"It has to go exactly like we talked about," Jughead said, his expression tense, using as much authority in his voice as he did with the Serpents. Wearing one of his plaid flannel jackets, a dark t-shirt, jeans with a pair of suspenders hanging from the waist, combat boots and his trademark beanie, he leaned back against Archie's desk. They were up in his old bedroom. Jughead was trying to convince himself Archie was ever going to be capable of what he was asking. Sitting right on the edge of the desk, he had one foot crossed over the other where they braced on the floor, his arms braced at his sides. The house was dark, quiet, and empty, and would be for the next several hours.

Arms folded, stance planted firmly and wide like he was about to fight someone and oozing stubbornness, Archive shook his head. "No. No…"

"It's either this, or I go back to him," Jughead warned.

Archie seethed, teeth bared. He was wearing a sleeveless workout shirt and mesh shorts. His teeth ground together as he seemed to battle unwanted mental images. He jabbed a finger, "Over my dead body. I will never let that happen. You met him… where? Online? And how old is he again?"

"Okay. Well," Jughead spread his arms in invitation, then dropped them.

But Archie was still fighting it. "Maybe if you talked to someone," he began to suggest.

"And say what?" Jughead cut in. "Huh? What would I say? And to who? I told you, Arch. I trust you."

"Maybe Betty—"

"No," Jughead yelled in frustration. He forced himself to lower his volume. "No. Betty can't know. Ever." He caught Archie's doubtful look and visibly surrendered, just a little, bowing his head. "Well, she can't ever know about this part of it. Eventually I'll tell her… something."

The energy in the bedroom continued to charge between them, crackling, thick and heavy, like the air right before a violent thunderstorm.

Jughead slipped his phone from his back pocket. "Look, I'll just call him. It'll be fine."

Archie charged across the room, yanked the phone from Jughead's hand, and tossed it at a pile of dirty laundry, breathing hard. Jughead felt how wound up he was, like he got right before a match, like everything he had pent up was going to have to come roaring out in some explosive physical way. It's why he knew the plan would work. He didn't doubt it for a second. Mostly, he just doubted Archie's the strength of conscience and the power of their history. They'd never done anything like this. Not even close. This was permanently crossing a line they could never come back from.

"If you can't do it," Jughead asked softly, as if trying to coax a confession, "just tell me."

He saw the up and down look Archie gave Jughead's body, different than any way he'd ever seen Archie look at him before. There was something dangerous and hungry about it. It twisted up Jughead's stomach a little, nervousness kicking in hard, all at once.

"I can do it," Archie assured him.

"You've done it before," Jughead reminded him.

Archie laughed sardonically, angry as hell. "Not like this. Not with you."

He was going to have to push Archie over the line. Get him past his stubbornness. Show him there was no other way.

Jughead stood. Archie was a pissed-off wall of muscle in front of him. Jughead could feel the heat coming off his body and smell the faint pine scent of his shampoo. Jughead started to walk toward the heap of clothes and his phone.

Archie blocked him, hand to Jughead's shoulder. He shook his head once, side to side, his jaw set firmly.

"Just let me call him," Jughead said lightly, "I'm sure I'll be fine."

That did it.

"Fine. Fine. Get on the bed," Archie growled, plunging past the point of no return fast enough to give whiplash. Jughead would have smiled if he wasn't so terrified.

He couldn't make eye contact, or raise his gaze from the floor. His body wasn't moving either.

Archie shifted behind him, his hands yanking roughly at Jughead's fly to get it opened, Archie's breath ghosting hot and ragged over the side of Jughead's neck. Reaching behind his own head, Archie drew his shirt off and let it fall. A moment later, he pulled Jughead's jacket from him and threw that aside too.

Easily manhandling Jughead to the small twin bed, he pushed him onto it, hands and knees. The springs squeaked and the bed groaned as Archie climbed on behind him after grabbing something from the nightstand drawer.

There wasn't a pause or any warning. Jughead just felt two wet fingers slide down the back of his opened pants, and down his crease to press hard through his hole, reaching deep. It made him gasp, his face flushing hot, his arms and thighs suddenly shaky. A hand on the center of his upper back pushed hard on his shoulders to guide them lower so he was ass-up.

"Take this off," Archie panted, yanking the beanie off of Jughead. His dark hair instantly fell forward into his eyes. Archie's fingers grabbed a handful of Jughead's dark curls and pulled. It caused him to arch his back and lift his chin, mouth fallen open on a rough groan of pure ache as Archie's fingers spread wide inside him.

The pressure eased in his ass and on his hair, the fingers rubbing around in his ass, spreading lube, pumping in and out with greedy impatience. Archie bent down over him, propped up with free hand laid flat against the bed. His mouth was right behind Jughead's right ear, breathing heavy as he spread the pair of fingers again, prying until Jughead gave a trembling cry, trying to turn his face away to hide how much it was overwhelming him. Teeth scraped over his skin where his neck met his shoulder.

It might have been easier if he could have pretended it was someone else—anyone else. But his senses were full of Archie. The scent of his sweat and his stupid shampoo, the sound of his too-familiar-voice making hushed but primal sounds, the sight of the old bedroom they'd had sleepovers in since they were little.

Angry, desperate, and whispered into his right ear: "Change your mind."

"No."

The fingers withdrew, replaced only a moment later with intense pressure from the blunt end of Archie's erection. Jughead barely had a chance to wonder at how aroused his best friend was before he was crying out in pain and reaching for the headboard to brace himself. With a white-knuckle grip, he held on and completely failed at swallowing any of the broken sounds he was making. The broad cockhead was forced inside him, locking behind the tight ring of muscle of his rim, the size of Archie radiating ache and making Jughead feel some sincere panic. Archie's open mouth pressed at the back of Jughead's neck, panting hard; puffing, hot breaths sliding over the now-sweat-slick skin.

A hand in his curls pulled again, exposing more of his neck, drawing his head back as his spine curved, his legs shifting wider to futilely try and make room. Archie's mouth latched on over Jughead's pulse. He tongued the throbbing vein and thrust his hips.

Something that was half sob, half growl erupted from Jughead. He grabbed at the bedding and pulled, heard the fabric tear. The pain was getting away from him. He made himself take a deep, trembling breath and try to relax.

A hand caressed his side. He breathed again.

Cool air caressed Jughead's overheated back as the bed shifted and Archie got upright on his knees. He rubbed down Jughead's back to his side, then even lower. Jughead's jeans were tugged down farther. Two hands spread his ass, more cool air tickling there. Archie let out a choked moan as his cock was slowly drawn deeper by Jughead's inner muscles.

Jughead felt Archie's gaze right there on his ass, watching him take it, and goosebumps rose all over his skin.

Once he'd bottomed out, Archie started to move steadily—going slow at first but growing faster and harder more quickly than Jughead anticipated. When the force of it started knocking Jughead forward, Archie's fingers gripped his slim hips hard enough to bruise, holding him still and even pulling him back onto each inward push.

Jughead squeezed his eyes shut, sealed his lips as tight as he could and pushed down on the pummeling length stuffing him full. He slammed his opened hand against the headboard. A few wild, whimpering shouts got free before he could catch them.

Then Archie was flush against Jughead's back again, nuzzling the back of his head, hips canted forward, tight to the curve of Jughead's ass, the soft weight of his scrotum tucked against him. One arm wrapped around the front of him, pinning them both together. The thrusts inside him were shallower but more frantic. His lips were pressed just behind Jughead's ear as Archie came, gasping, shuddering.

His movements—wet, squelching—slowed. A trickle of come dripped down the inside of Jughead's thigh.

They were both breathless. The room spun. Jughead didn't have any kind of handle on any of it when he felt Archie palm his cock. There was a soft moan when Archie found it hard and dripping wet. His hand wrapped it. Somehow, that crossed a weird internal line Jughead didn't know he had.

"Don't," he begged.

Archie ignored it. He pulled out, leaving a horrible emptiness. Jughead groaned loudly, more come running down his thigh. Archie climbed off of him. Jughead was manhandled onto his back, his jeans, boxers, boots all impatiently pulled off by Archie, who didn't waste time in climbing back between his legs once freed.

Again, Jughead grunted in protest, grabbing a handful of Archie's dark red hair as he took a wide, wanton lick up the underside of Jughead's throbbing cock, over the head and slit. Collecting pre-come on his tongue, he swallowed it down before opening wide again and taking the whole thing right down his throat.

"Fuck," Jughead cried, writhing, bucking, yanking futilely at Archie's short hair. Jughead wasn't in control of any of this. That was the whole point. He needed to get this out of his system—the deep-seated need to experience and revel in a safe kind of true helplessness.

Archie's throat muscles worked around the shaft as he swallowed, while three fingers twisted up through Jughead's swollen hole. They found his prostate and rubbed deliberately over it, drawing an embarrassing, plaintive, rasping whimper.

Pulling back, cheeks hollowed, moaning in obvious pleasure and eyes peacefully closed, Archie worked to suck Jughead dry. Milking his gland with his fingers, wrapping him tight with his tongue, Archie proved this was definitely not the first time he'd done this. In fact, he was pretty ruthless about it, holding nothing at all back. Quickly, Jughead's desperation poured forth in a stream of nonsensical, begging, swallowed shouts as he tried to twist and push but couldn't escape any of it.

He climaxed with a strangled noise, watched the obscene sight of Archie sucking him hard to completion, and fell back as his heart raced. He couldn't move. Definitely couldn't make eye contact.

Archie pulled off, wiping at his nose, lips and chin, then dragging his teeth against the inside of Jughead's thigh hard enough to leave marks before getting up and off the bed.

"Don't move," he warned.

Jughead chewed on his lower lip and kept his gaze firmly on the ceiling.

With a towel, Archie wiped him down. He was thorough. He even pried Jughead's legs and then his cheeks apart to take a sober look down there, probably for signs of damage. Even just from his peripheral vision, Jughead could detect the trademark look of Archie's disapproval and wanted no part of it.

"You done?" Jughead asked.

"No. I'm getting you some water. I'll get the shower started so you can clean up. Can you stand?"

"I'm fine. You don't—"

"Can you stand?" he interrupted, talking over him.

With a heavy groan of discomfort, he sat up, then swung his trembling legs off the side of the bed. His head swam, so he braced both hands on the bed.

"Stay there. I'll be back," Archie sighed.

"Hey."

Finally, somehow, he managed to look up and meet Archie's gaze. Whatever Archie saw in Jughead's expression got him to soften a little and take a few steps back toward the bed. Jughead reached out, took hold of his arm, and pulled him over. Archie moved to stand between Jughead's feet. Jughead rested his head against Archie's abdomen, Archie's fingers combing gently through his hair.

"Next time, tie me up."

Archie scoffed and pushed away. "There isn't going to be a next time."

One eyebrow raised, Jughead stared up at him.

Then he saw it, the quirk of Archie's mouth, the bow of his head, indicating the lie. Jughead smiled, but bowed his head too to hide it.

Archie walked to the door. "Don't ever contact that guy again. Promise me, Jug."

"Fine. Yeah. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

He was almost through the door, swallowed up by the dark.

"Hey. Archie?"

He paused, didn't turn. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

One dark, dirty look, shot over his shoulder, and then he was gone.