Jughead took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Sitting in the middle of the woods, he could make himself forget that less than a mile in any direction sat a big, fancy house that it was laughable to call a 'cottage.' On the final leg of the drive up, creeping along the private road to Lodge Lodge, he'd spotted several cozy little retreats between the thickening trees that were wooden and rustic-looking, just like Veronica's parents' place, but a log façade did not a true cabin make. Pa Ingalls would've been turning over in his grave at the association, Jughead thought, wondering how something intended for survival had since been bastardized for 21st century glampers. At least the air didn't smell like rich people air, stale and sterile like the manufactured, over-sanitized crap they pumped into casinos and high-end malls. No, it just smelt like… nature.

"You know what's really weird?" he asked, glancing at Archie, who sat perched on the huge stump opposite Jughead's own.

His friend, seeming to have been as lost in thought as Jughead had been moments before, shook his head, an expectant grin appearing on his face.

"You and I haven't kissed," Jughead stated, returning to their earlier conversation, "but we've heard each other have sex."

Archie visibly recoiled, smile gone.

"Jesus, Jug! Coulda given me a little warning on that one." It took a minute for his eyes to stop looking like they were going to come flying out of his face. Jughead began to laugh.

"How?"

"Honestly, I don't know man." Archie was shaking his head, this time in what seemed to be disturbed wonder. "So, you guys can hear…?"

"Too much," Jughead affirmed, smirking now that his laughter had died down.

"But," Archie shifted on his stump (Jughead was amused by the way his friend was transforming into problem-solving-Archie), "more than just the bed squeaking and hitting the wall?" His face was luridly red and Jughead knew that it was nothing less than Archie's honesty and stellar, steady temperament that was letting him maintain eye contact.

Jughead sighed, perfectly at ease, perhaps even more so because of his best friend's discomfort. He couldn't help finding it hilarious.

"I think it's safe to assume that whatever you can hear of Betty and I, we can hear of you and Veronica," he rationalized.

Archie propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward to bury his face in his hands with a groan. Taking pity on him, Jughead rose and crossed to his friend. When Archie didn't glance up, Jughead gave him a sound slap on the shoulder.

"That's how it works, man," he explained. "It's not like a one-way mirror at a police station."

That only elicited another groan, so Jughead decided to give him some time with his thoughts. He brushed off the seat of his jeans and headed back towards the 'cottage' that any self-respecting, forest-dwelling, Disney princess would've been tickled to call home.

"I think Archie's having nightmares," Jughead declared in a voice of mock sadness, packing up his toothbrush while Betty stood in the bathroom, door open, washing her face.

"What?" she asked, catching his reflection in the mirror as she patted her face dry with one of the Lodge's fluffy, expensive towels. "Because of the attempted robbery?"

It was a fair question. Armed burglars were enough to shake anybody up―even the crime fighting foursome of Jones, Cooper, Lodge, and Andrews. They'd ended up settling in for the final evening of their stay regardless, though nobody thought to return to their abandoned game of Monopoly (for which Jughead was infinitely thankful, since he sucked at it). Veronica's thorough explanation of the security system had calmed them with logic, while the subsequent couple of hours sprawled on the couches as they mended the lately incurred tears in their friendship had offered a more emotional balm. With a little more wine, they began to laugh the whole thing off. Fundamentally, it wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to them, no one was hurt, and they were now perfectly safe.

"No," he replied, smiling a little goofily, "because I told him we heard him and Veronica going at it."

Jughead watched Betty's reflection do a long blink of disbelieving disapproval.

"You didn't." Betty flicked the bathroom light off and stepped into the bedroom, running a brush through her shiny blonde hair. "He must be so embarrassed," she said, her mouth turning down in sympathy.

Jughead shrugged, folding the blankets back and fluffing Betty's pillow, then his own.

"I don't know if he has anything to be embarrassed about. I wasn't listening that hard." He smirked and Betty rolled her eyes, laying her brush on the bedside table. Jughead decided to push her a little more. "I mean, I didn't have my ear pressed to the wall. I wasn't singling out Veronica's voice and trying to make out words like 'inadequate' or 'disappointing.'"

Betty shook her head and a laugh escaped, making Jughead grin.

"We can't do anything either," she pointed out after a minute, getting into bed. "You do realize that, right? I think the limits of our friendship with Archie and Veronica have withstood enough for one weekend."

Jughead felt his forehead crease.

"Yeah, of course. I'm a sensitive guy, Betts. You know that."

He stretched, turned out the light, and climbed into bed next to her, rolling to kiss her forehead, then shuffling his shoulders around to get comfortable on his own side of the bed.

"Goodnight, Jughead," Betty said lovingly, reaching to take his hand as she, too, settled on her back.

"Night, Betts."

He closed his eyes and took longer, slower breaths, letting his grip on Betty's hand relax until it was more the weight of his hand on hers than the way their fingers were intertwined that kept them together. Straightening his legs out as far as they could go, Jughead realized the bed was more than long enough for his height; he was no giant, but his bed at home didn't pass the stretch test like this one did and he had long ago gotten used to sleeping either on a diagonal across the mattress or with bent knees. Under his head, the pillow was firm but squishy, shaping itself to him like it knew what he needed. The sheets were soft and smelt as clean as they had when he and Betty had first made the bed. There was nothing to hear besides the alternating, and sometimes synchronized, sounds of him and Betty breathing. Silence from their neighbours in the next room. Nobody up to any funny business tonight.

Jughead's eyes opened and he frowned at the ceiling, hazy and grey-blue in the dark. Carefully, he turned his head just enough to eye Betty. Her face was relaxed and her eyes were closed, although she wasn't sleeping yet, just looking ready to sit up and be in a lotion commercial or something, with her smooth skin and beautiful hair. Most important of all, she was there. She was right there and it was more likely than not that this would be their last chance to sleep in the same bed for a while. Jughead figured he could still be respectful of Archie and Veronica while snuggling up a little closer to his girlfriend.

Twisting towards her, he felt the white tank he was wearing bunch up under his back and against his side, totally ruining the otherwise creaseless experience of lying in this bed. It would practically be an insult not to remove it, so he shuffled around and pulled it off, sighting his suitcase and flinging the shirt to land on top of it. Unsurprisingly, his movement had disturbed Betty, who had first rolled away and then glanced back to stare at him over her shoulder. Her gaze tracked down his chest until Jughead sunk back under the covers.

"Juggy, what are you doing?" Her voice was quiet but alert.

"It's not my fault this duvet is filled with the feathers of angels," he said, trying to look innocent. "This bed is hot enough to cook a Thanksgiving turkey in."

"We could just take it off," Betty said, the tone of her voice sort of suggesting he was being an idiot, though not outright committing to it.

"Yeah, ok," he agreed.

Since he was the one who had jostled her out of relaxing for sleep, Jughead sat up and folded (shoved) the duvet back until it laid along the bottom edge of the bed, then flopped back down.

"Do you want to get up and grab your shirt?"

Sure, she was solicitous now, considering his comfort only once there didn't seem to be any further chance of him bugging her. Maybe that was justified.

"Nope, I'll just…" And he flipped onto his side and wiggled closer to Betty.

"Juggy," she warned, "we just have to sleep."

"I'll be able to as soon as you stop talking."

"Alright…"

She didn't sound convinced, but she quit looking over her shoulder at him. Jughead snuck closer, pressing his bare chest to her t-shirt-covered back.

"No fooling around," she gently told him, as if he needed a reminder less than a minute after the last one.

"Now I'm cold."

"So get your shirt."

"I'm not that cold."

Betty laughed softly.

"Ok."

He felt Betty's shoulders slump against him as she relaxed, emboldening Jughead to quickly sneak his arm around her waist, binding them together. She draped her forearm on top of his, sighing happily. Just as he was convincing himself that he didn't need any more than this tonight, Betty slid their arms into what was presumably just a more comfortable position for her, but which landed his palm in the center of her ribcage, the edge of his hand indenting the yielding underside of her breast. Jughead's eyes flew open and darted quickly back and forth. Had it been intentional or accidental? Betty's breathing still sounded steady. Meanwhile, he was in the throes of sudden onset late-night giddiness, able to think of nothing other than how it would feel to run his hand up over her breast. It would've been easier to persuade himself that there wasn't a mischievous aim behind it if she hadn't purposely and unabashedly seduced him in this very bedroom the night before.

"Comfortable?" he whispered.

There it was, the little jerk her body made that meant she'd just suppressed a laugh. Jughead's eyes narrowed.

"Uh huh. You?"

"Almost."

He raised his head and settled his cheek atop hers, their heads not quite stacked, like precarious Jenga blocks before the fall. If only they'd picked that game to play earlier, he thought. That was one Jughead was actually good at. Very steady hands.

Sighing like he was letting sleep know it could come and claim him, Jughead let his head slip down. Betty kept suspiciously still. Heart rate climbing, he turned his face in towards her neck and began brushing his lips over her skin. In response, her skin offered him goosebumps. Ever so gradually, Jughead turned his light passes into distinct kisses, working down her neck. Under his hand, he felt Betty's every little reaction. He leaned up on his elbow and she swiftly turned her face so he could kiss her mouth rather than her neck. They kept it short, though it was hard to break the kiss off. This was still ok, Jughead thought, pulse pounding. Then Betty had to go and reposition his hand on her breast. She closed her fingers over his and he had no choice but to literally bend to her will, curling his fingers to lightly squeeze, her nipple poking up into his palm through her t-shirt. He groaned into her hair.

To stop her from shushing him, which he instinctually knew she wanted to do, Jughead smoothed his hand over her breast. Betty moved her own hand away, giving him some freedom. His eyes closed in the dark room as he felt the shape of her, the weight of her, then flinched his hand closed to pinch her nipple. Betty breathed out roughly, shifting under his touch. He pressed his chest against her back and slipped his hand down the curve of her waist, finding her t-shirt's hem. On the other side, the better side, Jughead traced his fingers back up her warm skin. He plucked again and again at her nipple and Betty arched restlessly against him. Yes, he rationalized, they weren't doing nothing, but a little more couldn't hurt. With Betty shifting, Jughead brought his hips forward, almost collapsing in relief as his erection rubbed against her ass. The thin layers of their pajama bottoms would surely keep things from escalating, yet not be so much of an obstacle that he couldn't still enjoy the sensation of grinding against his girlfriend.

Betty bumped back into him and Jughead impulsively nipped her neck. Deserting her breast, he let his fingers wander down to her hip, clenching, testing. When she rocked back against him, his grip tightened and her name whipped from his mouth. He held her tighter and tighter, with no need for the duvet thanks to all the heat they were generating now. On the next roll of her hips, Jughead's finger caught the waistband of Betty's pajama shorts. His mouth twitched in an eager tic. Now he knew he really shouldn't. If things went any further… basically, he didn't have anywhere near enough faith in himself that he thought he could withstand the appeal of naked Betty. The very Betty in question reached back, sinking her fingers deep into his hair, and undulated for all she was worth. Welp, Jughead thought, so much for resisting temptation. He put some space between them and yanked the shorts down Betty's hips, then her legs, then let her kick them away to live in the purgatory of this endlessly deep, Nightmare on Elm Street-esque bed.

Tucking his arm around her hip, Jughead snaked his hand between Betty's legs. The first touch of slickness under his fingers had him burrowing his face into her hair and nudging hungrily forward with his hips. He brought his wetted fingers to her clit, rubbing her with slow, even strokes, while Betty gasped and writhed. She tugged her t-shirt up and off and let her back press into his chest. It was briefly baffling to be the one left overdressed, after he'd been the first to discard half of his clothing, but Jughead managed to be ok with it.

"Juggy," Betty moaned, this time pleading for him to continue instead of stop. "I need you."

He had his boxers off in a flash. With Betty on birth control, Jughead didn't break pace to upend his suitcase in search of a condom. She tilted her hips back and he plunged up into her, making them both shudder like a pair of exposure victims.

"Oh god, Betty."

His fingers were clamped to her hips. She mmmed in response and Jughead bit down on his tongue to re-establish control over his own body, since Betty was dangerously close to taking it all for herself. When he drove into her again, she moved with him, keeping up what felt like a scientifically perfect friction that nearly made his eyes roll back in his head. Jughead laid a palm against her lower back, jolting himself with excitement as he pictured bending her over like this standing up, and began bucking more quickly.

The bed betrayed them with a deafening squeak and they froze.

"Slower, slower," Betty panted, gathering her hair and tossing it onto the portion of pillow above her head.

Jughead nuzzled his nose along her exposed hairline and started in on gentler, more swaying thrusts. He heard Betty exhale, then felt her grab for his hand, lifting it from her back to tangle their fingers together over her stomach. It wasn't desperate, like their first time, or kinky, like their last time. It was… they were… So softly that he barely heard it, Betty breathed out his name. The realization clicked and thumped him in the heart like the banging return of a typewriter: he was making love to her, and she to him. He kissed the underside of her jaw and held her hand more securely in his own. Betty parted her legs, lifting the top one to lay it along his, allowing his movements to become freer and lengthier. Feeling Betty's foot tuck around his calf, Jughead strained up into her. Their entire bodies were working perfectly together. He watched her head fall back―seeking his shoulder, but never arriving due to the plushness of the pillows―as if it were slow motion, then dragged her hair away with damp fingers to reveal her neck once more. Stuffing the arm of his un-held hand under Betty's neck, Jughead reached all the way around, cupping the shoulder not currently digging into the mattress. He held her for what felt like dear life as he pitched in and out of her enveloping heat. So maybe he wasn't dying, but she was definitely dear to him.

Betty took her free hand and irritably pushed the bedsheet down, as though batting away a pestering insect. She left it to lie around their hips and, as Jughead looked on, moved her hand between her legs. Shaking, Jughead laid rapid kisses to the place between his girlfriend's neck and shoulder, too frantic to maintain a straight line. He knew exactly when she found the rhythm she wanted with her self-applied touches because her hips lurched more sharply and her heart beat more fiercely, pounding against his chest like someone trying to crash through a wall. He'd have let it in if he could have possibly carved a door through his skin. He would've done it for her.

They'd been close to silent for ages, Jughead himself feeling dangled in bliss, and now he felt Betty give in. She'd given herself up to him before, sometimes with a look, sometimes with her roleplaying, but this seemed to go much deeper. Maybe it was just because he was going deeper, sliding through her arousal, slick and sure.

"Harder," she begged, voice catching. "Juggy, harder."

He freed both his hands so that he could grab her hips, greedy fingers digging into the curve of her flesh. Their bed let out a creak of warning, and Jughead didn't heed it. Thrusting forcefully, his hips encouraged Betty's to get closer to horizontal and she half-rolled onto her stomach. Partly above, partly beside, but undeniably on top of her, Jughead let himself go wild. The bed burst into a symphony of noises, an inanimate object animated by the fervour of the couple who shared it. Its springs were their string section, the rustle of the discarded bedding their woodwinds. Percussion was every thud against the wall. Nothing though, nothing sounded as sweet to Jughead as the great cry Betty gave when she orgasmed. It was his name, and she arched up against him to call it out. Then his release took him by surprise, unable to wait after hearing Betty sound like that, and he rutted away at her urgently as he let himself go, her voice lingering in his ears and hovering, trembling over his limbs.

When he stilled, Jughead folded himself around Betty, instinctively sheltering her. He could feel her heart, a jackrabbit under the palm he pressed to the middle of her chest.

"That was…" She didn't seem to be able to finish.

"Yeah," Jughead agreed, the word gusting out to be smothered in Betty's hair. He moved just enough that she could turn over in his arms and face him. She ran her fingers around the perimeter of his face.

"Should make for an interesting conversation over breakfast," Betty remarked with a seductive wryness.

"Well, we'll find out then how much they heard," said Jughead, giving his arms a stretch to limber them up, "because I won't be leaving this bed for the rest of the night." He caught his girlfriend's eye. "And neither will you."

Betty's mouth crept up in a scheming smile.

"I guess I'll just have to make do without the wig."

And she climbed on top of him.