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Twelve Seconds	By : CeeCee Category: Comics > Archie & Co. Views: 3859 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Archie & Co, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Twelve Seconds
- 2-Dripping
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- 2
Author’s Note: This request fic goes out to the riverdaleslash community on LJ. I apologize in advance!

“I’m open!” Archie tasted his own sweat pooling on his upper lip, teasing him with too little moisture. He eyed the orange polyurethane barrel of Gatorade on the bench. It mocked him.

Feet thundered down the court, the shocks vibrating through his exhausted muscles, but he felt satisfied. He’d been fouled twice – painfully – when he caught Central’s point guard’s elbow in his teeth. He didn’t miss the free throws; heaven was smiling down on him. Veronica even clapped her cell phone shut and rose to her feet with the rest of the crowd, cheering him.

Twelve seconds.

Reggie, true to form, was hogging the ball. Poetically. Masterfully. Visions of candid yearbook pictures danced in his head…

Archie was pissed off.

He eye-faked. Head-faked.

Ten seconds.

Moose paved the way for him, blocking the other side as they came at him. He didn’t attempt to pass it to his peers. Moose could shoot, but defense was his strong suit.

Archie caught his eye and gestured. His blue tank felt cumbersome, stuck to his body as he widened his stance.

“REG!”

Reggie scoffed; he twisted his lips impatiently and shook his head. Nah, he mouthed.

“Asshole,” Archie hissed under his breath.

Moose stumbled. Bingo, Frankie, Chuck and Jason clamored toward the hoop for the rebound, defying the clock.

Six seconds.

Enough was enough. They were tied, fer cryin’ out loud.

He’d already missed his chance at a lay-up. Central’s defense was plastered to the basket like glue.

Andrews was open. He was always open.

He was a lugnut. Not hopeless, but a lugnut. He never took risks, which kept him on second string.

Riverdale varsity had worse shooters. Jinx was benched with a sprained ankle. He was a sloppy dribbler but had a decent rim shot. Again, useless.

Four seconds.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuckfuckittyfuck…ARCH!”

“Huh? Shit!” Reggie whipped him a pass that stung his fingertips. Disbelief surged through him, followed by elation.

One chance. All eyes were on Archie as he leapt, focused…

…missed.

All the sounds around him seemed to die away as the ball bounced off the rim with a thunk.

ENHHHHH! The buzzer was his death knell. Out of the corner of his eye Archie saw Chuck grimace and Moose clap his hand over his eyes, kicking an empty bleacher.

He felt their hatred saturating him.

“Way to miss it,” Reggie hissed, surprising him at how close he stood. He clapped him roughly on the shoulder, making his skin smart. Betty rushed down from the stands and darted toward them, reaching for Archie’s hands.

“I’m so sorry, Arch, that stinks! Just a few seconds more and you would’ve nailed it!”

“He had enough time,” Reggie snapped. Veronica indolently descended the bleachers and grabbed a sweat towel from the bench. She began scrubbing Reggie’s neck with it, wrinkling her nose.

“Yech. You’re pretty ripe.”

“You know you like it,” he smirked, swiping the towel. “Watch the hair.”

Betty tried to comfort Archie as his teammates ringed the Gatorade barrel like vultures. He felt their disdain as he elbowed his way thorugh.

“Looks like suicide laps are on the menu tomorrow.” Coach Kleats was already bellowing for a post-game huddle, but no one was in the mood.

Archie’s heart sank. He avoided Reggie’s snarks and looks of disgust and ducked into the locker room.

*

They rode him at practice all week. It was inevitable. Chuck and Bingo cut him some slack, but Moose snarled at him during scrimmage. Reggie lapped him, even tripped him while they ran suicides.

Archie fumed; he wanted to play it like that?
“Look alive, Archie,” Kleats barked, having missed it. He flipped the page over his clipboard and made some notes.

Archie fell back into step taking the lead spot. Reggie huffed, amused.

“Oh, someone’s mad! You gonna cry? Wanna get me back? Poor widdle Archie,” he nagged. He strode swiftly, barely breaking a sweat.

“Hell, no!” Archie panted. “I’m a big boy.” They hugged the curve; Reggie drifted into his space each time he tried to pass him. They scuffled.

“Dude, move!” Bingo chided them from several paces back. Archie ignored him. The voices behind him were annoyed and incredulous. Reggie bumped him on purpose. Their forearms scraped each other roughly, clammy with sweat.

“Fuck off!” Reggie hissed.

“Move!”

“Make me!” Reggie tried to trip him again. Archie saw red. Enough was enough.

An untapped reserve of pisstivity from deep within him made him barrel into his dark-haired rival, checking him into the climbing wall.

“Ack!” THUD! The other boys nearly piled up on them as the trail came to a hasty stop. The jolt from their breakneck run ending so abruptly was jarring, almost painful. Reggie caught his bearings and gave Archie a shove, then thumped him in the chest.

“Get back!”

“Quit riding me!”

“Then learn how to shoot!” Reggie’s dark eyes were dilated and his nostrils flared as he stared him down. Archie scraped back his sweat-soaked red hair where it was plastered to his forehead, appearing a darker shade of copper from being so damp.

“That’s it!” In a flash, they invaded each other’s space and came to blows.

“Aw man, what the hell?” Chuck groaned. “Arch, take it easy, man!”

It was cathartic to hit him, to watch those perfect white teeth grimace and snarl at him. It felt equally satisfying to let his fists make contact with his body, despite the burning thuds of Reggie’s fists connecting with his face and ribs. Each punch throbbed with a sweet, addictive ache, making him crave more.

Coach Kleats blasted his whistle.

“Duh, quit it!” Moose barked, shouldering between them. “Knock it off!” He pried them apart, making good use of his beefy strength and bulk. He maneuvered easily, pinning Reggie back against the climbing wall safely behind him while he gripped Archie out in front of him by his upper arm, nearly ringing it in his large fist.

“That’s it, break it up!” Kleats was florid and pissed off as he jogged across the gym, throwing down his play book. “What’s wrong with you two? Huh? This is how you practice and bring your ‘A’ game to my gym? I have two things to tell both of you: One, this is MY house, and two, you’re both suspended and benched from the next game. Archie, you choked during the last quarter, you didn’t mean it, but you didn’t follow through. And you,” he declared, edging around Moose to jerk Reggie upright by the arm, “need to learn about teamwork. Respect your teammates and trust them to shoot and pass just as well as you.” He tsked and folded his arms. “I’m not happy about this. Hit the showers. Notes are going home to your parents. Everybody else, fall back in line. Suicides til you drop, then lay-ups.” A chorus of groans filled the air. Archie and Reggie left the gym, burning with shame.

The silence between them was stony as they each retreated to their lockers. Archie felt Reggie stealing looks at his back. Reggie slammed his locker shut after dumping his Axe shower gel and towel on the floor.

“Nice going, dickhead.”

“You started that shit,” Archie snapped. He peeled off his tank, wadding it up and chucking it into his own locker. The cool air at his damp back felt invigorating, but he craved a shower.

“Bullshit. Are you happy now?”

“Tickled pink.”

“What are you even doing on varsity, Andrews? Go back to JV and choke all you want there!”

“What, you’re the only one who’s been working hard all season long? You don’t think the rest of us are sick of you hogging the ball?”

“Then get it away from me if you think you’ve got the balls,” Reggie offered. He wasn’t facing Archie as he tugged off his sneakers and peeled off his socks, chucking the sweaty coils of knit into his lockers. The impressions they left on his ankles itched, but it felt good to get out of them.

“Don’t put it past me.”

“Not even on your best fucking day.”

“Any day.”

“Any day in the past four years? Dude, you suck.”

“This from the one who can’t free throw.” It was true. It wasn’t Reggie’s strong suit. Archie wanted to prick him on a sore spot, but failed.

“Don’t have to when I’m not the one getting fouled.” Archie burned with embarrassment.

“Asshole,” he hissed as he retreated to the shower. Reggie peered after him and smirked.

Then he sobered.

The line of Archie’s back was long, straight and proud, bare and gleaming with sweat under the lights. His build was lean and hard, muscular but with none of Moose’s bulk, nor as skinny as Jug. He was fit, average. Average in a good way, if the way Betty was always hanging on him was any indication.

The hair at the nape of his neck was a deep copper from sweat. Freckles were sprinkled over the tops of his shoulders and forearms, and what fine body hair that he had on his limbs was dark blond.

Reggie turned away when he caught himself staring. He heard the slap of Archie’s bare feet heading toward the shower stalls, then the hiss of the water hitting the tile.

Reggie wasn’t shy about his body. He stripped down to his birthday suit and wrapped his towel around his waist. He took his shower gel with him to the stall beside Archie’s, not caring about the proximity; neither of them would have to see the other, either way, if he finished first.

Looking at Archie annoyed Reggie, on principle.

What did the girls see in him?

His build wasn’t the only thing that was average.

His grades were average. His game was average. His goals were pretty average. He was accepted to state school. Reggie grimaced at the concept. He drove around in an old clunker and his parents were middle-class.

So why did the girls practically lick the ground he walked on?

How did girls measure whether a guy like Archie Andrews had “that special something?” Why him? Geez, it was like catnip.

Veronica and Cheryl wanted someone like Archie to slum with. He entertained them. Reggie would give him that much. Betty, on the other hand, was average, too, but he was more generous in his view of her qualities, since she was pretty cute. Smart, too, at least, but still, no flare. Just average.

Reggie hung is towel over edge of the stall and stepped into the near-scalding spray. It felt good pouring over his muscles, soothing the knots and kinks. His skin flushed and he tasted the last remnant of his sweat. He ducked his head underwater, letting it run through his dark, straight hair; he watched the rivulets of water stream from the locks hanging over his eyes.

In the stall next to his, the wall between them, Archie lathered up, scrubbing his fingernails over his scalp while he washed his hair. The exchange between him and his least favorite classmate (going on thirteen years, he’d hated his guts as early as kindergarten) still left a bad taste in his mouth.

He kneaded the soreness from his neck with soapy hands, letting them slide over his muscles. It felt good, but he craved one of Betty’s patented neck rubs. At least she would give him some sympathy and pamper him, but he wasn’t always in the mood for the way she smothered him. Ronnie would be blunt with him, which inspired him to try harder to win her approval, but again, who wanted that much bluntness?

He soaped his chest, then his belly, scratching away the feeling of itchy nerves from his workout. He groaned loudly as he arched and popped his back.

Reggie stiffened at the sound of his voice. It was a sound of satisfaction and indulgence. Low, and slightly decadent.

“Practice too much for you?”

“Get outta here.”

“Proved my point.” Reggie’s tone seemed to mock him more in the echo of the stall. Archie fumed. He soaped between his legs, letting the foam run through the dark thatch of hair and over his balls. It felt good.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Sure you don’t.” He’d always competed with him. Even when he knew it was pointless, he competed with him. Baseball. Basketball. Football.

Girls.

He always outran him, out-threw him, out-passed him, out-shot him, or struck him out. And he was always showing up at the right time. Luck loved Reggie Mantle.

Things came easy to him, and Archie resented him for it. He was glad his neighbor wasn’t looking at him. His dick quivered to life, jerking slightly as he ring it in his fist, soaping the silky skin that was growing more taut by the second.

So what if he was smart? Or a good athlete? Or a stuck-up, cocky sonofabitch? Or drove a hot car?

Reggie Mantle was a clothes horse. Summer jobs at his dad’s newspaper left his wallet fat and kept him in Abercrombie and Fitch and the Gap. He wore them well enough that no one else would ever look as good in the same clothes if he wore them first.

Asshole. Archie sighed under his breath, drowning the sound in the noisy slap of spray.

Reggie’s shower gel smelled strong and citrusy and the scent drifted on the steam filling the locker room.

“Pee-yew. Damn, Reg, that’s almost as bad as your B.O.”

“Piss off.”

“Smells like you already did!”

“Fucker,” Reggie muttered. A moment later, he took a brief whiff of the gel. Smelled fine to him. Then, self-consciously, he sniffed his own armpits. Then he gave them another firm scrub with the gel, just for good measure.

Not that he cared what Andrews thought, anyway…really.

Then again… Reggie’s lips twitched. Once again, he had an idea.

He snuck out of the shower, still dripping, and he headed for the tiny water cooler by the locker room door. Instead of just filling up one of the flimsy paper cones, he grabbed the quart-sized plastic pitcher instead and filled it to the brim with icy cold liquid. He hurried back quickly to his own stall, smothering a snicker and leaving a trail of water on the concrete.

Archie was humming an Everclear song under his breath, one that he’d sung pretty often back when he still had his own basement band. He didn’t have a bad voice, something Reggie would never admit aloud, but he was still enjoying himself too much. Mischief made his stomach flutter. Archie made it too easy.

Time to get his goat…

Sploosh!

“GAAHHHH!”

Laughter choked Reggie; his chest spasmed with the effort to hold it in, but he failed miserably. Archie’s shouts echoed off the shower walls.

“Sonofabitch!” The blast of water was freezing. To make matters worse, they already used up most of the hot water, so the spray was barely more than lukewarm, not enough to warm him back up.

“All clean now?” he sang proudly as Archie jerked his head around the edge of the stall. He batted at the shower knob to slap it off while Reggie merely stood, snickering. Archie’s thunderous expression made him laugh even harder, and he dropped the empty pitcher on the floor.

Archie peered over at the edge of Reggie’ stall and spied the towel.

As he figured, Reggie ducked back into his stall, figuring Archie would come after him. He didn’t know he wasn’t the direct target.

“Hey!” Archie whipped the towel from the wall and snatched it away, not caring that he was still naked. Reggie expected him to run off with it; he was already chilled from his naked, dripping trek to the water cooler.

Faster than Reggie could blink, Archie coiled the towel into a long, snug whip and let it fly, snapping Reggie in the dick.

“AAAGGGHH!” He doubled over in pain so strong that he saw spots in front of his eyes.

“Betcha want this back, huh? Do ya? Do ya?”

“Shit!” Reggie hissed. “Don’t!” The pain wasn’t as bad as the surprise of Archie getting the better of him. CRACK! He re-rolled the towel and let it zap him again, this time on his retreating back.

…then, right in the ass.

It stung.

What was worse…the cold air on his damp skin and the sudden pain caused a strange throbbing between his legs.

Something came over Archie. Reggie, for the moment, was helpless. He felt powerful, for a change, not being on the receiving end. Excitement warmed his stomach…and other parts of him.

He wasn’t looking where he was going and banked his knee on the locker bench.

“OW!”

He staggered and winced, giving Reggie the moment he needed to disarm him.

He jerked the towel. “Give it!”

“Uh-uh!” he argued, curling it around his fist. “Gonna hafta do better than that.”

“Give it back, dickhead! What,” he taunted, “you like looking at my dick?” It took about ten tense seconds for him to realize what he’d blurted out.

And Archie’s eyes did what he didn’t want them to do: They wandered down to Reggie’s penis.

Tumescent. Rosy and tight. Long, thick, and painfully erect.

Archie’s only consolation was that in this area, at least, he didn’t have to compete with Reggie, or find himself lacking. Droplets of water dripped from coppery, coarse hairs between his legs. His ball sac was leathery and drawn up tightly as a pair of golf balls. His own dick was equally afflicted, and to his horror, the tip was already leaking a pearl of white fluid.

Shit.

Archie’s look was wide-eyed and mortified, but he didn’t cease his struggle with Reggie for the towel. Both of them had the instinct to want to cover themselves until they could, well, recover.

“Get your own!” Reggie barked.

“Leggo!” They scuffled. Reggie gave the towel a savage jerk. Archie would let go.

He didn’t take into account the momentum when Archie stumbled and flew right into him.
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Twelve Seconds