Title: Jailbait
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Archy/Johnny Quid
Word Count: 637
Description: Johnny's having trouble polishing the lyrics for his next greatest hit. Archy is roped in to help.
Author's Note: Inspired solely by BPAL's Jailbait perfume, because you know that's what Johnny would wear to get under anyone's skin.

Bubblegum. Sticky, sweet, pink bubblegum. That was the first scent that hit Archy when he pushed open the door to Johnny's room. Bubblegum smeared over hard cherry candy, with a shade of something deep and smoky underneath. Something far too mature for a 16-year-old kid. Something familiar...

Johnny's splayed out like a pin-up model, chest bare beneath a violet fur coat - the latest in glam rock fashion or the oldest in nonce, depending on who you asked - and torn, tight jeans slung low on his hips. A pair of over-sized sunglasses balanced precariously on his nose, bouncing each time he tapped his foot against the floor. The cloud of candy perfume didn't bother him in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to revel in it, as he slowly tongued a cherry-red lollipop between syrupy lips, looking for all the world like -

"Jailbait."

"What?" Archy blinked, sure that mind-reading had yet to enter the boy's lexicon.

"That's what I'm gonna call my song." Johnny pulled the lolly out of his mouth with an O-shaped pop. "Jail. Bait."

Archy snorted. "Get dressed," he ordered.

John gave his shoulders a lazy roll, as if to say that dressed was a relative term, and continued musing aloud. "But I can't decide which perfume goes better wi' the chorus." His eyebrows furrowed, as he swirled slow loops around the head of the lollipop.

"Get dressed in somethin' proper," Archy amended, turning to pick through the acid trip that passed for the boy's closet these days. "You're father wants a word with you." He finally came up with a grime-encrusted T-shirt, the only contents that wouldn't throw Len into apoplectic fits (if I see him dressed like a poof again, I'll fuckin' stab the little rat myself!), and dumped it on the couch. The gesture went largely ignored.

"Should it be the pink bubblegum," Johnny tilted his head one way, "or the cherry lolly?" he asked, rolling it the other.

At that moment, Archy realized where he recognized the scent from. "An' if I ever catch you near my cologne again, those jeans ain't the only things that'll be shredded." He stabbed a finger at the kid's neck.

There was a brief pause, as Johnny pulled the sunglasses down his nose to survey his Uncle's expression. "I'll put yah down for the bubblegum, then," he announced finally, twirling the lollipop in Archy's face. "Though yah really should give 'em both a try..." A gleam crossed Johnny's eye, and suddenly, his voice dropped two octaves, the space between them to less than a foot, as he leaned in close enough for Archy to make out the fine, tawny fuzz that was just beginning to dot the kid's jaw. Peach fuzz, and poorly grown too. Eyes fixed on a stripe of sticky pink staining the boy's chin. Ridiculous on cheeks still round as baby apples.

Seeing the look, Johnny grinned. Bit into the lollipop with a loud crunch.

...Somewhere inside Archy, a nerve frayed.

"Alright, that's enough screwin' about," he snapped. "Now, getcha clothes on 'afore I do it myself." Grabbing Johnny by the shoulder, he dragged the boy up from the couch, only to be greeted by the cloying taste of cherries against his lips. Chunks of hard candy mixed with a slippery, wet tongue, caressing sugary sweetness into every crevice of his mouth, as saliva mingled like syrup. Coupled with the scent of his own cologne coiled at the boy's neck, a contradictory blend of sugar and dark musk, it positively dared him to push it away.

"So, whad'yah think, Uncle?" Johnny murmured when he finally broke for air, eyes like poisonous caramel.

As it turned out, he thought the cherry was better, although Archy wasn't sure if that conclusion came before or after he'd finished fucking Johnny into the couch.