(Ridiculously long) Author's Note: I'm fairly sure you've all noticed this, but... I suck. I haven't updated this fic in almost a year, haven't managed to respond to comments that have come in over the months of silence... haven't managed to do much, it seems. I'm still here, and still committed to finish this seemingly endless odyssey. Like pretty much everyone else in the world, I just found 2020... a lot. I started the year seriously ill, and was still more than a month away from a clean lung x-ray when the pandemic upended life. (On that note, do check out R.E.M., my almost-finished, Bughead pandemic fic!)

Since then, I have been working from home... while all three of my kids have been home too. Carving out time to think, never mind to write, has felt... daunting. On a brighter note, my mom beat her cancer, my health has been great since about May, and I'm tremendously thankful to still have work in these uncertain times.

But this is a marathon, not a sprint, and I've been realizing in recent weeks just how much I miss telling stories in general, and telling this story in particular. And so I am back... and am fiercely committed to finishing this piece, even if it means I have to sit in my bathtub, fully clothed, with white noise on my headphones, to get it done. (So far, that's exactly what it means).

Thank you to any and all of you who are still following this fic. Be safe, be well... and do drop a line to let me know what you think.

And special thanks to the guest posting as Sprinkles who asked earlier this week about the status of this fic, thus convincing me that someone would still read it if I finished the chapter that's been languishing in my notebook since last spring.

ALSO, fair warning that this is a fairly smutty chapter. If that's not for you... maybe sit this one out. I promise, I won't wait another 11 months before I update!

Chapter 85

Jughead's heart was racing as he unlocked the door to the trailer, hyper aware of Betty's warmth pressed against his side, his fingers fumbling a bit with the keys, as if it were the first time he was bringing her here… as if they hadn't set out together just a few short hours before from this very door, with the full expectation that they'd be coming back here at the end of the evening.

Excitement, anticipation, and nerves were sparking within him, making his own inner cynic want to roll his eyes. Surely, it was ridiculous to be all aflutter over getting home with his girlfriend of almost four months, with whom he'd been intimate – both physically and emotionally – for at least half of that time.

But he couldn't bring himself to let his inner cynic take the lead tonight. Nothing about this evening had felt routine or mundane, and he had not the slightest inclination to take so much as one moment of it for granted.

It wasn't just the way Betty looked tonight… although, even now, he got tongue-tied if he let himself look at her directly for more than a second.

It wasn't just admiration, or even gratitude, for the unexpected ease with which she'd found a rapport with his South Side acquaintances… or the sass with which she'd stood her ground against Gina.

Those things were part of it, of course. But it was more… so much more than that.

It was the way she'd laughed tonight, freely and often, sometimes bending double with hilarity, making him realize with a jolt just how rarely (and artificially) she'd laughed in recent months.

It was the confidence in the way she'd carried herself, when she usually spent so much time trying to work out what others wanted or needed her to be, often making her seem hesitant or distracted in social situations… particularly ones that were new to her.

It was the lightness and fun that had pervaded the whole evening, after weeks and weeks of heaviness and drama and despair.

And it was the simplicity of just feeling close to Betty again. He knew she'd forgiven him, of course – more quickly than she should have, a half-acknowledged voice whispered in his mind – for the unpleasantness with Gina that his own stupidity had occasioned. They'd left the anger behind them weeks ago. But the whole experience had left them both raw, and tender… and consequently, tentative and too-careful with one another. Before they'd had any chance to get past the tip-toeing around that whole mess, the ups and downs of their Christmas had taken their toll and now, somehow, it felt like a lifetime since they'd touched each other for anything more than comfort.

But tonight, none of that weight of expectations or hurts or disappointments or carefulness seemed to be present… even after Gina's renewed demonstration of animosity. If anything, it felt like tonight's confrontation had allowed Betty to exorcise those lingering demons, giving her a do-over from their previous encounter that let her walk away indisputably victorious.

And all that was left now was his achingly, impossibly beautiful girlfriend, and a whole night and day to spend with her in a trailer they'd almost inadvertently made their own.

So.. yeah. His heart was racing, his breathing was ragged, and his hands were trembling in anticipation, and he made no apologies for any of it.

"Need some help?" Betty teased, her breath warm above the collar of his jacket just as he finally got the door open.

"You wound me," he replied, even as he stepped back to allow her to precede him inside.

"Poor baby," she tasked, her 'too bad' tone in direct contradiction to the heat in her eyes as she gazed at him. "Do you need me to kiss and make it better?"

"Hell, yeah," he growled, yanking her into his arms and kissing her with a ferocity and intensity that had been building for hours.

A soft, breathy sound – surprise or pleasure or both – escaped Betty, and she threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer, urgently closer, and still not nearly close enough.

Something about their position, about the motion of turning to set his keys aside, about his own excitement and nerves sparked a memory of the night of the Jubilee… the night that had narrowly escaped becoming their first time… the night the Serpents had interrupted by claiming him as one of their own. So much had happened since that night, it felt like several lifetimes ago. And yet, in some ways, absolutely nothing had changed.

"I love you, Betty Cooper," he whispered, pulling back from their kiss, and he saw the memory of that night reflected in her eyes, too.

"Jughead Jones," she enunciated, her recall obviously as keen as his own, "I love you."

And, just like that first night, almost unbearable sweetness morphed rapidly into almost impossible heat, her fingers in his hair, her tongue sliding against his, her hips pressing into him as one of her legs began to stroke up the back of his calf.

This time, though, he was experienced enough to know that the fantasy of pressing her up against the wall her legs locked around his waist, and burying himself in her welcoming heat was just that… a fantasy… unless he planned to finish within a minute or two (which he very much did not), before his legs could give out beneath their combined weight.

So this time, when Betty jumped up a little, wrapping her legs around him as he palmed the sweet curves of her ass, he carried her directly to the kitchen, setting her on the counter before his legs could even begin to protest.

She laughed throatily as he set her down, as if she'd followed his train of thought. Knowing Betty, she probably had.

But as she slid her hips forward on the counter… as her heat pressed more firmly against him through their jeans… as she bit his lip and started unbuckling his belt with the ease of familiarity… as she growled low in her throat, making his neck prickle with awareness… he found himself far less invested in remembering that other night than in experiencing this one, as fully as he possibly could.

Betty laughed again, a husky, knowing chuckle that tugged at his groin… a sound that was a million miles removed from the light, bright, staged laugh he'd heard a thousand times at school events and social gatherings. This sound shivered through him, drew him like a magnet, and he latched his lips to the tender spot just below her ear turning her laughter to a deep moan that compelled him to continue.

Chronology was disintegrating around him, logical perception fracturing and leaving him awash in a sea of sensations and half-grasped perceptions…

Betty's cool fingers, tangled in his hair, tugging with more force than she'd ever used before… surprising him with how much he liked it…

Betty's warm skin beneath his lips, the salty-sweet smell of her neck mingling with the scent of her leather jacket and driving him wild…

Betty's heat pressed against him, her ankles locked just below his ass as she ground against him, blindly seeking more closeness… more friction… more

The taste of her skin, familiar and yet perennially new…

The sound of her breath hitching… the soft moans that were escaping her more and more frequently…

The hot silk of her back… her breasts… her belly… every millimeter of her flawless skin that he could reach to graze or to grip as his hands moved hungrily over her…

He was dangerously close to embarrassing himself, right here in the kitchen, without either of them so much as removing a single article of clothing, and he pulled back reluctantly to give himself some breathing room while he stared at her.

The sight of her, though, was worth it, even as it nudged him still close to a complete loss of control. Her lips were swollen, cheeks flushed from his kisses, hair tousled from his grip, pupils blown wide with desire, her chest heaving as she panted for breath.

"Bedroom?" he suggested, so hoarsely that he didn't recognize his own voice.

Betty didn't answer for a moment… just bit her lip in a way that had him fighting even harder for control as she gazed up at him through her eyelashes. Then…

"No," she whispered, just as he was beginning to wonder whether she intended to answer him at all.

"No?" he echoed blankly, already starting to pull back from her despite his confusion, worried he'd misread the situation, her cues… hoping he hadn't further damaged their relationship by pushing too far or too hard.

"No bedroom," Betty clarified, her voice firm. "I want you right here… just like this." On her final word, she tightened her legs around him and rocked against him, and he would have wept with relief if he hadn't been too busy fighting to maintain control over his own response.

She leaned closer, her breath hot in his ear as her hands fumbled at the front of his jeans… as she whispered boldly, "I want you to take me right here on this counter, the way I wanted you to that night… the way I've been fantasizing about every night since then." She cut herself off abruptly, catching her breath in a sharp gasp which was honestly just as well if she wanted him to actually fulfill any of those fantasies rather than simply dropping dead on the spot. "Is that okay with you?" she pulled back to ask a moment later, looking him in the eye as she spoke.

"Oh, God, yes," Jughead growled savagely… inside his head.

Aloud, all he could manage was a wordless, inarticulate whimper.

It was embarrassing.

Or it would have been, if it hadn't prompted a surge of hungry heat in Betty's gaze…

… if she hadn't immediately leaned back against the upper cabinets and started unfastening her own jeans…

… if she hadn't lifted her hips to help him peel them down her legs…

… if she hadn't grabbed a condom from her jacket pocket while he was unbuckling his belt…

… if she hadn't reached out to cover him with a swift, smooth, devastating efficiency that she'd somehow acquired over the few weeks since their first, fumbling efforts on the couch just feet away from where he stood right now…

And then he was inside her, gripping her hips fiercely, as he thrust himself into her harder and faster than he ever had before.

And she was with him for every stroke, tugging hard on his hair and biting at his lips… locking her legs still more tightly around him and rising up to meet his thrusts in a frantic, urgent rhythm.

Everything he gave to her, she gave back to him harder and hotter and wetter, urging him on even as his thighs burned and his breath came in gasps and he knew that, even if this moment killed him, it would be 100 per cent worth it.

And then, mercifully, she was crying out his name, a harsh, keening note he'd never heard from her before, her body clenching around his as it shuddered and thrummed and he followed her over the edge into a knife-bright pleasure that robbed him of all reason.