Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10900236.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Riverdale_(TV_2017)
  Relationship:
      Fred_Andrews/Jughead_Jones
  Character:
      Fred_Andrews, Jughead_Jones, Archie_Andrews, various_other_characters_
      (mentioned)
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Sexual_Slow_Burn, D/s_undertones, First_Time, handjobs,
      Sugar_Daddy_Fred, Dysfunctional_Relationship
  Series:
      Part 1 of give_you_honey
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-05-19 Updated: 2017-08-02 Chapters: 4/? Words: 10117
****** got a sweet tooth for your love ******
by problematic_pleasures
Summary
     Fred takes care of Jughead because he feels bad for the kid.
     Jughead shows him how much he appreciates the kindness.
Notes
     written for this riverdale kink meme prompt!! i'd been wanting to
     write fred/jug as it is, and this was such a great prompt.
     for right now i'm going to post this as 4 chapters, because they
     contain the bulk of the plot/fit the prompt. i've got a couple
     additional fics i'll add on later as i finish them, so you'll want to
     subscribe to this series. i just really wanted to get this posted,
     rather than keep op waiting!
     anyway, head the tags above, and if this isn't your taste then please
     don't read!
     for those who're sticking around, i hope you enjoy!!
***** Chapter 1 *****
It’s a foreign feeling. It’s something Jughead hasn’t felt in… years, probably.
He’s not saying his dad is a bad parent, but. He kind of is. His dad has always
tried over the years to be supportive, and interested, and whatever—but his dad
always failed. Parent-teacher conferences were a laughable idea at best, and
even when his dad did show up he was nearly pass-out drunk. There has always
been another shoe waiting to drop; the low after the high; the disappointment
after the amazement.
With Fred, there’s none of that.
Fred is genuine. He tries, so hard. He tries even though Jughead isn’t even
actually his kid. He looks at Jughead’s accomplishments and his praise is
genuine. He ruffles Jughead’s hat-hair and the touch is sweet instead of
drunkenly fumbling. He hugs Jughead and it’s warm instead of stifling.
Refreshing instead of stale.
When Fred offers to buy dinner, he really means it. Dinner means a meal that
keeps Jughead full for as long as any teenage boy can stay full. It’s not ramen
cups and suspect tap water, or bread and crackers, or nothing at all whenever
his dad would forget. When Fred cooks dinner, even if it’s not Food Network-
worthy, it’s better than anything FP would try to whip up while drunk.



When Fred offers to take Jughead school clothes shopping (belated, given it’s
October now) Jughead says no at first. He says no because he knows the Andrews
aren’t loaded and he’s already been a burden for far longer than he ever wanted
to be. He says no because he can’t bear for this to be the moment that tips the
scales—for the kindness to run out and he’s let down again, as always.



Eventually, Fred takes him shopping anyway.
It’s a short conversation, one that warms Jughead to his core.
 
“Just one shirt, Jug, c’mon. Let me do this for you.”
“Mr. Andrews, really—?”
“One shirt. That’s all I wanna get you. Any one you want. Okay?”
“… Alright.”



They’re walking into the mall when Fred speaks up.
“I don’t want to bully you into this, Jug. I just want to do something nice for
you, you know that, right?”
Jughead doesn’t look over. “I know, and I appreciate it.” He shoves his hands
in his jean pockets and walks a few steps ahead. “I just feel like I’m bleeding
you out of house and home. You don’t have to… do so much for me.”
Fred stretches his strides and soon falls in step with Jughead. “Hey, hey,” he
grabs Jughead by the shoulder when the teen won’t stop. “You know you’re not a
burden to me, don’t you? You’re Archie’s best friend. You’re family, Jughead.”
He squeezes Jughead’s shoulder and smiles. “I’m treatin’ you the same way I
treat Archie. Because I want to.”
Jughead’s cheeks burn and he looks away. He mumbles out a thanks and stays
stock still until Fred lets his hand drop. “Do you wanna come with, or should I
just text you when I’m ready to check out?”
“Whatever you want.” Fred shrugs easily.
Jughead nods along. “I’ll text you in a bit.”
Fred gives a mock salute and a grin before turning on his heel.
Jughead’s mind is swimming as he wanders into the nearest store that catches
his eye. Hands deep in his pockets he tries to focus on finding a shirt but
can’t help the guilt that pulls at him. He can’t let go of the burning need to
do something in return, the sensation of proving that he’s worth all this
trouble.
In the end, he circles through the store three times before the employees start
to give him weird looks. He takes that as a queue to leave, and the first thing
he sees is Fred sitting in the food court. He knows he could pretend not to see
him and go about his shopping.
He walks up to Fred slowly.
“Hey, Jug, nothing jump out at you yet?” Fred asks with a grin. He’s got a bag
from the sports store in the mall, no doubt something for Archie.
“No, not yet.”
“Need some help? I may not be as hip as I was but I can do my best.”
Jughead huffs a laugh and shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
Fred stands and gestures for Jughead to lead the way.
They pass a couple empty storefronts before they reach American Eagle. Jughead
tilts his head to get a glimpse inside. He pauses long enough for Fred to look
at him curiously; feeling caught, Jughead walks inside.
“Didn’t take you for an American Eagle boy,” Fred comments as they walk.
“Not usually, but they have nice jeans.” Jughead’s neck is burning as he looks
around.
“You need some new jeans?” Fred asks so quick, so eager, Jughead wonders if his
head is spinning.
“No, no, I’m fine.” Jughead looks at the jeans briefly and startles when a hand
lands on his shoulder again.
“If you need some, it’s fine. You know that, Jug.”
Jughead gulps. His mouth is so dry. “Okay,” he rasps. “One pair, though. I
don’t need a lot of stuff.”
“One pair of jeans and a shirt, I promise,” Fred says with a smile. He even
raises his hand like he’s taking an oath. “If that’s what you want.” He tacks
it on at the end and Jughead wants to feel indignant, pandered to. He just
feels cared for.
He finally takes his hands out of his pockets and starts to pick things out.
“You can go look around, I’m gonna need to try things on.”
Fred shrugs this time. “I’m a dad, Jughead. I do know how clothes shopping
works. I don’t mind hanging around.”
Jughead nods, curt. He turns all his attention to picking out clothes—not too
many, just a couple things in different sizes and maybe more than a couple
shirts.
“Need any help carryin’ those?”
Jughead blinks and realizes his arms are fuller than he meant for them to get.
He nods, sheepish, a look that Fred waves off good-naturedly. He spreads his
arms and Jughead passes the clothes along.
“I’m gonna get you a room, okay?” Fred’s gone before Jughead can reply. Jughead
spares a thought to wondering if Fred is this doting with Archie, if Archie
lets him be this overbearing. It’s nice, a tiny voice in the back of his head
insists. So different, so good, so easy.
“Hey,” Fred says as he steps up beside Jughead again. “Hope you don’t mind, I
saw a couple things along the way and tossed them in there too.” Fred beams.
“Don’t be afraid to say you hate them.”
Jughead laughs and shakes his head. Words stick in his throat so he just smiles
and ducks his head. He picks out a few more things without really looking at
them and then starts toward the dressing room. He gets a few feet closer before
realizing Fred isn’t at his heels.
“You coming?” He asks, barely resisting the urge to cringe once the words leave
his mouth.
Fred seems surprised, but doesn’t comment. His face softens and without
replying or even acknowledging what Jughead said, he follows. Jughead still
stays a few steps ahead, but he doesn’t slip into the dressing room until Fred
is parked on one of the chairs outside.
When Jughead faces how many things he’s accumulated to try on, a wave of shame
washes over him. He’s never had this before. Clothes shopping in the past has
always been the bare minimum—meaning underwear, and little else, unless they
were really desperate. This by comparison is downright extravagant.
Jughead swallows the panic and unease in his throat and reaches for the jeans
first. He toes out of shoes and lets his own jeans drop to the ground. As he
turns to grab a pair from the stack, neatly placed on the seat in the room, he
catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Seeing his pale, scrawny legs in the heavy and warm lighting reminds him that
just outside the door, his best friend’s dad sits.
Another flush of shame blushes across his skin and he deliberately turns away
from the mirror. He busies himself with the jeans, one pair after another.
A knock on the door startles him from his focus. “Y’alright in there, Jug? Need
me to grab anything?”
“So far, so good.” He’s pants-less, Fred is on the other side of the door, and
the niggling sense of guilt comes rushing back to him. “Thank you, though.”
“Course, Jug. Let me know if you need anything. I’m right out here.”
Didn’t need the reminder, thanks. Jughead tilts his head toward the ceiling and
sighs. He slips back into his own jeans (and god do they feel ratty and worn
compared to new, crisp denim) and sets about rifling through the shirts. Way
too many shirts, even though they’re clearly separated between what Jughead
chose and the few things Fred chose to include.
He speeds through trying on the things he picked out, ends up liking only about
a quarter of them. The rest he piles up on one end of the seat before setting
his sights on Fred’s choices.
The first shirt he picks up is plaid flannel, which is so predictable it tears
a laugh from Jughead’s tight throat. He slips it on over his t-shirt and
finally looks himself over in the mirror for more than a few seconds.
It’s a deep purple with lines of white and blue. Not a color scheme he’d
normally choose, and definitely nothing he’s seen Fred wear… it’s not bad,
though.
He shrugs it off and sets it in the center of the seat—a maybe pile.
Slowly but surely he works his way through the shirts. Every so often he hears
an employee come by and hears Fred assure them he’s fine, that Jughead doesn’t
need to be bothered.
Eventually he comes across the end of the pile and a shirt that is just
hilariously large. It’s a t-shirt with a Pink Floyd logo across the front and
it hangs well past his hips. He looks at the door, and knows that Fred wouldn’t
offended if he chose not to get it.
Except, it makes him think of Jellybean, and it makes his heart hurt.
For the first time in a while, he steps toward the door and pulls it open.
“Hey, Fred?”
“Right here, Jug. What’s up?” Fred is, true to his word, immediately at the
door. “Hey, nice!” Fred gestures to the logo with a broad grin.
“It’s too big,” Jughead explains; he steps back enough to show that it hangs
off him. “Can you see if there’s a smaller size?” He feels small as he asks,
but not weak. Pampered, maybe, but not childish.
“Sure, hang on.”
Jughead lets the door fall shut softly, not all the way. He listens to
footsteps and tries to guess which ones are Fred’s
In the end, he doesn’t guess, because when Fred knocks on the door Jughead
jumps in surprise.
“Hey, kiddo, they didn’t have any others. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. Thank you.” He listens to Fred walk away and presumably sit down
again. Jughead looks himself over once more in the mirror, and figures it would
make a good pajama shirt.
He works his way through the last couple shirts and is surprised when he
doesn’t feel a churning obligation to like them all. Some are just not his
style, and some very much are. It’s fun, and dizzying, the small things
highlighting how much Fred really does know him.
He sorts one last time through the things he likes and tries to narrow his
choices down as much as possible. He’s deliberating between two shirts when
knuckles rap against the door again.
“Jug? Still good?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jughead looks between the shirts. “Just trying to do some last-
minute whittling.”
Fred ‘ah’s quietly on the other side. “You can pick as much as you want, Jug.
You know that.”
“You said one pair of jeans and one shirt,” Jughead reminds him. His tone
verges on petulant, but teeters more on the side of pleading.
“You know as well as I do that I didn’t mean that.”
Jughead bites his lower lip, but before he can try to argue more Fred is
continuing.
“How about this: pick whatever you want, as much as you want, s’all my treat.”
Fred pauses. “But, you gotta cook dinner tonight.”
Despite trying to resist, Jughead grins. He lets Fred sweat for a moment, lets
Fred think he’s going to put up more of a fight.
“Alright,” Jughead says back. “You got a deal, Andrews.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     really glad everyone is enjoying this so far! especially OP, since
     this is all for you!
     there's a bit of smut in this chapter, as well as more exploration of
     their relationship. the last two chapters focus heavily on fred and
     jug figuring out how to make their relationship work.
     comments are adored!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
There’s enough bags that they fill up the small backseat of the truck, and
shame tugs at Jughead like an insistent tide. He wants to feel bad, feel like a
mooch, but he does really like the things they picked out and he does really
need new things.
Fred’s been grinning and humming the whole ride home, and it helps. Helps
soothe the anxiety in Jughead’s chest.
“What do you want for dinner?” Jughead asks when they finally cross the bridge
taking them back into Riverdale.
Fred stops humming. “I dunno, Jug. Why don’t you surprise us? Archie is gonna
be home late, I guess practice is gonna be running late and he’s going to try
and meet up with Ronnie later. Might end up bein’ you and me.”
“I’ll still make enough for him. He’s gonna be starving whenever he does get
home.”
Fred laughs. “You say that like you aren’t lugging around a hollow leg.”
Jughead scoffs. He pulls out his phone and taps on a recipe app he’d downloaded
shortly after moving into the Andrews house. He likes to cook, and never really
got the chance back home, so he takes advantage of the larger kitchen often.
Fred and Archie both are too happy to reap the benefits.
“Do we need to swing by the grocery store?” Fred asks, pulling Jughead from his
thoughts.
Jughead mulls the question over. He flicks through a couple recipes and thinks
back to what he last knew for certain was in the pantry. “Uh, yeah. If it’s not
a pain.”
“Not at all, Jug.” Fred takes a left instead of going straight at the next stop
sign. “What’re you thinking?”
“Thought you said I should surprise you.”
Fred raises his hands briefly from the wheel in a display of surrender. Jughead
can’t tear his eyes away from the grin on his face, framed by his beard.
 
 
 
Once the food is inside, Fred stops Jughead from going back out to the truck.
“You go ahead and get started on cooking, I’ll grab the stuff from the mall.”
“You don’t—?” Jughead’s protest stops in his throat when Fred ignores him. He
watches as Fred hurries along to get the bags of clothes and the couple other
things they picked up as they left the mall. Before Fred can catch him staring,
Jughead heads back to the kitchen.
He busies himself with getting dinner ready and putting away what he doesn’t
need right now. He listens, absently, as Fred takes the bags upstairs, as Fred
lets Vegas out to the backyard. He loses himself in the noises of the house and
the rhythm of starting to prep the food and doesn’t realize Fred is standing in
the doorway until he turns around and sees him there.
Jughead startles, not quite bad enough to drop the bowl of ingredients he’s
carrying, but close.
Fred laughs. “Sorry, you were in the zone. Didn’t want to bug you.”
Jughead rolls his eyes and turns away. He tries to fall back into the same
rhythm but can’t, knowing that Fred is only a few feet away.
“Need any help?” Fred asks as he’s suddenly at Jughead’s side.
Jughead shrugs. “Wash your hands first,” he says.
Fred does and once he’s done he holds his arms out. “How can I help?”
“You can start by boiling some water. Be sure to salt it.”
Fred nods and gets to it swiftly. Jughead gets a bowl of flower ready, as well
as his salt, pepper, and other seasonings. All the while, he watches Fred out
the corner of his eye.
“Water is boiling. Is it gonna be pasta tonight?”
Jughead nods. “And chicken picatta.”
Fred ‘ooh’s. “Sounds fancy,” he teases.
Jughead can’t help it. He sticks his tongue out and Fred laughs right back.
It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly it’s easier. Jughead feels less like
he’s wading through swampy unease and guilty and more like he’s on level
ground. He feels more like he’s contributing, earning all the things Fred has
done for him, rather than just taking and taking and taking.
After the pasta is cooked and drained, Fred lets Jughead shoo him to the side.
“Want me to put on some music or something?”
Jughead shrugs. “I’m fine. It’s going to be done pretty soon anyways.” He’s
tossing the chicken into the pan, with lemon juice and capers and mushrooms.
“Maybe open a window though? It’s kinda warm.”
Fred moves from where he’s leaning against the door and reaches over the sink
to slide the window open. “Appreciate you doing this, Jug.”
Jughead shakes his head. “It’s only fair. You—thank you for today.”
“It’s nothing,” Fred replies flippantly.
Jughead makes sure the stovetop is on low heat before looking over at Fred.
“It’s not nothing. You know my dad. You know it’s never been like this. This
is… it means a lot.”
“I know, and that’s why it’s easy to do. It’s not a hardship for me to give you
what you deserve, Jughead.” Fred, again, clasps Jughead on the shoulder.
“Besides, Archie never lets me be as involved as you did today. It’s fun.”
Jughead knows the apples of his cheeks are warm. He can’t help but drink in the
heat of Fred’s hand engulfing his shoulder. “It was fun,” he agrees quietly. He
turns back to the pan to flip the chicken, pleased to see it browning nicely.
“Can you grab the flour?”
Fred doesn’t reply, just lets his hand drop and moves toward the other end of
the kitchen. Jughead can’t let go of the phantom sensation, the feeling of
Fred’s hand on him.
When Fred comes back with the bag of flour in hand, he doesn’t step away this
time. He leans against the counter and watches Jughead cook. They stand in
silence, aside from the sizzling of the pan.
Jughead looks over and realizes that Fred hasn’t been staring at the food, but
at him. He wants to blame the blush that floods his face on the heat coming
from the pan, but it’s not.
“You want a beer, Jug? It’s not a school night.” Fred finally steps away from
the counter toward the fridge. He steps around Jughead but still brushes
against him, hand drifting across Jughead’s back. It’s almost a polite gesture,
a non-verbal ‘excuse me,’ except Jughead could swear the touch lingers.
“Uh, sure, I guess.” Jughead answers belatedly. He puts all his attention into
moving the chicken to another pan, and pouring the noodles in with the capers
and mushrooms. “Are you sure?”
Fred bumps the fridge door shut with his hip, two beers in hand. “Why not?”
Even so, he looks serious with a hint of concern.
Jughead opens his mouth but falls short on words.
“You don’t have to,” Fred is quick to reassure.
“It’s not that… just…” He pushes the noodles around in the pan as they soak up
the sauce. “You’re so different from my dad, you know?” It feels a little weird
to finally say it aloud. Especially to the man who’s his dad’s childhood best
friend. “You know he’s not… like this. It’s an adjustment. I’m still
adjusting.”
Fred sighs. “I know that’s who he is now, Jug. FP wasn’t always like that. I
guess that’s maybe why I wanna help you out.” Fred shrugs then pinches the
bridge of his nose. “I know FP could do better, and it pisses me off that he
doesn’t. Pisses me off more that there’s not a thing I can do to make him be
better.”
Jughead listens but doesn’t look at him. He puts the pasta in a bowl and
reaches for the plate of chicken.
“So, I can at least do this. You deserve it, and I can give that to you.”
Jughead dishes up a plate for Fred and then one for himself. He finally lets
himself look at Fred, even knowing he’s still red in the face.
A silence falls over them.
Jughead breaks it. “Wanna eat in the living room?”
Fred nods. He grabs the silverware and napkins, beers tucked under his arm and
leads the way into the living room. Jughead sets the plates on the coffee table
and sits, unsurprised when Fred sits closer than usual.
The tension from before has come back, not quite as strong but impossible to
ignore. Jughead wonders if he’s projecting, if he’s overanalyzing things,
making something out of nothing. They eat and watch tv, and Jughead sips at his
beer slowly where Fred drinks half his probably far too fast.
Fred finishes first and sets his mostly empty plate aside; he relaxes back and
rests an arm along the couch. Jughead forgets about it (in all honestly, he’s
somewhat distracted by the dazedly pleased expression and the way Fred’s legs
are splayed out) until he goes to sit back himself. Full and warm and just a
little buzzed, he falls back into the plush couch.
He stiffens when he effectively rests his head on Fred’s arm. Again, a
stillness falls over them. The blood is rushing so loud in his ears Jughead
feels like he’s going deaf. There’s a dull thud as Fred sets aside the empty
can of beer. His arm shifts, but rather than shaking Jughead off, it slips to
bracket Jughead’s shoulders. To rest securely around him, and even pull him
minutely closer.
Jughead sips his beer quicker. He can only stomach short bursts of the bitter
drink but the desire to feel its effects is stronger than his distaste.
Once Jughead’s can is empty, Fred reaches over and plucks it away, sets it
aside like he did his own.
Jughead lets himself melt into the couch and against Fred’s side. It’s so warm
and soft and feels like everything Jughead has been aching for the past few
years. Ever since his dad lost the house, ever since his mom walked out. Ever
since Archie ditched him, and Jughead realized he was truly alone.
He doesn’t feel so alone now.
Jughead takes a deep breath—inhale—exhale—and then he shifts. He sits up
straighter and rests his palm over Fred’s chest. Fred tenses under his touch
but doesn’t move away. As Jughead twists to angle his body toward Fred, Fred
never lets go of him. His arm stays curled around Jughead’s shoulders like he
can’t bear to let go.
“Mr. Andrews,” Jughead murmurs, pleased when he finally gets Fred’s attention.
“Think you should call me Fred, Jughead.” Fred’s the one who’s red in the face
this time and Jughead feels a sense of triumph.
“Fred,” Jughead breathes. His fingers tighten until he’s wrinkling the front of
Fred’s shirt.
“Dinner was good.” It’s deflection, poorly-done. Fred’s voice is harsh and
gives him away.
“Thank you again, for today,” Jughead says as he tries to get closer. He feels
fractured inside, in a good way. Two sides of him aren’t at odds anymore. They
aren’t at peace, either, but he doesn’t feel guilty when he’s pressed up along
Fred’s side. He doesn’t feel like a no-good bottom feeder, scrounging up
whatever charity he can. He likes giving Fred this, likes making Fred breathe a
little quicker, likes knowing that this is how he can do his part.
“Jug, we shouldn’t.” There’s nearly a note of finality in his voice, but it
doesn’t last.
Jughead leans forward and presses his face against Fred’s neck. “Please.” His
words are muffled by Fred’s skin. “Please.” He says it again when Fred doesn’t
move.
“Jug.”
Jughead whimpers and lets out a shaky breath—and that’s all it takes. Fred
takes him by the arm and Jughead looks up. They freeze, face to face, until
Jughead is sick of waiting. Sick of not knowing his proper place, desperate to
fit himself into the puzzle the best way he can think of. He leans in and
brushes his lips across Fred’s.
It’s a barely-there kiss, more like a touch of wind. It’s strong enough to
break the dam on Fred’s self-control, though. That’s what Jughead wants, what
he needs. He lets Fred pull him into his lap and lets Fred kiss him hard and
messy on the lips. He lets Fred’s hands slip under his shirt and tease along
the waistband of his jeans.
“Jug, Jug, tell me this is okay,” Fred begs quietly.
“It’s okay, Fred. So okay. Please, please, let me do this.” Jughead’s hands
fall to Fred’s jeans and he’s as far as undoing the button before Fred tenses
up again. Jughead bites down on his protests and waits it out.
“I want to watch you,” Fred says after a while. “Tonight, I don’t want to do
too much. Will you let me watch you?” Fred’s gaze is heavy and imploring and
Jughead nods.
“Of course, of course.” Just as quick, Jughead starts on his own jeans. He
yanks off his belt and tosses it aside. The pants are big enough that he pushes
them down with his boxers and his cock springs free. He grips the base of his
dick and waits, breathes, tries to pull himself back from the edge of coming.
“Show me how you like it, Jug.”
Jughead’s eyes flutter and when he focuses his gaze again he realizes Fred is
leisurely stroking himself. Fred’s eyes are wide and dart between Jughead’s
face and his groin like he can’t decide which part is better, which part he
wants to watch more.
Jughead shivers and pushes into the tight circle of his first. He smears
precome, leaking from the head, across the palm of his hand to help the glide.
He strokes slowly and pumps his hips just as casually. It’s dry enough that the
friction keeps pushing him closer in startling bursts, but it’s really Fred’s
gaze that turns him on the most.
“Are you a virgin?” Fred hisses as his hand picks up pace.
Obediently, despite there being no command, Jughead mimics the pace and
shivers. He closes his eyes and imagines it’s Fred’s hand on him, calloused and
heavy and so big. “Yeah,” he answers when he can string together words. “Yeah,
I am.”
Fred’s free hand, once on his hip, slips around to cup Jughead’s ass. The denim
still clings to the curve of his backside, but Fred’s touch feels like a brand.
“Would you give that to me?” Fred asks at the same time he squeezes one cheek.
Jughead yelps and it fades into a moan as he jerks himself off. He braces his
unoccupied hand on Fred’s shoulder, uses it for leverage so he can push into
his fist.
“Would you, Jughead?” Fred’s own words are labored and spaced apart awkwardly.
“Take you out to a nice dinner. We can go a couple towns over, to the real big
city.” Fred grins around his next moan and squeezes again, and again, like he
can’t get enough of feeling Jughead’s ass in the palm of his hand. “Take you
shopping and out to dinner, treat you like you deserve. Would you give it to
me?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Jughead keens. He strokes just under the crown of his cock and
shudders. “I’m so close, please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please, can I—?”
“You want permission?” Fred seems genuinely surprised, if pleased by the
request. “Yes, Jughead, you can come. Do it, let me see you come, Jug.”
Jughead’s moan catches in his throat and he thrusts helplessly into his hand.
He comes over his fingers and in streaks across Fred’s lap. He keeps moving and
moaning until he’s so sensitive all he can do is whimper.
Gasping for air, Jughead forces his eyes open to watch as Fred tips over the
edge. Jughead’s come slicks the way for Fred to stroke himself off faster,
tighter, filling the living room with filthy wet sounds.
“Was I good?” Jughead asks as he leans in. He breathes the words into Fred’s
mouth like a ghost of a kiss. “Did I do good?”
Fred nods and their dry lips catch against each other. “So good, Jug, so good.”
Jughead smiles. “Show me, show me how good I was. Show me how much you liked
it, please.” Jughead kisses him short and quick so he can watch as Fred’s dick
pulses with release. So he can watch come spill from the split across Fred’s
fingers, mingling with Jughead’s own spunk. Fred’s hips jump and jostle Jughead
in his lap as the aftershocks of orgasm ripple through him.
Jughead’s still panting by the time Fred comes down enough to grin lazily.
Fred tilts his head back expectantly, and Jughead leans in to kiss him. It’s
deeper this time than the ones before. They open their mouths to each other and
lick inside and Jughead lets Fred swallows his whimpers. They pull apart and
come back again, over and over, until Jughead is almost half-hard again.
Fred grins, but when he shifts his expression does too—to disgust. He looks
down at his lap where come is drying on his skin and jeans.
Jughead snorts and shrugs. “Oops?”
“Yeah, you really mean that,” Fred retorts.
“I could clean you up.” Jughead’s heart leaps in his throat as the words tumble
out of their own volition.
Fred raises an eyebrow. “As much as I’d enjoy that, I distinctly recall saying
we’ll take this slow.”
Jughead nods. It’s not so much that he doesn’t have a sassy comeback—he does, a
million of them—it’s more that he’s fine with letting it go.
“We ought to go shower before Archie gets home. Separately.” Fred kisses the
corner of Jughead’s pouting lips. “I’ll do the dishes, okay? Once I’m done.”
Jughead pulls his underwear and jeans up though they hang off his hips without
his belt. He extends his clean hand to Fred and pulls the older man to stand.
Fred doesn’t let go even after he’s on his own two feet, instead pulling
Jughead toward the stairs. Warmth bleeds from where their fingers are linked
straight to Jughead’s ribs, winding and weaving like vines.
At the top of the stairs, Fred stops. Jughead does, too, and waits. He pouts
again when Fred lets their hands disconnect but perks up when Fred cups his
chin instead, tilts his head up and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s hot and wet
but short-lived.
“Go, shower.” Fred doesn’t wait for Jughead to comply, instead heading toward
his own master bedroom and the attached bath. Eventually, Jughead gets his
brain to cooperate with his feet, and makes it to the guest bathroom.
 
 
“Hey, man, you’re finally home.”
Archie nods, exhaustion clear in his features. “Yeah, sorry it’s so late.”
Jughead shrugs. “It’s fine. Your dad took me shopping. Did you eat dinner?”
“I grabbed Pops on the way home,” Archie’s expression is balanced between
sheepishly apologetic and sleepily uncaring.
Jughead snickers. “I see how it is.”
Archie collapses onto his bed after stripping down to pajamas. His next works
are muffled by the pillow, and it’s only because he’s got years of experiencing
interpreting Archie’s mumbles that Jughead understands what’s said. “Did my dad
let you have a beer tonight?”
Jughead warms. “Yeah.”
Archie barks out a laugh, also muffled. “That’s crazy. What was the occasion?”
“I think he just felt bad for me.” Jughead shrugs even though Archie probably
doesn’t see it. “It was gross.”
“Yeah,” Archie says with a brief laugh. “Beer is super gross.” And like that,
he’s out.
Jughead slips off his mattress after a little bit, feeling exposed in boxers
and his too-big Pink Floyd shirt. He creeps from the room, to the hall, until
he reaches the sliver of light coming from Fred’s room. He doesn’t knock, just
pushes the door open enough to draw Fred’s attention.
Fred pats the bed beside him without really looking up from his book. In fact,
he doesn’t dogear a page until Jughead is close against his side.
“What’s up?” Fred asks as he combs a hand through Jughead’s hair.
“We should talk about this, shouldn’t we?”
Fred sighs. “Yes, we should.”
Jughead looks at the firm line of Fred’s jaw. Then, he shrugs. “We don’t have
to.”
Fred makes a curious sound.
“We should,” Jughead admits again, “but that doesn’t mean we have to.” Jughead
rests his hand on Fred’s thigh. “I like this. I like—the way you treat me, and
I like doing things for you. Like cooking. Like letting you watch.” Jughead
wills his blush to dim. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
“The age difference, this is totally inappropriate.” Fred speaks haltingly.
Jughead shrugs again. “I don’t care. We just… can’t tell people. Which is fine.
It’ll just be between us.” Jughead grins, ducks his head until Fred leans in
and peppers kisses across his cheek. “Besides, if we go far enough out of town,
we won’t have to keep it to ourselves. Right?”
Fred doesn’t look like he totally believes him, but he still nods. “Right.”
“It’s settled, then. Wasn’t that easy?” Jughead leans in and Fred meets him
halfway in a slow and tired kiss. “I should get back to the room.”
Fred nods. “You should.” He kisses Jughead again, then pulls away. “And you
better do it soon before I find a reason to keep you in here any longer.”
Jughead’s body lights up in a blush. “Okay.” He nods and slips off the bed.
“Good night, Fred.”
“Night, Jug. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter End Notes
     chapter three will be posted tuesday next week, unless something
     comes up. stay tuned!
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     so, while editing the last two chapters (and looking at the stuff i
     planned to add as additional fics) i realized that it's
     disproportionate, so this may end up being a little longer, and there
     might be a slight delay in getting chapter 4 posted. i basically took
     what was chapter 3 and 4, smushed them together for this, and need to
     round out the end of chapter 4....
     anywho! enough of my rambling. so glad everyone is enjoying it, and
     thank you all so much for commenting! it makes my day to see your
     feedback, i just hope i continue to please!!
Jughead rolls over the next morning feeling refreshed. He peeks and makes sure
Archie is still asleep (soundly, like a log, like the dead) before getting out
of bed. Quietly, he slips on a pair of pajama pants and then even softer he
slips from the bedroom. He doesn’t pause at Fred’s door even though the urge is
there. Instead, he takes the stairs as quick as he can and makes a beeline for
the kitchen.
By the time Fred walks in, still bogged down with sleep, Jughead has a stack of
pancakes ready and a pot of coffee steaming hot. There's an empty plate and a
full-to-the-brim cup at the seat and Fred's eyes fall to the offerings.
“Jug?”
“Morning,” Jughead replies; he knows he’s being oddly chipper, but he can’t
seem to help himself. With a quick glance around he presses a kiss to the
corner of Fred’s mouth. His morning stubble scrapes across Jughead’s lips and
wrings a sigh from him.
“You didn’t have to do this.” Even as he speaks Fred takes a seat at the dining
table and starts to pile a few pancakes onto a plate.
“I wanted to,” Jughead retorts simply. “I woke up early. Seemed like a good
idea.” Satisfied once Fred is eating, he turns his attention back to making
more. “Not like it’s hard.”
Fred grunts around a mouthful of food and Jughead shakes his head fondly. Once
he’s got enough pancakes cooked up to feed not only him and Fred but Archie
too, Jughead finally makes himself a plate.
He takes the seat across from Fred. “Sleep well?” He reaches for the syrup as
he asks, and Fred answers as he passes it over.
“Yeah, not bad.” Fred nods. “Look, Jughead, about last night…”
Jughead’s blood runs cold. He stops drowning his food in syrup and looks up
uneasily. “What about it?”
“I don’t know…” Fred looks away and sighs. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Didn’t you like it, though? Didn’t I do well?”
Fred hurries to assure him. “Of course, Jug, of course you did. It’s not that.
It’s just…” Resting his elbows on the table, Fred hides his face behind his
hands. “I’m—I’m old enough to be your dad.”
“But you’re not my dad.”
“The point stands. Besides, I might as well be. I’ve changed your diapers for
god’s sake.”
Jughead frowns. “That’s...” He trails off: it’s true, he can’t exactly dispute
that, and he’s not sure what else to say. “Do you want to stop?” The words make
him feel tight in his skin; they’ve hardly just begun, he’s finally found his
place in the Andrews’ home, he doesn’t want that taken away.
“No, and that’s part of a problem. I shouldn’t want it in the first place.”
Fred’s words are muffled since he’s still speaking into his hands. “It’s wrong,
Jughead.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do,” Fred insists. He finally drops his hands from his face and laces them
under his chin instead. He still won’t look at Jughead; instead his eyes are
shut tight. “If this ever got out—Jughead you have no idea…”
“I do,” Jughead replies, sharp. “I’m not a child.”
That’s the wrong thing to say. Fred’s brow furrows and the laugh lines in his
face pull into an angry frown. “You are. You’re barely sixteen, Jughead.” The
words seem to physically fall upon Fred as he says them, because he slumps once
they leave his mouth. He deflates with a heavy sigh.
Jughead ducks his head to hide his scowl, aiming it at his pancakes rather than
Fred. He swallows while carefully considering his words.
“No one is going to find out.”
Fred laughs a bland, mirthless laugh. “You don’t know that.”
“I do, though. I’m not going to tell anyone. You’re not going to tell anyone.”
Jughead feels an anger rise in his gut but tries to keep it at bay. Flying off
the handle isn’t going to help his case. “I want this. I know that, I can make
that decision for myself. I don’t need you telling me what I do or don’t want.”
Fred doesn’t seem taken aback by the words, only exhausted. “Jug.”
“Let me—I want this,” he says again. A crack in his voice gives away his
desperation. “You want it, too. So why can’t we just… have it?” Jughead pushes
his soggy pancakes around his plate and mourns the loss of his hunger.
Fred sighs.
“You’re saying all this because you think you have to,” Jughead accuses. He
unashamedly lets the hurt bleed into his voice. “You don’t mean any of this,
you just think you have to say this.”
“That’s not it, Jughead. I do have to say this, because this is wrong.”
Jughead scowls again and pushes away from the table so hard their cups of
coffee threaten to topple over. He barely spares a cautious glance around the
room before walking around the table to Fred. Fred, who looks up at him tired
and curious. Fred, who doesn’t stop Jughead from leaning down and kissing him
softly on the lips.
Fred, who’s hands snap to Jughead’s hips like moths to flame, and clutch tight
enough to bruise. Jughead keens and pushes forward, presses himself into Fred’s
grip, and they kiss until their lungs burn.
“Jughead…”
“Tell me you don’t want that. Tell me you don’t, and I’ll let it go.” The words
hurt to say, because Jughead isn’t so sure what he’ll do if Fred tells him
that.
Fred’s eyes are closed and his lips are shiny with Jughead’s spit. His hands
are still glued to Jughead’s waist and his thumbs move in slow, soothing
circles around the jut of his hipbones.
“I want this,” Fred answers quietly after a long while.
Jughead beams. “That’s that, then.” He says with a finality similar to their
conversation the night before.
Fred still looks conflicted, guilty, but he doesn’t push Jughead away or stop
touching him. They stay like that until the top stair creaks—announcing
Archie’s arrival. At the sound, Jughead steps out of Fred’s grip and busies
himself with reheating some pancakes.
Archie stumbles into the kitchen blearily, and by the time he’s rubbed the
sleep from his eyes Jughead is ready with a plate of food. Archie mumbles out a
thanks and wanders to the living room.
Jughead looks over at Fred.
“Are we okay?” He asks, soft and a little scared.
The tone doesn’t go unnoticed by Fred. He stands and hurries over to Jughead.
His hands come up like he wants to reach for him, but Fred doesn’t. He looks
over to the living room, then back to Jughead.
“Yes, Jug, we’re fine.” When he smiles at Jughead, it’s not so tired anymore.
It’s warmer, homely, settles the tidal waves crashing inside Jughead’s chest.
Jughead grins back. “Good.”
 
 
 
It’s not suddenly easy after that, as much as Jughead wishes it would be.
Like a switch has been flipped, Fred grows distant. Despite his reassurance to
Jughead that morning, he doesn’t live up to it. If anyone is around, Fred will
practically stay out of Jughead’s line of sight, let alone close enough to
talk. If they are alone, like on nights when practice runs late or Archie is
otherwise occupied, Fred finds everything he can to keep himself away from
Jughead.
It stings, even if Jughead understands.
He’s not ignorant; he knows why Fred is worried. Why Fred is pulling away. That
doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.
So rather than fight Fred on it, rather than chase after him and makes things
worse—Jughead sets about proving himself.
 
 
“Jug, what’re you doing?”
He looks up from where he’s wiping down the bathroom counter. “Cleaning?”
Fred stands in the doorway looking perplexed. “Why?”
Jughead pins him with a curious look. “Why not?” He counters.
Fred opens his mouth but says nothing. His mouth closes with a snap and he
walks away.
 
 
“Dude, are you planning on being a chef or something?” Archie’s words are
nearly unintelligible since they’re said around a mouthful of food. Jughead
just has a lot of practice translating the gibberish.
“No,” he replies smoothly. “Just a hobby.” He looks over at Fred, who’s eating
silently. “It’s nice to be able to do something, to pay you guys back for
everything back for what you’ve done for me.”
“Jug,” Archie pauses to swallow, “you know you don’t gotta pay us back. You’re
family.” He looks over to Fred too. “You told him that, right? That he doesn’t
have to pay us back?”
“Yes, Archie.” Fred’s reply is short, snappish. “He’s doing it because he wants
to.” He speaks haltingly and Jughead wants to smirk.
“He’s right, Arch.” Jughead dogears another page in his cookbook--one he'd dug
out of the hallway closet, probably Mary's back before she left. “Besides, if
he kept trying to cook,” he gestures to Fred, “I don’t know how long you’d
survive.”
Archie laughs so hard he chokes on his next bite of food; Fred even allows a
small smile.
 
 
Fred stops in the hallway as Jughead approaches with a basket of laundry
balanced on one hip.
“Jug.”
“Yeah?” His reply is deliberately absent. He ducks into the guest bath to grab
some dirty towels.
“You.” Fred stops.
“I…?” Jughead prompts.
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
“I assumed you did. You’re smart, Fred.” Jughead readjusts the basket so it
digs less into his side.
“Just because—you being a house-wife isn’t going to change anything.”
Jughead tilts his head. “I’m just doing my part.”
“Jughead.”
“Laundry isn’t gonna do itself!” He replies swiftly while side-stepping Fred.
 
 
It comes to a head on a weekend when Archie is gone all three days, on a
football retreat. Or something. Honestly Jughead didn’t pay too much attention
when Archie explained what it was, all Jughead cares about was the fact himself
or Fred didn’t have to go.
 
Fred broaches the subject first. “We need to talk,” he says, like the first
time. They’re both almost finished with dinner, and Jughead is just hoping this
conversation doesn’t spoil his appetite for dessert.
“Okay.”
Fred sets his fork down. “Why are you still at this, Jug?”
“Because you want it, I want it.” Jughead shrugs. “I like helping out. I like
helping you out.” He gnaws on his lower lip before continuing. “I want to make
you happy.”
“Jughead, I don’t—you don’t need to give me these kinds of things, to make me
happy.”
“I want to, though.” Jughead stands and collects their plates. He sets them in
the sink. “I like doing this. I really, really do.”
“We can’t.”
“No, we shouldn’t.” Jughead corrects him quick but gentle. “Big difference.”
Fred mumbles “not really,” but Jughead chooses to ignore it. Louder, Fred adds
“I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“I don’t think it’s a mistake.”
“It could ruin your life. Both our lives.”
Jughead shrugs again. “Honestly? I don’t have much else going for me. I’ve got
decent grades, one extracurricular, and you. And I’m happy with those.” He lets
the dishes soak and then turns to face Fred.
“If it ever got out—?” Fred starts, sounding like a broken record.
“It won’t.”
Fred clearly wants to go through their whole conversation again but closes his
mouth instead.
“You told me you want this,” Jughead begins. “Has that changed at all?”
Fred shakes his head.
“I want it, too. I don’t know what else to say. I’m not going to walk away from
this.” Jughead leans against the counter. “I still don’t know what brought on
your change of heart.”
“I spent that entire night wishing you were lying beside me, Jughead. That’s
not…” Fred pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You’re scared.” The admission warms Jughead’s heart, spurs him on.
Fred scoffs. “Yes, Jughead. Of many things, in this case.” His hands drop into
his lap. “I’m the adult, here. I should be the one to put a stop to this. To
end this. To say no, because you are sixteen, good lord.”
“But you can’t. You can’t let go of this, any more than I can.”
Fred shakes his head again.
Jughead pushes off from the counter and heads straight to Fred. He stands
between his legs and looks down. “Stop worrying so much. Let us have this.” He
cups Fred’s jaw again. “You said we were fine. Let’s be fine.”
Fred eventually nods. He covers Jughead’s hands with his own. “Alright.”
“Not gonna freak out again, right?”
Fred nods. He's pink in the cheeks, he looks sheepish--still scared. But he's
meeting Jughead's gaze and the faint curve of his smile is sure, certain.
“Good.” Jughead leans down and kisses him gently. “Now, I think we should take
full advantage of this Archie-free weekend to share a bed.”
Alarm, irritation, and amusement flicker across Fred’s face in rapid
succession. “You think so, huh?”
“To sleep. We have plenty of chances to fool around normally.” Jughead grins.
“We never get chances like this.”
Fred considers his words. “You’re right.”
Jughead rolls his eyes.
 
 
That night, as they’re curled around each other in bed, Jughead is the first to
speak. “When you said slow…”
Fred grunts. “I was nearly asleep,” he mumbles.
Jughead laughs. “I know.”
“I said slow, and I meant it.”
“But how slow?” Jughead presses. He’s toeing a dangerous line, he knows.
There’s a niggling sense of doubt in the back of his mind—a voice telling him
that Fred could back out again at any moment. A voice that tells him if he
pushes for too much, he’ll end up empty-handed.
“Slow.” Fred kisses the back of Jughead’s neck, which does absolutely nothing
to curb the arousal pooling in his gut. It's warm and lazy and comfortable in
bed, even if they're only half covered by the blankets. Not to mention, after
so long without it, Jughead's nearly aching for the affection, the closeness.
It took all his willpower not to broach the subject sooner, not to throw
himself at Fred the moment the tension of his doubt dissipated. 
Jughead looks over his shoulder and glares. He keeps the expression firmly in
place until Fred kisses him gently and palms the front of his boxers.
Immediately, Jughead gasps into the kiss and startles as Fred’s hand lays over
his half-hard cock. Fred grips him gently and despite the soft pressure Jughead
feels perilously close to the edge already. 
“Could you come from this?” Fred breathes the words into Jughead’s mouth.
“Yeah,” Jughead replies as he ruts against the pressure. He blames the heat of
Fred pressed against his back for how fast he’s toppling toward the edge. That,
and his constantly electrified body, his age, how much he's missed this: all of
which makes it too easy to be that close to coming.
“Shouldn’t take long.” He opens his eyes enough to watch Fred watching him.
“Then I can—!”
Fred shakes his head gently. “Not tonight.” He presses his hand harder against
Jughead’s dick, rubs faster. “Come for me, Jug.”
Jughead doesn’t even care that his lover’s words are tinged with sleep. His
mind is foggy with pleasure and his body obeys Fred’s command in an instant.
Body going tense, he stains the front of his boxers with come, grinds against
Fred’s hand until it’s nearly too much.
“Good?” Fred asks in a voice that’s grown more and more tired by the moment.
Jughead shifts, uncomfortable in his sticky underpants. He nods, but says “I
need to go change.”
Fred waves him away. “I’ll be here,” he promises.
By the time Jughead gets back to the bedroom, clean boxers in place, Fred is
sound asleep. He doesn’t even wake when Jug slides into bed, under the covers,
getting as close as he can. Despite his quiet snoring, Jughead is able to fit
snug against his side, and falls asleep just as easily. 
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     hey guys!! long time no see!!! like i said on the kink meme, my real
     life got super crazy the last couple months. i'm so so so sorry about
     the delay!! long story short, my family and i ended up having to move
     out of our house in one week and that was beyond busy. plus lots of
     concerts and other stuff going on, i haven't had time to write
     anything.
     however, the month of august is pretty much clear for me. just
     unpacking and unwinding, so hopefully i'll have another chapter
     posted within the next two weeks!
     hope you like this one! it's a little filler-y, but adds a crucial
     'sugar daddy' element to their relationship. comments and kudos are
     appreciated!! love you guys!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jughead looks up from his cookbook when he hears the front door open.
Fred comes around the corner shortly after. “Hey,” he greets, voice level and
neutral.
Jughead smirks. “Archie isn’t home.”
Like a dam breaking, Fred rushes Jughead and backs him against the counter. He
kisses Jughead chaste on the lips, murmurs another “hello,” and then kisses him
again.
“Not that,” a kiss, “I don’t enjoy this,” Jughead rests his hands on Fred’s
shoulders. “But dinner is going to burn if you keep it up.”
Fred snickers and steps back. “Yes, dear.”
Jughead rolls his eyes. “How was work?”
“It was work,” Fred says with a shrug. “School?”
“It was school,” he counters.
Fred snorts, the sound dulled as he reaches inside the fridge for a beer.
“Brat,” he says as he stands up straight. As he cracks the can open with a
fizz, he also crowds Jughead against the counter.
“Hey, hey, watch it.” Despite his scolding, Jughead doesn’t push Fred away.
Fred hums happily. He lays one hand on Jughead’s hip, the other clutched around
the beer, and he peppers sticky kisses across Jughead’s neck.
“You’re handsy tonight.” Jughead’s observation is plain, but his confusion is
clear.
“It was a good day. Like having you to come home to.”
Jughead ‘ah’s quietly. “It’s been a while,” he agrees. Archie had gotten sick
the week prior, which meant he was home all the time. “This is nice.”
Fred nods and his beard tickles Jughead’s skin. Letting dinner simmer on the
pan, Jughead leans back against Fred and relaxes.
“This is nice,” he says again.
Fred nods, opens his mouth against the juncture of Jughead’s neck and shoulder
to speak—but before he can the front door opens, bringing with it Archie’s
footfalls.
Fred practically leaps away, and Jughead would’ve too if it wouldn’t have
pushed him against the stove. He narrowly avoids knocking into the pan, and as
Archie rounds the corner Jughead spares a thought for how it must look.
Archie pauses at the threshold, looks between Fred and his best friend, then
seems to decide it’s not worth lingering on.
“You’re home early.” Jughead turns off the heat as he speaks, side-eyeing
Archie.
In an odd version of déjà vu, Archie reaches into the fridge to grab a drink
much like his dad had just moments before. Instead of a beer, Archie pulls out
a sports drink. “Yeah.” His voice is muffled, too. “Something came up for Coach
so he let us out early.”
Jughead watches out the corner of his eye as Fred takes a quiet leave.
“What’s up with dad?” Archie asks as he stands up straight. “Is everything
okay?”
Jughead nods hurriedly. “He’s just tired, said he had a long day.” Rather than
linger on it, Jughead continues. “Hey, can you grab the plates?”
 
 
 
“Dude?”
Jughead looks up from his textbook. “Yeah?”
“You know you don’t really have to earn your keep, right?”
Jughead narrows his eyes at his best friend, like the red head is a puzzle. “I
know.”
“I just mean,” Archie shifts to sit proper on the ratty old recliner in the
garage. “You cook, like, every night. And you do so much laundry, dude. You
don’t have to do that.” Archie’s eyes are tight with genuine concern. It tugs
at Jughead’s heart strings as much as it kind of irritates him.
“I know I don’t have to. I like to. And you guys actually appreciate it, so,
it’s worth doing.” Jughead tucks his worksheet into his book and sets the
homework aside. “My dad was too drunk to ever care that I tried to keep the
place clean, or keep JB out of trouble, or just make that stupid trailer a
home. You know?”
Archie’s lips are parted in soft surprise. He nods.
“So you and your dad… you appreciate it, and you guys are both way busier than
I am, so I’m happy to do it.” Jughead sighs and tilts his head back. He draws
his legs to his chest, wraps his arms around his knees. “It’s weird.”
“No, no, no,” Archie assures as he slips off the recliner. “It’s not weird!”
Jughead shoots his best friend an unimpressed stare.
“I mean it, Jug. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel obligated. You’re
family.”
Jughead smiles. “I know, Arch. I like doing it,” he says again.
 
 
 
“What’s this?” Jughead asks, eyebrow raised, as he holds the thin plastic
rectangle between two fingers.
“It’s a credit card, Jug.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I get that.” Jughead examines the name on the card.
“Why is it… Is it for me?”
Fred pinks in the cheeks. “I thought you’d like it, for when you go out with
the gang. You can shop and buy whatever you like.”
“Without you having to be there.” Jughead adds. “I don’t need this, Fred. You
know that.”
“I want to.” Fred counters. “Just like you want to help around the house
and—and help me out. I want to do this for you.”
Jughead stares at the plastic a few moments longer. “Okay.” He nods and pulls
out his wallet to tuck the card away. “I’m not gonna go crazy, though. So, I
dunno. Don’t expect much.”
“Whatever you want to use it for, Jug. That’s all I care about.”
 
 
 
Jughead stares at the set for a solid ten minutes before Archie finds him.
“Dude, woah. That’s a nice set.” Archie comments as he reaches out a hand to
brush his fingertips along the spine. “You love this series, don’t you?”
Jughead just nods, mute.
“You should add it to your wishlist or something, I bet dad and I could pull it
together for Christmas.”
Jughead’s neck burns. “It’s alright.” He says it as he reaches out and fumbles
to get the thirteen book set into his arms. “I think I’m gonna treat myself,”
he jokes with a knowing grin.
Archie snorts a laugh and doesn’t seem surprised as Jughead hobbles over to the
counter. “You and your books, man.”
Jughead shrugs. As he takes the card from his wallet, he makes a point not to
let Archie see the name on the card. “My dad gave me some cash. I think he felt
bad, or something. Why not use it?”
Archie nods along. “Definitely. Need help? That looks heavy.”
 
 
 
“Oh, Jug, I didn’t know you were a Tom Ford kind of guy,” Veronica comments as
she breezes by him in the store. He’s got one shirt held up to his chest,
trying to get a feel for how it might look on him.
“I’m not, really.” Jughead catches sight of the price tag and reigns in a
surprised gasp. Like a bullet wound, the card in his wallet seems to throb. A
reminder, a promise that he can have whatever he feels like, within reason.
“You should get it,” she adds as she walks by him again. She pauses long enough
to pluck at one sleeve. “Cashmere.” Veronica hums the word like a song. “Very
nice. You should definitely get it.”
Once she’s walked away, probably to find Betty or Kevin, Jughead tucks the
shirt under his harm. No harm in trying it on, he figures.
 
 
 
 
Jughead’s stuff fills up Archie’s room faster than he means to let happen. At
one point, it gets so bad that he comes home to Archie and Fred cleaning out
what had previously been the guest room-slash-storage room.
“Archie,” Jughead starts as he tries to find a way to help. “I’m sorry.”
Archie shakes his head. “S’cool, man. It’s nice seeing you have stuff you like.
I remember at your dad’s…” Archie trails off awkwardly. “It’s all good, dude.
Let’s just get this cleaned out and we’ll start moving everything.”
 
The added benefit of having his own room is that Jughead doesn’t have to be
quite as sneaky when he’s trying to slip into Fred’s room at night, unnoticed.
There’s no air mattress to squeak as he moves and no creaky floorboards like
the ones in Archie’s room to give him away. Even better, Jughead’s new room is
closer to Fred’s than Archie’s, meaning less careful steps he has to take.
 
 
 
Jughead pauses in his sorting to look over at the door, where Fred stands.
“New stuff?” Fred asks while nodding at the shopping bags on Jughead’s bed.
He pinks. “Yeah, just some school stuff. Some books, and clothes.” He looks
down at the bags and tries to will away the sense of guilt. “It’s not too much,
right?”
Fred is by his side immediately. “No, Jug, no.” He wraps an arm across
Jughead’s shoulders and pulls him close. “It’s great, I love seeing you happy.”
“I just feel like… it’s so much.” Jughead gestures sheepishly to the bags of
stuff.
Fred shrugs. “It’s fine, Jug. You don’t need to worry about it, okay?”
Jughead turns and presses himself into Fred. They’re toeing a line, since
Archie is only in the garage, liable to come in the house at any moment. All
the same, Jughead tucks his face against Fred’s stubbled neck and sighs. “Is
there anything else I can do?”
“It’s not a competition.” Fred’s reply is amused.
Jughead shakes his head. “I mean—you’re doing a lot for me.”
“And you do a lot for me.”
Jughead looks up, pouting.
“How’s this,” Fred starts after considering his lover’s expression for a while.
“Why don’t you use the card to get groceries now and then?”
Jughead nods along. “That’s… better.”
Fred doesn’t comment on the unspoken words (better, but not enough). He keeps
talking instead. “You could always get stuff for Archie with it. Grab dinner
when you guys go out, or get him a present or something.”
Jughead tilts his head side to side. “I kind of already do that, but he doesn’t
let me a lot. You know how he is.” Jughead doesn’t bother hiding a smile that
speaks, loud and clear, like father like son.
The need Jughead exudes still lingers—something else to make the give-and-take
more balanced, at least in his eyes. So Fred keeps talking, still.
“And,” he continues, like he never meant to pause. “Why don’t you buy some
things to… show me.”
Jughead inhales sharply. “Yeah?”
Cheeks pink, Fred clears his throat. “Yeah. Anything you think I’ll like. You
buy it, surprise me with it sometime, huh?”
Jughead grins. “Yeah, okay.” His grip tightens in Fred’s flannel shirt and he
tugs the older man closer for another kiss. “Thank you.” He murmurs against
Fred’s lips.
Chapter End Notes
     also, for those who care--the bookset jug buys is the complete set of
     series of unfortunate events bc i wrote that section shortly after
     buying it for myself haha
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