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Fuck tha Police

Chapter Text

They keep getting cast together, him and Jughead. People like the way they play off each other, apparently. It's mostly daddy-kink, where their respective looks do half the job for them, but sometimes they get to try something a little different.

FP still has fond memories of the one where he was supposed to be Jughead's wrestling coach, and the poor kid obviously had no fucking idea what he was doing. Even for porn, that was a hard sell. Not their best work, but listening to Jughead rant about the idiocy of repeatedly making him play a jock had been hilarious (he's pretty sure the director overheard him, and that was why he'd been forced into a cheerleader uniform the next time they worked together).

This time, FP gets to be a sheriff. He kind of loves his costume, with its broad-brimmed hat and beige uniform shirt and black slacks. He's not ashamed to admit that he took a selfie in it, with the sheriff badge proudly displayed.

Jughead too gives an impressed whistle when he first sees him in it.

“Lookin' good, Sheriff Jones,” he says, leering at him. He's in a leather jacket over a white tee, and tight black jeans, his hair a wavy mess on his head, and it's a surprisingly good look on him.

It's an outside shoot, which is fun. There's even an approximation of a cop car, not that FP is going to drive it.

They've given Jughead a motorcycle, and he straddles it with ease, looking like he knows what he's doing.

He must notice FP's raised eyebrow, because he says, sounding a little bashful, “my mom taught me to ride one.”

He fiddles with the gears a little wistfully. “I can't really afford one of my own yet, but I might buy a clunker when I finish grad school. My girlfriend has promised that she'll help me fix it up. It'll be our little weekend project.”

It's a surprisingly large amount of personal information in one go, coming from Jughead, but FP figures the two of them are friends by now. Friends who fuck on camera, but still. He already knows about the girlfriend, and that he's doing porn as a way to pay for his degree, but other than that, Jughead's been pretty reticent. They keep their banter light and impersonal, for the most part.

“Mine's a Kawasaki,” he offers, and Jughead smirks.

“And here I thought you were a Harley-man,” he says.

FP has to laugh a little at that. “Do I look like a banker with a mid-life crisis to you?” he asks, mock-offended, and Jughead chuckles.

He rakes his eyes over FP's body, arching his eyebrow suggestively.

“Never,” he says, sounding pretty vehement about it. “Not even when you're supposed to play one.”

The director for the shoot, a guy names Shawn, strolls up to them, energetically rubbing his hands together.

“Everything's set up now, so enough with the chit-chat. Take your places, guys!”

Jughead nods and puts on his helmet, and FP makes his way back to the car. He can hear the motorcycle roaring to life as he climbs into the car. He turns the engine on, as well as the flashing lights. It's an overcast day, but he still remembers to put his sunglasses on. They're reflective and kind of douchey-looking, but they fit the character.

Shawn signals at them to begin, and Jughead drives neatly in front of him, parking the bike right in front of FP's patrol car. FP turns the motor off and gets out of the car, showily slamming the door shut behind himself. He fingers the brim of his hat as he makes his way to Jughead, already enjoying himself immensely.

Jughead removes the helmet in a smooth movement, shaking his hair out as he does, looking like he's in a shampoo commercial or some shit. FP would make fun of him if it wasn't so damn effective. The kid knows he's pretty, and isn't afraid to play it up for views.

“Do you have any idea how fast you were going?” FP asks, just a touch of gravel in his voice, and Jughead tilts his head up to look at him, a hint of anxiety in his eyes. Way too subtle to be caught on camera, but FP appreciates the gesture.

“This is a 65 zone, isn't it?” he asks, sounding confident, and FP grins at him, all teeth.

“Not any more,” he says, patting his chest pocket for the small notebook the props girl gave him this morning. “Town changed it yesterday. Too many accidents. Probably because of punks like you.”

“I didn't see a sign,” Jughead says, a bit of a wobble in his voice, eyes large and nervous, and FP can feel his dick twitching in his pants at the sight. The douchey sheriff definitely wants a piece of that, and so does FP for that matter.

FP scoffs. He makes a show of looking Jughead up and down critically. “65 in a 55 zone, and you didn't even keep your eyes on the road. I'm gonna need your name and registration right now.”

“I've got my license in my wallet, but I keep my papers at home,” Jughead says. “It's not far, I could get it for you-”

FP shakes his head, “Not gonna fly, son. This will mean a hefty fine, and I'm gonna have to take you down to the station to sort this thing out.”

He reaches out and grabs Jughead's arm, hauling him off the bike and causing him to drop the helmet on the ground. It hits the asphalt with a cracking sound, and FP hopes no one's gonna use that helmet for its intended purpose after this.

Jughead is a lot smaller than FP is, and he's pretty used at manhandling him at this point, so pushing him towards the car and pressing him down against the hood while he cuffs him isn't much of a challenge, even with Jughead protesting and digging his his feet in.

FP clicks the last cuff on with a satisfied growl and roughly presses Jughead's face down against the metal. “Resisting arrest too?”

“No!” Jughead protests, “I'm sorry, okay, I'll pay the fine, I'll do anything, just let me go. If I miss work they'll fire me for sure.”

“Not so tough now, are you, punk?” FP says.

“Never said I was,” Jughead says, with more attitude than he's earned. Quick as lighting, FP grabs him by the hair and forces his head up until his ear is right by FP's mouth.

“You're on thin fucking ice, boy,” FP tells him, trying to sound as menacing as he can. He releases his grip on Jughead's frankly ridiculous fringe, making Jughead's head drop down against the hood again.

“There's two ways this can go,” he tells him, sadistic glee in his voice. “Either I take you down to the station, get you processed, and you can spend the night in one our cells.”

Jughead is silent, so FP pushes his head harder against the hood. “Or,” he says, jovial and all the more scary for it, “you do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Jughead asks, sounding a little scared now.

FP lets his hands do the talking for him, roughly dragging them over Jughead's body, until he's got one hand resting on his belt buckle and the other roughly palming his ass. He can feel Jughead shuddering, and then he says, still sounding a little scared, “okay.”

FP grins, like a shark, and slaps him. Jughead's wearing jeans, but the slap is still hard enough to make a satisfying “thwack” when it hits his ass. “What was that?” he asks, a little manic now.

“You can fuck me if you want,” Jughead says, louder now. “Just-”

FP grabs his neck, forcing him down again, making him groan in pain.

“Boy! You don't get to make demands,” he says. “You just get to take what I give you, and be grateful.”

“Okay,” Jughead grits out, and FP reaches up and pats his cheek, more warning than affection in the gesture.

“Okay, sir,” Jughead amends it to, sounding a little desperate, and FP suddenly wishes this scene called for a blowjob, because he'd love to have Jughead on his knees, teary eyes gazing up at him as he drools helplessly around FP's cock. Later, he consoles himself with. He'll have that later, in the follow-up, where he and his deputy double-teams him.

“That's better,” FP growls, and Jughead shivers helplessly under him.

He reaches around skinny hips, opens Jughead's belt and unbuttons his fly. He's rough as he drags Jughead's jeans down, pulling one of his boots off with them until the worn denim is tangled around one leg and FP can kick his smooth and slender legs apart with ease, make room for himself to stand between them.

He grabs one ass cheek in each hand and pushes them apart, baring Jughead's hole to himself and the camera. It's pink and perfect and glistening with lube, and FP's almost disappointed. The sheriff wants to make the little slut really feel it, make it hurt.

“Ever had a real man inside you?” he asks, not really caring what the answer is, and Jughead bites back a whimper.

“No, sir,” he says, and FP grins, victorious.

Liar,” he says.

He is quick to unbuckle his own belt and get his fly open. He gets his dick out – already hard, but he still gives it a couple of tugs just for show.

He gets his hands back on Jughead's cheeks, holding him open and exposed as he bends down and spits, a fat glob of saliva gliding down his crack, and onto his exposed opening.

FP doesn't bother to finger him, just takes hold of his dick with one hand and pushes it in, Jughead's stretched and well-lubed channel accepting him so easily that the fantasy almost shatters. Jughead still bucks against him, moaning loudly and not wholly in pleasure as FP lays claim on his body.

“Take it, slut,” FP grits out, his fingers digging hard into Jughead's hips, marking him. Jughead is deliciously hot and tight around him, the best fuck he's ever had.

He's relentless and selfish, fucking Jughead so hard that even the car is rocking slightly underneath them, practically forcing the air out of him at every thrust.

“You feel so good on my cock,” FP groans, “I might just keep you.”

“You promised,” Jughead grits out, “you promised to let me go.”

FP growls and grabs his hair, wrenching his head back until Jughead's practically bent like a pretzel in his arms.

“I didn't promise shit,” he says, pulling out roughly, twisting and wrenching Jughead down on his knees, the impact of his knobby knees hitting the ground making him wince in pain.

He's not crying, but his eyes look shinier than usual, even if his cock is hard. He looks small and helpless, naked from the waist down, his hands cuffed behind his back. The sheriff wants to keep him like that forever.

“Knew you were a slut,” FP says, nudging Jughead's hard cock with his boot, and Jughead whimpers, red-faced and humiliated.

“Open your mouth, slut,” he says, and Jughead does, not looking happy about it. He squints his eyes closed, but FP is not having that. He reaches out and slaps Jughead across the face, hard enough to leave his cheek red, and now his pretty blue-ish eyes are tearing up for real.

“Look at me,” FP says, and Jughead looks up at him, teary-eyed, defiant and beautiful, just like in the sheriff's fantasy. His mouth is still half-open.

“Gonna paint that pretty face,” FP grunts, as he roughly jerks himself off, and Jughead opens his mouth wider, pink tongue sticking out to taste.

It doesn't take long for him to come, the orgasm washing over him like a wave. FP watches as his cock spurts over Jughead's upturned face, painting his lips and tongue white with his spunk.

Jughead swallows, moaning at the taste, and then he licks his lips, child-like in his eagerness to get every single drop.

FP drags him up by his cuffed wrists and pushes him back against the car, and then he's on him, jerking his hard dick, relentless about it, until Jughead comes with a sobbed, “thank you, sir,” getting his spunk all over FP's hand.

FP holds his soiled hand to Jughead's mouth, watches with a pleased smile as he licks every trace of come off, sucking on his fingers with an eagerness that's as flattering as it is affecting. FP's closer to 50 than to 40, but he can still feel his spent dick twitch valiantly against his thigh at the sight.

“The boys at the station are gonna love you,” FP says, reaching up to ruffle his hair, patting him like he's a well-behaved pet.

“And that's a wrap!” Shawn shouts, sounding excited. “Great work, guys! That kind of character work is almost wasted on porn.”

He claps FP on the shoulder and hurries away, probably to prepare for the next scene. FP awkwardly uncuffs Jughead and helps him pull his pants up. There are faint red marks on his wrists, and FP is suddenly consumed with guilt. What the fuck is wrong with him? It is just porn, not a fucking Dirty Harry movie. He didn't have to be so rough.

Jughead rubs his head. “You really went all in,” he says, sounding a little rueful.

FP scratches his neck, feeling a little sheepish. He didn't mean to hurt Jughead for real. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I might have some issues with the law, if you couldn't tell.”

Jughead snorts. “I kind of figured when you suddenly went method on me. I was starting to think that you didn't even remember the cameras.”

FP reaches out for him, more careful than he's been with him all day. Jughead accepts his touch easily, and FP breathes out in relief. “You're okay though?”

“I'm fine,” Jughead says, and noticing that FP isn't convinced, he adds, “I promise. I have a bit of a bump from when you slammed me down on the hood, and you did pull my hair pretty hard, but other than that, I'm fine.”

He coughs, looking slightly red-cheeked. Considering the state of him, it's an absurdly bashful gesture, and FP is charmed.

“You fucked me pretty hard, but I was ready for that. And if you'd truly harmed me, I'd yelled 'cut'.”

Then Jughead surprises him by enveloping him in a hug. “No hard feelings, I promise, FP,” he mumbles against his shoulder.

“You promise?” FP asks, still feeling a little shaken up over the whole thing.

“Yeah,” Jughead says. They stand like that for a while, and then FP pulls back, feeling a little regretful about it.

“You'll always be my favorite daddy,” Jughead says, smiling now, referencing the stupid fucking porn award FP was presented with a while back. Jughead has ragged him about it every single time they've seen each other since then.

And that's how FP knows that they really are okay.


Chapter Text

FP's been in his fair share of threesomes, but never with Jughead. There's a big enough market for their man-on-man stuff that there's never been a demand for it.

But Shawn wanted to try something new, and Jughead was amendable, and FP has no complaints.

He's worked with Sweet Pea before. Good kid. The strong, silent type, but with a surprisingly wicked sense of humor. Huge cock too, he remembers. Jughead's worked with him before too, judging by the way they greet each other; the familiarity there.

It's been a couple of hours since their last scene, and Jughead is back in costume, sans helmet. He's sitting on the suspiciously well-padded bench of the jail set, nodding his head while he lets Shawn explain something about the blocking for the scene.

It doesn't look like any jail cell FP's ever been in; too light and roomy for that, and without the tell-tale hints of vomit, piss and judiciously applied chlorine in the air, but it serves this purpose better than the real thing.

Sweet Pea is leaning against the bars, looking intent and serious. He's got his dark hair slicked back, wearing the same uniform as FP.

“Okay,” Shawn says, clapping his hands together. “I think we're done here.”

Jughead gets up and lets Sweet Pea re-cuff his hands behind his back, and then he's next to FP again, just slightly out of frame and waiting for their cue.

Sweet Pea straightens up and gets his obnoxiously large key ready. The thing is absurd; like something out of the Pirates of the Caribbean.

“Action!” Shawn says, and FP grabs Jughead by his shoulder and pushes him towards the cell.

Sweet Pea unlocks the door and holds it open with a sneer.

“Right this way, princess,” he says, grinning at the offended look on Jughead's face.

FP pushes Jughead down on the bench, a bit more rough than he needs to be, but the sheriff wants to come out and play again, and it does make for good film.

“I want a lawyer,” Jughead says, scowling up at him, hair in his eyes again and looking much too cute for his own good.

The sheriff grins widely at the deputy. “You hear that, Nate?” he says, grinning widely. “The little bitch is making demands.”

“Shameful,” Sweet Pea tuts. He's twirling the key-ring on his finger, clearly taking immense joy in his role.

Quick as a snake, FP reaches out and gets a hand on Jughead's neck, thumb resting below his adam's apple. He can feel Jughead's pulse speed up under his finger, and he squeezes, just a little; just to remind him who's in charge.

“You're in no position to make demands, boy,” the sheriff tells him. “You're in a world of trouble already, and me and Nate here can make things even worse for you.”

He looks down at Jughead's up-turned face, taking in the anxious look in his blue-green eyes, the way his generous mouth is down-turned at the corners.

“I-” he begins, voice a little wobbly. Defeated, and the sheriff can feel himself growing hard at the thought. He moves his hand off him, giving his chest a little pat.

“Are you gonna cry?” The deputy asks, sounding delighted at the thought. He straightens up from his lean, taking a step closer.

“Is the little bitch gonna cry?”

Jughead really does look like he's gonna cry, his lower lip almost trembling with emotion, and FP is once again bowled over at just how good at this he is.

“You know we can make all of this disappear,” FP says, eager, “make it like nothing ever happened.”

“You promise?” Jughead asks, doubt and hope warring within him. “Because you promised last time too.”

“You're just gonna have to take your chances with us, don't you?” FP tells him.

The sheriff has no intention of letting him go yet, but Jughead doesn't have to know that.

Jughead bites his lip and looks at the two of them; at FP, smug and condescending, and Sweet Pea; cruelly amused.

Slowly, he kneels down on the floor, eyes stubbornly locked on FP.

“That's a good boy,” FP praises him, and Jughead ducks his head, blood rushing to his cheeks in humiliation.

FP gets his fly open, and watches Jughead watch him as he gets his cock out. It's half-hard already, and he works it up to full chub with a few well-timed tugs.

“Bet you've sucked a lot of dick in your day,” the Sheriff says, mean about it, and Jughead shakes his head, eyes wide on a silent denial.

The Sheriff nods, not really caring one way or another.

“You'll learn,” he says, taking a step closer to him, so close he can slap his dick on Jughead's face if he wishes.

He wishes, so he does, looking on in pleasure as Jughead flinches at the contact, a slight trail of precome left on his cheek.

“Get him ready,” he barks at the deputy, who hurries over to haul Jughead up from the floor.

Sweet Pea makes quick work of Jughead's boots and jeans, leaving him clad only in his t-shirt, and then he drags him up on the padded bench, making him kneel on it.

The sheriff watches him do it with a smirk on his lips, still stroking his cock absentmindedly.

“I want his mouth,” he says. “You can get his ass this time.”

“Fine by me,” Sweet Pea says, and sketches a lazy salute.

It's a good thing FP's already standing close to the edge of the bench, because there's nothing sexy or threatening about a man trying to walk with his pants around his knees and his dick hanging out. It's the sort of thing that can really ruin the mood of a scene, and is the hallmark of a rank amateur besides.

If there's one thing FP is a seasoned pro at, it's this.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Sweet Pea shuffle away to the other end of the bench, but he pays him no mind. Sweet Pea knows his role in this, just as FP knows his, and as Jughead knows his for that matter.

Right now Jughead's role is to silently allow the Sheriff to grab his hair with one hand while he traces his lips with his dick, like he's applying the dirtiest kind of lipstick.

“Open your mouth,” the Sheriff tells him.

If anything, Jughead presses his lips harder together, and FP heaves a gusty and put-on sigh, even rolling his eyes a little, and slaps him with his dick again.

“If you know what's best for you, you better open that pretty little cock-sucking mouth of yours,” he says, voice incongruously mild, and, as if realizing what's at stake, Jughead does.

FP keeps one hand fisted in Jughead's hair as he slowly and showily feeds him his dick. He doesn't stop until his crotch is pressed tight against Jughead's face, his throat working desperately around FP's length.

“The little slut is loving this,” he tells Sweet Pea, who nods.

“He's gonna like this even more,” Sweet Pea says. He's stroking his thick dick, angling it so the camera will get a good look at what he's packing – and it's a lot, even by FP's lofty standards.

FP pulls out, cherishing the noises Jughead keeps making around his length, nasty little wet smacking and choking sounds.

It sounds obscene, and it looks that way too, with the way his lips stretches around the Sheriff's cock.

FP gives him a few more deep thrusts like that, hitting the back of Jughead's throat and feeling him work against his gag reflex. His pretty eyes are tearing up already, and his chin is wet from spit.

He looks like the hottest kind of mess.

When he looks over Jughead's sweetly bent head, he sees Sweet Pea tracing the rim of his hole with his cock before pushing playfully between his cheeks.

With his arms cuffed behind his back, Jughead can't get on all fours the way he usually would for a scene like this, so FP has to grab him by the shoulders instead, lower him down until he's in a good position for Sweet Pea to fuck; ass up and ready.

It's frankly too much effort to be very enjoyable, holding Jughead's upper body up at the same time as he fucks his face, but it'll hopefully look good on camera, even if FP's thrusts are more shallow than he'd prefer like this.

Finally, Sweet Pea gets to push inside that tight heat, Jughead's hole swallowing all of his 10 inches.

Jughead moans brokenly around the cock in his mouth as he's penetrated, and the Sheriff chuckles.

“Yeah, take it, bitch,” he says, his own thrusts stuttering a little.

He and Sweet Pea eventually manage to work up a good rhythm between them, Jughead following along with their push-and-pull, letting Sweet Pea's thrusts push his mouth further down on FP's cock.

“Such a good little cock-slut,” the Sheriff moans, and it's not wholly for show. Jughead is being really good, sucking almost desperately at the cock in his mouth, working his tongue against it whenever FP pulls out far enough.

The deputy slaps Jughead's ass, grinning widely when he whimpers.

“Little bitch was made for this,” he agrees, giving a particularly hard thrusts.

As if on cue, Jughead moans, the vibrations around his dick making FP cry out in turn.

“Gonna come all over that pretty bitch face,” the Sheriff grits out.

“Not before I breed his ass,” the deputy offers, logistics being what they are, and FP sends him a grateful look for reminding him.

It doesn't take much longer for Sweet Pea to come, unloading with a heartfelt groan before pulling out.

The camera zooms in at the sight, no doubt catching the way Jughead looks when he's fucked open, ass gaping and oozing cum.

FP gives it a minute, then he pulls out too, and pushes Jughead back on his heels, relishing the little whimper of loss he gives without FP's dick to suckle at.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, holding Jughead by his chin, showing him off for the camera. “Look at you.”

Jughead is a mess, face red and blotchy, eyes wet and mouth swollen and shiny with spit and precum. He's breathing open-mouthed, like he just ran a marathon, thin chest heaving under his sweaty and thread-bare t-shirt.

It takes no time at all to beat off, not with Jughead gazing up at him in rapture, eyes wide and mouth open and panting.

FP comes hard, eyes going cross-eyed at the sheer ecstasy of it, and he spares a grateful thought at the fact that the camera isn't recording his face.

It's a fucking spectacular cum-shot, if he may say so himself, his spunk splattering over Jughead's right cheek, painting over the triangle of moles that FP is secretly fond of.

Pulling back, he notices that Jughead is still hard, his cock looking vulnerable and red as it bobs against his stomach.

The Sheriff smiles at the sight.

“Looks like the little bitch enjoyed himself,” he says, grabbing the hard cock, and the deputy laughs at the startled gasp that Jughead gives.

FP pulls out a cock ring from his uniform jacket – apparently standard equipment in this precinct, and slides it down Jughead's hard shaft, giving his dick a friendly tug on the way up, loving the way Jughead jerks into his hand like he can't help himself.

“Should leave him like this,” the Sheriff suggests. “Be a nice little surprise for the night shift,” and the deputy slaps his back at that, even as Jughead whimpers in distress.

“That's why you're the boss,” Sweet Pea says, sounding admiring.

“Aaand cut!” Shawn calls out. “That's a wrap!”

He comes over to them, all smiles and back-slaps. “Fantastic job, guys! Beautiful work!”

Shawn actually claps his hands together, excited like a kid in a candy store.

“Gonna get this cut done tomorrow, and then I'm thinking sequel? Depends on the audience response, but I have a good feeling about it.”

He babbles on for a bit, and FP listens dutifully, nodding at the appropriate places.

“Little help, please,” Jughead finally pipes up, sarcastic about it, and FP watches in bemusement as Sweet Pea actually blushes.

“The handcuffs, right!” he exclaims, hurrying over to Jughead's side. “Sorry about that, man.”

“No worries,” Jughead says, sounding amused. “Not like I needed circulation in my arms anyway.”

He keeps talking as Sweet Pea works on the cuffs. “And pride? Not like I needed that either. Just leave me here, naked and tied up while the rest of you get to wear clothes. It's cool.”

“Sweet Pea,” FP says, a teasing smile tugging at his lips, “maybe for the sequel, we should request a gag for him.”