viceindustrious (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
viceindustrious) wrote2010-09-05 04:03 pm
viceindustrious) wrote2010-09-05 04:03 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: School Uniform
Title: School Uniform
Fandom: RocknRolla
Pairing: Johnny/Archy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing
Summary: If Archy could stop himself then, there's no way he's going to crack now.
Word count: 450
Notes: From this thread in the Comment!fic War.
Archy rolls his eyes at Johnny's leather pants. Shakes his head at the feather boas. Scowls at the leopard print dressing gown. Take one look at Johnny Quid, lean little body always packed into scraps of something that might be high fashion, might be heroin chic or just heroin junkie (kids these days, Archy despairs, though a clip round the ear never did any good for that boy, did it?) and maybe you'd think that's the worst of it.
Uncle Arch, Johnny will grin, his midriff bare, sidling up, draping long arms over him, blowing kisses. Licking his lips and whistling and crawling across the floor when he's completely off his head, clinging to Archy's leg like a limpet. You might think that's the worst of it. Might think you'd have to be stone cold dead in the ground not to get a hard on when you've got a squirming lap of Quid, naked from the waist up, tight denim slung low on his hips.
Thing is. Archy can deal with that. Archy can deal with all that and more and never lay a finger on this messed up kid, who pushes and pushes and pushes at him.
Because Archy has already been through the worst of it. He tries to think, sixteen, sixteen was when he started to notice, sixteen is bad but not that bad. Sixteen is what he tells himself but Johnny didn't wait for that birthday before he started looking at Archy different.
Pale blue school shirt hanging out over his pants, rumpled like it got thrown on from the bedroom floor without ever seeing an iron, rumpled like someone's had their hands all over it, like Johnny's just stumbled back from a quick fuck. Threads loose on the buttons, they'd probably pop off with one, hard tug. Toothpaste stain on the collar suggesting other ways Archy could dirty him up.
Wears his tie with the knot almost falling out altogether, top button undone. Wears his tie so slack it's like it's begging to be pulled hard around his throat, grabbed hold of. Not doing much good as a tie, might as well take it off altogether and use it to bind those grabby fucking hands of his.
He never grows into his blazer. Archy guesses they just keep buying the right size for his age, but Johnny is slighter than average and so it's always too broad in the shoulders or too short in the wrists. It shows off just how skinny he is. How easy it would be to lift him up, to hold him up while his legs wrapped around your waist.
And if Archy could stop himself then, there's no fucking way he's going to crack now.
Fandom: RocknRolla
Pairing: Johnny/Archy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing
Summary: If Archy could stop himself then, there's no way he's going to crack now.
Word count: 450
Notes: From this thread in the Comment!fic War.
Archy rolls his eyes at Johnny's leather pants. Shakes his head at the feather boas. Scowls at the leopard print dressing gown. Take one look at Johnny Quid, lean little body always packed into scraps of something that might be high fashion, might be heroin chic or just heroin junkie (kids these days, Archy despairs, though a clip round the ear never did any good for that boy, did it?) and maybe you'd think that's the worst of it.
Uncle Arch, Johnny will grin, his midriff bare, sidling up, draping long arms over him, blowing kisses. Licking his lips and whistling and crawling across the floor when he's completely off his head, clinging to Archy's leg like a limpet. You might think that's the worst of it. Might think you'd have to be stone cold dead in the ground not to get a hard on when you've got a squirming lap of Quid, naked from the waist up, tight denim slung low on his hips.
Thing is. Archy can deal with that. Archy can deal with all that and more and never lay a finger on this messed up kid, who pushes and pushes and pushes at him.
Because Archy has already been through the worst of it. He tries to think, sixteen, sixteen was when he started to notice, sixteen is bad but not that bad. Sixteen is what he tells himself but Johnny didn't wait for that birthday before he started looking at Archy different.
Pale blue school shirt hanging out over his pants, rumpled like it got thrown on from the bedroom floor without ever seeing an iron, rumpled like someone's had their hands all over it, like Johnny's just stumbled back from a quick fuck. Threads loose on the buttons, they'd probably pop off with one, hard tug. Toothpaste stain on the collar suggesting other ways Archy could dirty him up.
Wears his tie with the knot almost falling out altogether, top button undone. Wears his tie so slack it's like it's begging to be pulled hard around his throat, grabbed hold of. Not doing much good as a tie, might as well take it off altogether and use it to bind those grabby fucking hands of his.
He never grows into his blazer. Archy guesses they just keep buying the right size for his age, but Johnny is slighter than average and so it's always too broad in the shoulders or too short in the wrists. It shows off just how skinny he is. How easy it would be to lift him up, to hold him up while his legs wrapped around your waist.
And if Archy could stop himself then, there's no fucking way he's going to crack now.