Stick-Up Kid

Title: Stick-Up Kid
Rating: NC-17 for foul language and explicit sexual situations
Pairing: Johnny Quid/Archy
Word Count: 1,613
Summary: Archy's saddled with babysitting duty, but our boy Johnny has other plans.
Author's Note: RocknRolla was just full of slashy goodness, but of all the characters, Mark Strong's dark and charismatic gentleman criminal caught my fancy the most. This is set before the movie, with a decidedly younger Johnny (early 20's) and an Archy who's not yet top dog in Lenny's organization. I decided to work off an established relationship, because it's too much trouble to develop all the intricacies for a one-shot PWP. The reference to the Rolos comes from a piece of dialogue that was cut from the final script.

The gun was long, silver, and engraved with eagle wings.

Johnny pulled the trigger, and a copper flame erupted from its muzzle straight into the cigarette that dangled from his lips. He twirled it once, took a long drag, then tossed the lighter onto the Leaning Tower of Pisa that passed for his coffee table these days. The tower, naturally, cascaded in an avalanche of sheet music, unfinished lyrics, and empty beer bottles to the dingy floor. Johnny barely spared it a glance.

"My old man got you working late again, Arch?" Languidly, he stretched back, blowing a smoke ring into the air. "When're you gonna set your foot down and demand some time off?"

Across from the bed, Archy surveyed the mess with a wearisome eye. "There'd be none of this if you'd behave properly." He sighed, propping his legs up on a subwoofer - one of the few flat surfaces in the entire room - and let his head fall back against foldout chair.

House arrest.

And he drew the short straw tonight.

Johnny's 2 am concert joyride had ended in a squeal of wheels and a crash of glass on steel, bringing the number of cars he'd totaled to three...not including the victims of his unfortunate accidents. 'Cept this time, it wasn't the convertible that was the problem. It was what the convertible smashed into - a shipment of stolen antiques bound for none other than Mr. Lenny Cole. Johnny's stepfather. Which was why Johnny here was sitting pretty in a self-imposed cell, instead of merely sitting at the bottom of the Thames.

"What, proper like yourself?" The boy snorted, pushing himself up from the bed. "Trading guns, drugs, and swag all round London. If I didn't know better," he flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, "I'd have thought you were a Boy Scout."

"Go play with your drums, John."

"Ohh, of course!" The younger man snapped his fingers, as if he'd just had a revelation. "Bring out the Rolos for little Johnny. I can hear that old clown now." His voice dropped several octaves into a gruff parody of Lenny's angry baritone. "I don't care whatcha do with him, Archy, just get him outta my sight! I'm sicka dealin' with that poisonous shite! Any trouble of his is fallin' straight in your lap." The slight crease of Archy's eyebrow was indication enough that he'd hit the nail on the head, and the older man got up, restless. "Looks like I'm not the only one who needs a distraction tonight," Johnny whispered, sweet-faced.

Archy knew exactly what his boss's stepson wanted, and it wasn't so much sex as a twisted form of rebellion. "Johnny," he said carefully. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Why, I'd think that'd be obvious, Uncle Arch." The kid leaned in close, savoring the moment. "Seducing you."

The kiss came hard and fast like everything about Johnny, too hasty to be savored, too fiery to care. Long arms locked behind his neck, tilting his face down to eye level. Archy could feel the rub of soft stubble against his cheeks and was reminded of just how young the boy was, barely half his age and fresh out of school. Lanky frame that melted like putty in his hands. He felt his resolve falter as thin fingers tugged at his necktie, pulling the silk knot half-loose before he caught them, crushed them in his grip.

"You're treading on dangerous ground," he warned, not for the first time, but was silenced by a tongue between his lips and teeth tugging at wet skin.

"Yeah?" Johnny drawled, thumb hooked in the loop of Archy's belt. The way the older man pressed against him, he knew he had won. "Well, that's cause I'm dangerous." Hazel eyes twinkled with mischief, and in a flash, he pulled the pistol from Archy's pants and pointed it at his chest. "Give us your money, Arch," Johnny growled playfully, "or the pretty one gets it!" He let the muzzle dip a few inches, prodding the other's crotch for emphasis.

Oh, the nerve of the kid.

A quick flick of the wrist divested Johnny of the gun, then Archy grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and, in two steps, dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed. "I'll show you what dangerous is, boy," he promised, low and menacing, reservations flying aside in the face of that cheeky grin. The strain of the past few days uncoiled like a spring-load in the pit of his stomach. With a few efficient twists, he stripped the ratty rock 'n roll T-shirt off the boy's thin, angular frame and lowered his head to lay rough kisses on his jaw and neck and collarbone, red marks blooming like cigarette burns in his wake.

For his part, Johnny bent willingly into the sweet abuse, savoring the glide of smooth, manicured nails over his taut nipples. Ten years, and he could still rile Arch up with that ol' schoolboy trick. The thought made him groan. He tilted his head into each bite, moaning, teasing, the faint scent of cologne wrapped around his senses like a stripper on a dance pole. How very posh, he smirked to himself, and deliberately fisted a handful of slick black hair. Archy always had a taste for the refined life. The other man grunted, retaliating with the slide of a knee against his growing erection.

Throwing a leg over Archy's waist, Johnny rolled and pulled the older man down so he was straddling his lover's waist. He rocked forward, grinding their hips together, and was pleased to see a ripple disturb that normally smooth, impassive brow. The other's breath came quick and shallow beneath him. Archy pressed a palm into the small of his back, stroking the steep curve of muscle there, while Johnny worked the buttons on his breast with almost vicious hunger. One popped clasp, then another. Fingers dug impatiently at expensive Italian fabric, finally abandoning tact for the simpler solution of pushing underneath.

"Careful," Archy tutted. "That suit is worth more than your entire wardrobe." He deftly freed the snagged button, shrugging off his two-piece to reveal a white Oxford button-down.

"You're a real Armani snob, did anyone ever tell you that?"

The older man snorted. "Right before eating the barrel of my gun."

A grin that could've graced a porn mag crept across Johnny's face, and he slowly slid to the floor. "You forget, Archy, that this is my stick-up," he whispered. A belt buckle snicked, a zipper tugged open. Within seconds, he'd swallowed Archy straight up to the hilt.

"Nngh!" A surprised noise lurched out of the older man's lips. Archy closed his eyes and exhaled sharp, narrow breaths, fingers tensing in the smooth expanse of sheets beneath his grasp. Fuck, he didn't expect that so quick. Was this what a quarter-million quid education bought these days? If so, he had business investments to make. Tight, wet heat flexed up Archy's cock like a glove, squeezing every ounce of pleasure until his skin felt on fire. Johnny drew back with a loud sucking sound, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake, then rinsed and repeated - this time slower, cupping the other's bollocks and allowing his tongue to lead the way. A sheen of sweat skated across Archy's forehead like ice on a pond, and he let out a muffled groan, hips jerking of their own accord.

Johnny's doe-eyed, full of sultry innocence, as he rocked back on his knees. "I believe the word you're looking for is please," he murmured around a mouthful of cock.

"You've got some mouth on you, Johnny boy." Archy fixed the younger man with a glare, but the steel was stolen from his eyes by the thick smoke of lust that ringed his pupils and flushed the sharp jut of his cheekbones a fierce, unrelenting red.

The boy detached himself long enough to offer a rejoinder. "Why, Uncle Arch, that's a mighty fine compliment comin' from you." Johnny smirked before lowering his head once more.

A sharp hiss escaped Archy's lips, as he felt teeth scrape lightly along the length of his cock. Bloody hell, but the kid was merciless. Another drag brought those pearls right up against a thick vein, sending shivers down his spine and a drop of pre-cum tumbling off to be sucked greedily between red, cherry lips. Bloody merciless. The older man bit off a moan. Johnny's face bobbed madly between his legs, setting a breakneck pace like the drumbeat in one of his rock 'n roll songs, and Archy found himself punctuating each slurp with a sharp thrust of his own hips. Damn, this was...too soon, he thought, even as he felt his iron grip slip away. That wet mouth puckered, taut as you please, and looking down, he knew it was over.

"Oh, fuck." He came just like that, thighs clenching around the tousled head between his legs, back arched off the bed, neck straining against his silk tie, still only half undone from earlier. Electricity jolted through his nerves and jerked his limbs through the tangled covers. Jaw hard as a rock, Archy could only manage rigid gasps to fan the flames in his chest. Several moments passed before he found the balance to push himself up, one hand running shakily through his hair - dark strands sticky with sweat - as he peered at the impish face beneath him.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me, Uncle Arch?" Johnny inquired in his best little boy falsetto.

"Shut it," Archy responded roughly with a kiss.