chapter three

shut up and kiss me.

Jughead's fingers are lost in her golden hair.

His body feels like it's on fire everywhere her fingertips touch.

Their breaths are ragged, mingling together as their chests heave. Everything is a flurry of soft touches and tangled limbs that feels like a fever dream.

He can't believe this is happening… is this happening?

He wants to feel her - really feel her. He is suddenly agonizingly aware of the many layers of clothing between them to do it properly. His forehead never leaves hers as he tugs on his flannel, yanking it off. She helps him. Once he's stripped of the barrier, his hands find her waist and her fingernails claw up and down his bare arms.

He's breathing her breath.

He's never known desire like this.

This is all he's ever wanted.

All of his life, Jughead was what many would call a late bloomer. He was still under the impression that girls had cooties for far longer than any of his peers - all girls except Betty, of course. When they were kids, she was the only girl worthy of his friendship and his time.

And eventually, it segued into he being the only girl worthy of his love.

Jughead can still remember the first time he thought about kissing Betty Cooper. Maybe it wouldn't have been so significant in his life had she not actually been the first girl he ever thought of kissing.

They were fourteen years old and he was sitting across from her at a Pop's, watching her lips pucker sweetly around the straw of her milkshake. Her lips were shiny and pink with lip gloss, and he wondered how they might taste. Then, seemingly out of the blue, he wondered what her lips would feel like against his.

And damn if it wasn't so much better than he ever imagined.

She peppers kisses on his lips and jawline as she kicks a leg over him, hiking her dress up so she can straddle him. He helps guide her onto his lap, his fingers digging into her hips. He pulls at her as she bears down, grinding against his lap and it makes him involuntarily groan because he's never felt anything that made him feel this alive before.

"Fuck…" he hisses when he can feel her heat permeating through the thin fabric between them. He's nearly salivating, watching her move above him. She smirks, proud of herself.

"How long have you wanted this?" she asks him, her voice low and rough.

"Hmm…" he hums against her, somehow uttering out between kisses, "At least seven years... three months... twenty-two days... and fifteen hours." He hungrily brings her mouth back to his. Their nervousness from before is gone. Their lips gliding together fast and easily like old friends getting reacquainted.

"You made up the hours," she teases him in a breathy whisper. Her sense of humor is sexier than anything she has to offer. He wants to joke back, but his mouth is too busy tasting hers, then remembering to exhale air when her lips wander from his. He shudders when they find the base of his neck and the pads of her fingertips trail across the sensitive skin under his shirt. He feels his stomach slack at her touch. She's a puppet master.

Jughead wants to take control - he'd always thought he would be in control when he imagined this moment (and there was no denying that he did so many times before. So many times…).

But when her hand slips under his beanie and tosses it away, the feel of her fingernails raking through his hair, tugging and massaging then tugging again, he knows she is the one in control.

Betty pulls at his shirt and he raises his arms to allow her to slip it over his head. He yanks at the straps of her red dress, trailing kisses along her shoulder and she shimmies it down to her waist, exposing her lacy black bra. She sits back from him, shaking her hair from her face, the locks tumbling over her shoulders as she looks down at him.

"Fuck... Betty... you're too beautiful-," he lets fall from his mouth involuntarily. At first, he wonders if he should just keep his mouth shut - he has a habit of ruining things. He's a ruiner.

But she takes the compliment, biting her bottom lip gently as she brings him back to her. His mouth finds the curves of her breasts and she allows her head to drop back. He can feel tips of her hair brushing against his hands on her lower back.

Betty's hips grind forward over his, and that's when she realizes just how hard he is against her. Though this should have triggered a reality check in his mind, he somehow continues to lose himself in her. His mind blanks as her hands slip between them and her fingers fumble with the button and zipper. He shifts in his seat, mumbling curse words against her skin, preparing himself for her warm, soft hand to reach in and grab him.

His low groan vibrates against her chest the moment she makes contact, and he feels his eyes flutter closed. He still can't believe this is happening…

"Wait, wait, wait, wait-" she begins whispering, shaking her head. Although he manages to somehow ask her what, he can't stop his lips from trailing over her collarbone as he holds her and rocks her forward.

"Ah," she gasps, her head falling back once more, but she gets enough self-control to pull herself from him and get him to look up at her.

"Jug, what… what are we doing?"

"I… I don't…" he stammers. God, he doesn't want this to stop, but he can see from the look in her eyes she's having second thoughts.

And Jughead Jones never wants to be something she regrets.

"We shouldn't do this, right? I mean… we're just drunk…right?" she asks, breathlessly. It sounds like she's trying to get him to talk her out of this, but it's hard to agree with her when her perfect cleavage is in his direct eyeline.

"Yeah…" That one syllable is the hardest thing he's ever uttered. Especially when she slowly slips from his lap back to her side of the couch and it's the emptiest he has felt, maybe ever. He covers the space where she was on his lap with a pillow. There is a long, awkward silence before he can find the words.

"Betty?"

"Yeah?"

"...I'm not drunk." It takes her too long to respond, but he's not surprised when he hears her murmur, "Me neither."

Jughead turns his head to her, his hand reaching out to rest on her knee comfortingly as he tells her, softly, "listen… Betty…. we don't have to do anything you don't want to do." His words catch in this throat when her hand clasps onto his and she twists her body toward him.

"No, I do," she tries to reassure him, tucking her blonde locks behind her ear. But her eyes won't meet his.

"You… do?"

"But…"

Ah, the dreaded 'but.'

Nothing good can possibly be coming next.

"I'm scared, Jug. You're my best friend and... what if this changes everything?"

"Oh, it definitely will." His hand reaches to cup her cheek when he sees her face drop. "But maybe… that's not necessarily a bad thing?"

She gives a weak smile, a soft shrug. There is an undeniable sadness in her eyes as she tells him, "I guess… I guess I'm just not as sure as you are."

Jughead can only nod absently, swallowing down his disappointment like a bitter pill, "well… maybe it wasn't the most genius idea we've ever had, anyway."

"Are you mad?" she asks, her voice hitching and her eyes glossy. Jughead's heart is a hundred pounds in his chest, and it aches, but no.

No, he could never be mad at her. They just let themselves get carried away. He has survived this long in love with(out) her, he supposes he can survive the rest of his life, if he has to.

Although he wishes he didn't have to.

He somehow smiles.

"No. I'm not mad," he tells her, putting her at ease. "But… I am going to go take a cold shower." She laughs through her nose, but her flushed cheeks and contemplative look in her eyes tell him she's still lost in thought. His throat closes around every syllable as he regretfully tells her, "we can just… pretend like this never happened."

The single thing to shatter the silence between them is the sound of some crappy laugh track from the tv - some shitty sitcom with some laughable storyline. Jughead wishes life were more like a sitcom.

He shifts his weight on the couch, away from Betty.

"Alright. I am going to take that shower."

Hesitantly, and against his better judgment, his eyes creep up to Betty's longing stare and her beautiful, blonde-framed face. With every morsel of internal strength he has left, he rises and walks from the stare of Betty's stale, green eyes.

The scene replays in Jughead's mind so many times during his shower, he starts to doubt it even happened at all. It all seems so unreal. He starts to mentally list all the reasons it shouldn't. He said so himself, it would change everything. And what if it ended badly? Was he prepared to go the rest of his life without Betty in it?

The answer was no.

No, he wasn't about to let himself lose her over a night of self-loathing, too much wine too quicklu, and bad judgment. But for once, he just wishes he could be a bad guy - he'd said so himself, tonight: girls love guys that were assholes. Hell, if he so chose, he could call up Midge and have someone in his bed within 20 minutes.

But that would just be him fooling himself. He needs to get Betty out of his system for good. He is so tired of this hold she has over him. He's spent the better half of his life wishing things could be different between them, instead of just appreciating what they do have. That wasn't fair to him.

But worse, it wasn't fair to her.

So, once again, and for maybe the millionth time in his life, Jughead vows to get over her. He wishes he could just cut those pesky feelings at the limb and let the stump heal.

That is, until he heads to his room after his shower.

"Whoa!" Jughead jumps when he opens his bedroom door to see Betty on the other side. He pulls his dark blue towel more securely around his waist when it is dangerously close to slipping out of his hands. He swallows hard when he takes in the sight of her. She's no longer in that saucy, red dress, but in something even more sinister: his 'S' t-shirt… the gray one. That's his second favorite one.

But seeing her in it now, it's jumped up the list to number one.

And those damn black, lacy panties.

"What, uh… what are you doing in here?"

She stands, nearing him slowly, "I'm sorry about before," she says quietly, folding her arms over her chest. Jughead shrugs, honestly at a loss for words.

He chuckles without humor, "I just don't know what you want, Betty." Jughead figures at this point, he has nothing else to lose. Their relationship has changed now, whether or not they tell each other how they feel. They crossed a line tonight, and nothing can ever go back to how it was before. Not since he tasted her and realized he was going to crave her from now on.

She steps to him in a determined stride, her hands finding the sides of his face, her eyes searching his.

"I want you, Jug." He almost falls for it, almost lets himself be convinced. His hands creep up to envelop hers, pushing them away. He can't think straight under her touch and her pleading eyes.

"You say that now, but-"

She sucks in a quick breath, "I'm not saying I know what that means. But I do. I want you."

"Okay…"

"And I think… I think I've always wanted you on some level. Do you feel that way, too?"

She honestly doesn't need to ask - he meant what he'd said before. He has wanted her for longer than he should have.

Still, he nods.

"Maybe we should just… I dunno…" she swallows, her breath hitching. Jughead isn't a moron: he can see she wants him. She licks her lips briefly as her eyes roam over him, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and grab her. But she's throwing around so many mixed signals, he doesn't know what to think.

"What?" he barely mumbles. "Betty, what?" He wants to hear her say it.

"Jug… kissing you out there I… I felt something. I don't know what it was but… I-"

"I felt something, too."

"You told Midge you didn't want anything serious." He wants to correct her. He told Midge he didn't want anything serious with her. But before he can remind Betty this, she goes on: "I don't think I want anything serious, either. I mean… I don't want to date right now. I need to focus on school and writing. And I have been burned so many times lately."

Once again, Jughead wants to correct her. Betty has only been burned because she keeps picking the worst of guys. He thinks back to high school and her unfounded love for Archie. It wasn't until Veronica and Archie got together (and conveniently live across the hall from them now) that Betty finally let that pipe dream go.

And he knew it wasn't that Betty didn't actually want anything serious. It was that Betty kept choosing the wrong guys.

She fidgets shyly with her hands, looking up at him through her thick lashes, "Do you want me, Jug?"

"You know I do," his voice cracks. He'd only just told her. A sly smile creeps over her lips, her eyes narrowing.

"Okay, so… I figure… if you want me. And I want you-" Jughead holds his breath when he hears her actually say it aloud again, so casually. Like it's just a fact of life. Her arms wrap around his naked torso and he sees stars. Just the idea of hooking up with Betty is making him dizzy... especially as he stares at her here in front of him, wearing his shirt. She pushes her body up snugly against his - he is relatively certain she isn't wearing a bra.

"-And neither of us want anything serious..."

"Are you proposing some kind of friends with benefits situation, here?" he finally blurts, tired of tiptoeing around. A small, amused smile spreads across her lips as she cocks her head to the side, sweetly.

"Is that a problem?"

Probably.

But she's holding onto him now, and she's breathing on him and he can't stop picturing how it felt when she was grinding her hips against his and he thinks maybe he can just suck it up.

So he tells her, "no. No, that isn't a problem," with a sideways smirk. This was certainly better than nothing.

"We need rules," she says simply, matter-of-factly. And all the romance is snuffed out. She sounds like a kindergarten teacher and it kinda does something for him. He lets go of her to sit at the end of his bed. He clutches his towel tighter, suddenly quite aware just how underdressed he is. Especially when her eyes continue to assault his body.

"Rules," he repeats, flatly. She moves in front of him, her hands cattily on her hips.

"Mmm-hmm. Clear-cut boundaries and if they aren't adhered to, this is done. And we have to promise no matter what, we will still be friends."

"Okaaayyy... what did you have in mind?" he queries, and Betty pauses for a moment, biting her lip, thoughtfully. She holds up a finger.

"Firstly, we tell no one. That includes Archie."

"And Veronica?"

"Right. This is completely between you and me," she instructs with great seriousness as she nears him. She lowers to her knees between his, her hands sliding up the length of his thighs playfully - he wonders how she got so good at this. "Okay?"

"Okay," Jug nods in agreement. Betty stares back at him blankly for a moment before giving him a nod as well.

"Okay." In exchange for his agreement, Betty expertly slips her shirt up and over her head. He'd been right. No bra. Jug bites his bottom lip. He can't stop himself from reaching for her, bringing her body closer to his, pressing a kiss to her neck. Betty rests her hands on his bare shoulders, her eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his mouth moving against her. She tilts her head to allow more access.

"That's all?" he asks, his voice buzzing against the sensitive skin he is hovering over. Betty shakes her head lazily; he wonders if trying to think while his fingertips trace up and down her back was proving difficult for her. They've never even hooked up yet, and he already seems to know exactly how to touch her.

"Ummm…" she hums before wetting her lips. "No sleepovers. And no pet names. I don't like words like 'sweetie' or 'baby.' They give me the creeps." Jug pull himself away from her a bit, glancing down at her with a raised, curious eyebrow.

"Am I still allowed to call you Betts?" he implores. She ponders for only a moment; he hasn't really called her Betts for quite some time. She tells him Betts was still okay.

"Great," Jughead grins, widely, "then youuuu... have to call me Captain." Her head falls back and she bursts out a quick laugh.

"Uh, nice try but no way," she replies, dryly. Jug pulls her back onto his lap. Her hands find the sides of his face again and her eyes lock onto his. He doesn't think he's ever seen her look at him this way before.

"And for now… can we just leave feelings out of this? Like, we can still be best friends. In fact, that's why we are doing it this way. I just want to be sure we are being completely transparent."

"You've got a lot of these," Jughead says under his breath, but at this point, topless, bossy Betty could pretty much have whatever she wants - especially when she wraps her legs tightly around his waist and he felt the closeness between their two bodies. His lips migrate back to her neck.

"Oh, there's more," she assures him. "No more than 4 'meetings' per week."

"Four? Jeeze, Betty. What do you think I am? An animal?" he jests and she chuckles again, a lot more relaxed than when they were in the living. It feels different now, in the privacy of his locked bedroom. He doesn't feel quite as hesitant or guarded.

Jughead then thinks for a moment before he counters, "...No less than 2." Betty looks at him like he is crazy, but he just shrugs. "I have needs, Elizabeth." She lets out a shriek as Jug flips her around, her back landing hard into his mattress. Immediately Jughead is hovering over her, his face buried into the crook of her neck.

"And… we aren't exclusive, okay? So no jealousy-" she adds between heavy, distracted breaths. Jug's head raises and he rolls slightly off her. He rests his hand on her belly, propping his head up with his other hand. His face quite serious.

"Well, good. I'm glad we agree on that," he says, lowly, "because I have tons of chicks on the side."

"Uh-huh, sure…" Betty laughs with an eye-roll.

"I'm serious, Betty." He isn't. "I can't be tied down. I'm just like… drowning in pussy all the time-" Betty winces at his crude wording and shoves him lightly in the shoulder.

"Gross, don't say stuff like that," she demands in a harsh whisper and he relishes in her discomfort.

"So no dirty talk, then?" he teases with a smile.

"Not like that."

Jughead's eyes light up as he thinks of a new one, quickly asking, "Are there like… hours of operation?" Betty pauses, trying to see if he's serious.

"I really hate how you phrase things, sometimes."

"Oh, c'mon. I just mean is there a point in the night you don't want a booty-call?"

"You live across the hallway from me...-"

"Yes okay, I know. But are there any off days?"

"I'll let you use your own judgment on that one, 'k Captain?" The term of endearment makes him do a double-take, and then they both crack up. As long as they promise to stay near the surface, they were safe from dragging each other under.

"So… are we doin' this or what?" she asks him, her breath short. Jughead moves her blonde hair from her face. She is the most perfect thing to him. And if he's being honest, a lot of what she has just said stings, but when he looks down at her he decides right then and there that he'd rather have her with all these conditions than not at all. It might not be how he pictured or how he thought it would happen… but it is happening.

And he'll take it.

"Oh yeah," he breathes. "We're doin' this."

Their mouths once again collide while they finish (attempting to) undress each other. While Jughead is merely in a towel, those damn black panties of hers turn out to be more of a challenge than he had originally thought. But he has her pinned against the mattress, and his fingers slip into the hem. He gives them a yank, the garment turning inside out as he pulls them down her legs just like he'd imagined before.

Betty watches him, giggling, and he is waiting for her to make a smartass comment about not being able to undress a lady properly. But then that fast, his mouth is on her inner thigh, his lips working their way over the smoothness of her skin and to her center - he is going to show her just exactly what she has been missing out on. As soon as his tongue makes contact, she grasps onto his hair and throws her head back.

"This your first time?" he asks facetiously, although the smirk on his face gives away the fact that he knows better.

She swallows hard, her voice still wavering as she tries to answer, "don't flatter yourself, Jones."

He begins to move his tongue over her slowly at first, building up momentum as she eggs him on and her soft moans seem to grow into more desperate sounds. She pushes her hips upward, begging him for deeper and more intense contact and he brings up the speed, knowing by her shaking and shuddering that he is already so close to bringing her over the edge.

Then he finds it. That sweet spot that sends her into complete and utter meltdown mode. He knows he found it when she instantly shoots up to her elbows, her head falling back in pure ecstasy as she has her first - and certainly not her last - orgasm.

"That was fast," he drones, breathlessly.

"New rule. No talking," she snaps, but that's all she can come up with. She's too beside herself to snark back at him further.

He chuckles darkly and climbs up the length of her body, covering her like a warm blanket. Their eyes flash together and then her legs are wrapped around his hips. His mouth finds hers easily again as she writhes underneath his pressure. He feels her hand reach down, down, down between them until she grips him tightly in her hands. The pressure alone makes him feel lightheaded.

"I want you," she utters to him, although it is strained and guttural.

"Do you want me inside of you?" he asks.

"Yes," She doesn't have to ask him twice. He takes her hand and replaces it with his own, carefully guiding himself into her. He hisses through his teeth when he feels searing hot inside of her - he still can't believe he's inside of her. They both gasp sharply at the initial contact, the sound made between their bodies giving away just how truly wet she is.

He begins thrusting in and out of her, and he can feel himself sliding against her walls, hitting the spot that she wants him to hit. That second that it took him to pull away and push back in was too long for her though, and she tightens her muscles to match each of his thrusts, their bodies moving in sync.

"You didn't even ask," she manages to say between gasps and moans, her nails digging into his shoulders and neck as he bit and nibbles the base of her neck, "if I was on the pill, you jerk."

"Are you?" He says deeply into her skin, his voice so low and husky that it somehow excites her even more, her hips circulating to feel him cover every inch of her.

"Yeah." She answers shortly, curtly, but still in a dazed state.

He groans in response, because he didn't even know how he would separate himself from her now that they got this far, just to go find a condom. She tastes and feels even better than he could have ever imagined. The way her body welcomed his was blindly overwhelming. It all felt so raw that he really thought he had to be dreaming.

But the sharp pain that makes him hiss every time she digs her nails into the skin behind his shoulders just reminds him that this isn't a dream, but something even better.

Especially when he looks down between them, not only loving the way their bodies look moving together, but the way he quickly disappears inside of her over and over and over again. He has to look away, the sight of it alone being enough to push him over the edge.

Their pace quickens, gaining momentum before long he finds himself steadily moving in and out of her, the finish line in plain sight. He pulls her to him, deeper and deeper until he'd bottoms out, realizing that he couldn't go any farther. Betty lets out a sharp gasp at his roughness and he grabs ahold of her leg, hoisting it up and hitching it on his back.

She begins bucking her hips under him wildly, her pace matching his own. Her moans become louder, though shorter. He reaches between them, trying to find that bundle of nerves to take her to the next level. There's no way he's going to finish before she does. She quivers against him, and he loves the way her eyes glaze over with full passion before she releases the sexiest "ahhhhhh" he'd ever heard.

Then, she tightens and flutters around him, and he can hardly move his hips, but his fingers continue to roll around her most sensitive areas. He can't help but grin against her when she whimpers his name for the first time.

"Juggie…." He loves the way his name spills from her lips in a pleading way. Once her body begins releasing the tight hold on him from her orgasm, he begins thrusting into her again. He is proud of himself for lasting this long with Betty having been the only one he's ever truly wanted, and only just finally got to have.

Her breaths are short, her cheeks flushed like she just ran a marathon.

And he swears she has never looked more gorgeous than she goes right now. He grasps onto her hips as he roughly rolls them over, and Betty seems to have no problem taking the lead from here. His arm hooks around her waist as he scootches them both up to the head of the bed, their bodies sweaty and sticky and refusing to part.

Her hand snakes out to grip his headboard, using it as an anchor to really move her body on his. His finger gently trails down her plump, swollen lip. Her hair cascades down around them like a canopy, a place for only them. Their breaths mingle, running circles around one another. Her big, green eyes flutter closed as her exhales became soft sighs and it is the most sensual, womanly sound he's ever heard. As her hips grind against his, he knows she has him exactly where she wants him and he feels good for making her feel good. His eyes lock onto the shimmer of her skin, dewy at the neck and collarbone. He wants to bite onto her, the animalistic urges inside of him are beginning to come unhinged.

"This feels so amazing," she whispers, bringing his face to hers. "You feel so amazing." He can't respond, his mouth is swallowed by hers as she moves quicker above him. "Keep going," she insists against his lips, her voice ragged. Her mouth drops open in a silent scream against his, and her eyes squeeze shut, "Jug, I- I'm gonna-" she doesn't finish her sentence before Jughead's mouth catches her words, quieting her rambling. No matter, she wouldn't have finished that sentence anyway before she hit the brink again, obvious waves of pleasure washing over her.

He continues pushing himself in and out of her, suddenly feeling the sensation rising in him as well. Jughead's mind nearly goes blank as he thrusts a few more times, and with one last thrust, he feels himself release. filling her up. His deep groan meshes with the sob in her throat as he literally feels drained, unable to fathom the pure exhaustion and pleasure that derived from this moment.

She falls beside him and both are breathing hard - it's the only sound that now fills the room. It is suddenly a different atmosphere as they began coming down off their high. His eyes meet hers, but he can't read the expression on her face.

Just when he is starting to worry she is already regretting this, a satisfied and beautiful smile appears on her lips. She rolls over to face him, letting off a few giggles, and Jughead feels his heart swell.

"So," she sighs, "I guess that's what that's like."

"I guess so." He smiles too, his exhausted chuckles matching hers as they lay side by side: glistening, breathing heavily and wrapped up in each other wholly.

"Not bad, Jones."

He glances down as he feels Betty lace her fingers with his, gripping onto his hand tightly. He thinks back to that 14 year old boy, sitting across from a girl at a diner and wondering what her lips might taste like. Without another thought, he leans in to kiss her but letting it linger, really tasting her.

He knows now for certain: It's indescribable. There is no way to fully describe the exact flavor of Betty Cooper.

He feels her smile against his lips, tiredly telling him, "You're definitely my favorite Valentine."

His eyes trail up to her face, and even though he tries to fight off the feelings of love and admiration he has for her in this very moment, he realizes that this is going to be so much harder than he thought.

To be continued..?