones was greatly enjoying his newfound freedom.
Having blazed around Southside on his bike just an hour prior, the Serpent was
resting, head thrown back against the sofa. Eyes softly closed with the threat
of a late afternoon snooze approaching, FP was startled when a sharp knock on
the door rang through the trailer. Forcing himself to his feet with a sleepy
sigh, one hand rubbing wearily at his eyes, FP swung open the winnebago door, a
barbed greeting prepared on his tongue.
A flame of orange hair, a dry cleaned blue and gold jacket, a t-shirt pulled
tight over a sculpted body. The memory of bruises around his throat, and a
harsh whispered demand in his ear. A white-toothed, eager smile spread across
his handsome face. 
“Hey, Mr. Jones. I’ve got some papers for you to sign.”
[Archie]
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!