Author's Note : This chapter kept kinda growing on me! Sorry it took so long. With the holidays and life in general, I am just trying to update as often as I am able! Please, please, please let me know what you think!
Disclaimer : Don't own em. Like em a lot.
Chapter Seven Song Choice : "Desire" by Meg Myers
Chapter Seven :
Early Saturday morning, Jughead guided his bike; leaned easily into the turn that led to the gravel driveway of his father's trailer. His relationship with FP was a complicated one, though it was decidedly better at present than is had been a mere two years previous. He coasted to a stop, braced one booted foot on the ground and kicked down the metal stand with the other. After he'd pulled off his helmet and ran a big hand over his hair, he let his eyes wander across the rows a Sunnyside Trailer Park. He scanned the lines of mobile homes, dull and tinted a shadowy gray even bathed in the orangish light of rising sun. It had been his home through most of his formative years; the good years, the bad years, the mediocre years in between.
He had only moved out of the trailer about one year ago and presently resided in a small apartment over the Wyrm. He spent most of his time there anyway. If he wasn't hanging out with Sweet Pea and Fangs at the bar, he was working behind it. The family business and all that.
He smiled a little to himself as he dismounted the bike and strode toward the front door. Business at the bar was good; in fact it was excellent. It was going so well that Jughead had at one point asked his father why he didn't get himself a nice house and get the hell out of the trailer park. FP had scoffed at the question.
"What the hell do I need some big fancy house for?" he'd said, "It's just me."
FP had always fancied himself a simple man. Jughead could understand that. He considered himself much the same, though there was certainly something to be said about being in the position where he could afford some of the finer things in life. An image of whisking a green eyed beauty away to a lavish dinner while she was draped in a slinky dress ran unbidden through his mind. He knew a little café in Greendale that he had a feeling she would love. She deserved some pampering; to be wined and dined in a place that really knew how to treat the customers. He shook the thought from his brain as he reached the top of his father's wooden deck to push open the front door. His thoughts had been veering off into odd territory with that girl way too often as of late. He needed to get himself back on track.
He pushed into the trailer without knocking and caught sight of his father. FP was sitting at the small table that sat against the far wall of the kitchen, papers were scattered around him and a pair of reading glasses were perched on the end of his nose. Jughead grinned and tossed his helmet down on a side table.
"Hey there, old man!"
FP peered up from his paperwork to look at his son. Jughead flung himself onto one of the two matching outdated brown patterned sofas in the living room. They were ugly as hell but were quite possibly the most comfortable couches in existence. Period.
"Old man?" FP said, one side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk, "I can still whoop your ass, boy."
"Like to see you try."
"Damn, boy," FP said as he took in Jughead's red cheeks and nose, "there's fresh coffee. Get some. Warm up. You look like you're about to keel over from hypothermia."
Jughead chuckled and, not without a small bit of reluctance, hoisted himself up off of the sofa, "I thought I was supposed to be the dramatic one."
FP gave another laugh as he scribbled a note onto one of the pages in front of him before he tossed the pen down, plucked the glasses from his nose and dropped them down beside the pen. He drew a cigarette from the pack that rested by his elbow on the table and then held the pack out in offering to Jughead as he entered the kitchen toward the ancient relic of a coffee pot. Jughead took two from the proffered pack, tucked one behind his ear and then allowed FP to light the other for him. FP then lit his own cigarette as Jughead crossed to the counter to pull a coffee mug from the cabinet.
"It's maybe thirty degrees out, Jug," FP said on a stream of smoke, "why the hell didn't you drive the charger?"
Jughead spun to face him as he poured the steaming dark liquid into his mug, "You mean to say you're gonna take the truck today?"
FP flashed a grin that Jughead immediately returned. Like father like son.
"Didn't think so."
He took a long pull on his cigarette and carried his cup over to the table to join his father. "What's that?" he asked and flicked his cigarette over the plastic ashtray.
"Shipment coming in on Wednesday. Gotta be processed and out the door by Saturday."
"Three day turn around? What assholes had the audacity to ask for that?"
FP shrugged, "Eh, we're expediting the order to please a new customer."
"New Customer? What new customer?"
The frightening smile that crossed his father's face was that of a shark, "Shankman."
"Shit!" Jughead breathed and let his head fall back against the chair, "That's gonna go over like a lead fuckin' balloon."
"You can handle it."
"Yeah," Jug straightened in his seat, "well, I haven't had the chance to punch Malachi in the face in a while. I wouldn't wanna get outta practice."
"Yeah, just be cautious with that one. I think he might have rabies."
Even as Jug chuckled at his father, his mind was whirling, working logistics. Three days was not a standard turn around. There was a lot to do with not a lot of time. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table, "Okay, then. How many crates?"
FP hesitated. That was never a good sign.
"Dad-"
"Six."
"Fuck!"
"I know it seems like a lot-" FP leaned forward in his chair and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.
"Seems?" Jughead exclaimed, "Christ, dad! Six crates in three days…"
"How much manpower do you need?"
Jughead took a pull from his own smoke and then let his head fall back as he emptied it from his lungs in a long steady stream. He didn't just pop off a number in response, nor was that something that FP would have expected of him. One of the reasons Jug had risen through the ranks as he had was very little to do with being the 'prince' and more to do with that big brain of his that he wasn't afraid to use. He thought shit through; his current personal vendetta notwithstanding. After a long moment of mental calculation, he finally spoke.
"Two guys unpacking, at least six to dismantle, clean and reassemble. Repacking takes more time and care so I'd want three on that. I also want at least two random test fires per crate to spot check. I don't want another debacle like we had with Ricker. One guy to do the inventory and processing, a driver and backup. I'm thinking…twelve; ten minimum if we double up some roles. But I don't want any fuckin' newbs. No prospects. This had gotta be done quick but it also needs to be done right."
"Prospects can unpack. Not much to screw up there. And the test firing."
Jughead grinned, "The unpacking yeah, maybe. Not the testing. That's the best part. They gotta earn that right."
FP chuckled and stood to refill his own coffee cup, "True enough. Any thoughts on who you want on this?"
"My crew, obviously. That's four out the gate that I can trust not to fuck it up."
FP quirked an eyebrow, "You trust Pea not to be a fuck up?"
"To be fair, he usually only screws up his personal life; not the club business."
Father and son both laughed at the truth of the statement. Sweet Pea was like second son to FP so he felt obligated to razz the kid. They said nothing behind his back that they wouldn't say to his face. The laughter faded and there was a lengthy pause as FP sipped his coffee and Jug chose his next words with care.
"I can tell you who I for damn sure don't want."
FP let out a sigh that bespoke of pure exhaustion from an argument that had been a constant battle of wills between familiar adversaries.
"Dammit, boy-"
"No!" Jughead cut his father off, unwilling to bend on this, "Fuck him. Keep him away from this. This is non-negotiable for me. You want me to run it, keep him away."
"Jug, Tall Boy has been around longer than-"
"Believe me, I know. He's ancient. A fuckin' relic. You want this order done quickly, smoothly and without blood, you keep that luddite away from me, my crew and my operation."
"Your operation?"
Jug ignored him and barreled onward, "And while we're at it, keep his moron kid away, too."
"Goddammit!"
"Tonsils is an idiot. And if he tries to shove his hand up Toni's skirt one more time, I'm gonna cut his fingers off and feed them to him!"
FP collapsed into his chair on a long suffering breath before his squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I'll send Tall Boy and Tonsils on a run. They'll be out of your way."
Jughead nodded. Then he and his father began to compile a list of men to work alongside his crew.
By the time Jughead left the trailer park, he was exhausted. He loved his father, but the man was both mentally and emotionally draining. He needed a beer, a burger and a bed. The fantasy was only improved by the idea of a pretty blonde waiting for him in that bed; not just any pretty blonde mind you. A pretty, blonde Betty.
He chuckled at himself and opened up the throttle of his bike a little bit more. Four B's; that's all he needed to be content.
Burger, beer, bed, and Betty.
Cruising back toward the promise of his cozy bed above the Wyrm, on the horizon he spotted a dark blue sedan that even at a distance struck him as somewhat familiar. As he drew nearer, he saw that the hood was up and as he passed, he spotted that iconic golden ponytail. He didn't even fight his grin as he guided his bike into a skillful u-turn and glided to a stop in front of her car.
He pushed his kickstand down and pulled off his helmet, "Hey there, princess. Goin' my way?"
Betty knew she must have looked like a complete fool with the smile that had split her face practically in two as Jughead had come to a stop in front of her bumper. She leaned a hip against her front quarter panel and watched with no small amount of feminine appreciation as he dismounted his motorcycle.
"Hey, Juggie." He looked unreasonably good for having just pulled a full faced helmet from his head. He had forgone the beanie, probably uncomfortable under the helmet, and ran a large hand over his head after he had removed his headgear. Apparently, helmet hair did not dare come near Jughead Jones's midnight locks. Instead of being flattened to his head, those dark strands stood in charming disarray; an "I just rolled from bed after hours of sex" look that Betty found appealing, exciting and very difficult to pull her eyes away from.
He set his helmet on the bike seat and sauntered toward her all long legged and loose limbed and she felt that increasingly recognizable zing in her belly. He walked over to the opposite side of her car, leaned forward and braced himself on his elbows, his arms folded toward his chest and crossed at the wrists. He then fixed an exaggeratedly serious expression on his face and said, "You need some help here, little lady?"
"Wow," Betty deadpanned with an arch of her eyebrow, "Ignoring the blatant chauvinism of that remark, the answer is no. I am fairly confident it's the alternator, which is neither terribly expensive nor difficult to get to, however, I can't do it-" she held her arms out wide to indicate her surroundings, "here."
"Ah," Jughead nodded, then froze and tilted his head to the side like an inquisitive cat, "Wait a sec. Are you a gear-head, Cooper?"
All of the sudden, Betty felt shy. In her past experiences, boys did not like it when she, a girl, knew more about cars than they did.
"Uh, yeah, sort of," she hedged, "My dad started teaching me to restore old cars when I was about seven. It's something we do together."
"Holy Christ, woman," Jughead breathed, "do you have any idea how hot that is?"
Despite the chill in the air, Betty felt like the tips of her ears were on fire. She smiled a little to try and mask her unexpected feelings of bashfulness. "Oh, I doubt you'd say that if you saw me all sweaty and covered in grease."
She heard a distinct catch in his breathing and could have sworn that from her peripheral vision, caught a quick glimpse of him adjust himself through his jeans.
He cleared his throat, "I'm gonna have to beg to differ on that one."
The husky quality of his voice seemed to have a direct affect on all of Betty's lady parts; every single one of them. When she managed to drag her gaze up to meet his, the heat that she found behind those piercing greens of his almost brought a whimper to her lips. Ever since she had met this alluring, exciting, dangerous man, Betty had experienced so many new sensations, she didn't know what to do with them all. She didn't know how to classify, categorize and organize them into the boxes she kept in her mental library. They were new, unknown, un-experienced up to this point in her life.
Jughead held her gaze for a prolonged moment before he cleared his throat again and jerked his chin toward his bike.
"I'm impressed. I can do damn near anything with a bike but a beast like this," he gestured to her little car's engine, "confuses the shit outta me."
Betty grinned, "It takes a big man to admit that."
"Hey," Jughead countered with his own arrogant smirk, "don't try to force your societal, conformist ideals of masculinity on me, Cooper."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Jones."
"So," he straightened and slapped both palms against the side of her car, "what's the game plan?"
At that, Betty shrugged and answered, "Triple A," to which Jughead made a rude noise.
"Triple A? For what, a tow?"
"Well, yeah, Juggie. I can't drag it to the garage."
"You're gonna be outta pocket your deductible."
"Are you suggesting I leave my car on the side of the road?"
"No. I'm suggesting you let me call a guy that owes me a favor and have it towed wherever you want it for free."
Betty stepped around to the front of the car, "You wanna waste that favor on little ole me, Juggie?"
Jughead moved to join her.
"No one I'd rather use it on. I won't call it a waste." He pulled his phone from his pocket and sat down on her front bumper, "Where do you want it?"
"My house is fine."
"Hey, Nook," he said into the phone, "I need a tow."
As he continued the conversation, Betty closed the distance between them just a little bit more, her knee bumping against his. He shifted his position the slightest bit and suddenly, Betty found herself standing between his spread legs, her fingers fiddling with a metal snap that hung loose on his leather jacket and Jughead's free hand resting casually against the back of her thigh. She hadn't a clue how she had ended up in the rather intimate stance, but she couldn't bring herself to move away…or feel upset about it. Instead, she continued to play with the snap and let herself enjoy the warmth of his large hand through the denim of her jeans.
Jughead continued to rattle off instructions to "Nook" on the phone while Betty's gaze zeroed in on the dark lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. God, God, the man's hair could be classified as an aphrodisiac. She wanted to touch it, pet it, tangle her fingers deep within it. He was deep in his conversation, so she took advantage of the opportunity to study his beautiful face. As she allowed herself to appreciate the symmetry and cut of his jawline, she felt the absentminded caress as he trailed his hand from the back of her thigh up to her hip and back down again. He didn't seem to be thinking about what he was doing with his hand, it was just an instinct. A comfort. She released the metal snap she had been toying with and gave in to her desire, reached up and twirled a lock of his hair around her fingers. It was fluffy and soft like kitten fur. He squeezed the back of her leg and leaned ever so slightly into her touch. Without even trying to fight the impulse, Betty slid her hand back through the dark strands along his scalp. She watched as his eyelids drifted closed for a heartbeat before the reopened to lock onto her own. In that moment, Betty thought he looked every inch the well-stroked cat.
"Alright, man. Later." He said, ended the call and shoved his phone back into his jeans' pocket. He then rested his hands on both her hips and drew her closer to his body between his spread legs. As he stared up at her with a sweet smile on his lips, Betty couldn't resist giving his head another stoke.
"Nook'll be here in about twenty minutes," he said, "You want a ride?"
Butterflies did not seem to be an appropriate descriptor for the feeling in her stomach at the idea of climbing onto Jughead's motorcycle with him. She knew her eyes were probably shone with the brightness of a lunatic as she nodded her enthusiasm at the proposal. Jughead stood from the bumper, turned and dropped the hood of the car before he turned and led her by the hand over to his bike.
She watched him as he kicked a long, jeans clad leg over the machine to straddle it before he offered her his helmet.
"It won't fit you properly, but it's better than nothing." He said with a wink.
No. Butterflies was definitely not the correct word. Firecrackers. Roller coasters. Crashing ocean waves. The feeling in her stomach was something so much more powerful and intense that the fluttering of some puny, insignificant insect.
Jughead offered her his hand after she had secured the helmet to her head to help steady her as she mounted the seat behind him.
He looked back over his shoulder at her, "You hold on tight and I lean, you lean, heard?"
Betty nodded.
Once he kicked the bike to life, Betty felt the rumbling vibration sink into the very core of her being. There was something inexplicably visceral about the power of the machine beneath her while at the same time she had Jughead between her legs. It wasn't a feeling that she could remember having ever felt before. She wanted to wrap herself in it, bathe in it, live in it. Instead, she wrapped herself just a little tighter around Jughead. She hugged her arms around his torso and squeezed her hips snuggly around his thighs.
Then with a jolt that sent an audible WHOOSH of air from Betty's lungs, the bike shot forward and her grip on Jughead tightened even more. She could feel the shake that went through his body as he let out chuckle more than she could her the sound of it.
Jug took care with Betty on the back of his bike. He definitely wouldn't complain about having those legs straddling his hips. He didn't want to scare her with his driving, but he wanted to give her a little bit of thrill. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to gauge her expression and when he clocked the wide, bright smile on her face, he grinned to himself and opened up the throttle. He heard her squeal at the same time she squeezed his abdomen.
He zipped around curves and reveled in the sensation of Betty's body moving in sync with his, like she was just an extension of his own. God, the thought came unbidden, the things I could do with that body.
The things he would do to that body.
When he spotted a three-way stop coming, the three-way stop, he once again eased the bike to the side of the road and killed the engine before he planted both feet on the ground to balance them. Betty looked around, confused.
"Why are we stopping?" she asked.
He twisted his body to face her as best he could, "So, I have a decision for you to make. We turn left up here, we end up in your neighborhood."
Betty nodded.
"Where I'll drop you…probably a block from your house cause you don't want your mom to see you on a bike?"
Betty chuckled at that, "She'd be upset but you giving me a ride is hardly the end of the world. You can drop me home."
"Okay, let's say I do that. I drop you off. You go inside, probably call that boyfriend of yours, work on some homework and then settle in for a nice family dinner. Sound about right?"
"Doesn't sound wrong." Betty replied, still grinning at him, but she had narrowed her eyes as though he were a puzzle she was trying to work out.
"Or," he said, "we turn right."
"What's to the right?"
"The South Side. You choose right and I take you on a little adventure for the day."
He watched her pretty green eyes dart back and forth between the two directions, before settling back on him as she sank straight white teeth into that plump bottom lip of hers.
"What'll it be, princess?"
She released her lip from her teeth only for her tiny pink tongue to dart out and give it a lick. Jug felt his dick get halfway hard and quickly repositioned himself on the bike.
"Right," Betty blurted.
"Atta girl!" He grinned and kicked the motorcycle back to life before she could change her mind.
What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?
The question had been running incessantly through Betty's mind since she had made the decision to venture with Jughead into the South Side. It had been like she couldn't stop the choice from coming out of her mouth, like it hadn't been a choice at all but a…reflex; something that she had needed to do.
They rode on for another fifteen minutes, trees and houses and road flying past in a haze. The houses had started to get a little dingier, a little more run down; the cars started to look a little older but well maintained; the surroundings just seemed to get a little rougher all around.
Jughead guided them through a maze of some twisting roads before he turned into a gravel parking lot to what appeared to be a bar. Her eyes went up to the lettering of the sign.
Whyte Wyrm.
It was the bar that the football team talked about all the time. They didn't check for IDs or something like that. Archie had mentioned it before. It was somewhere that he frequented on his "boys' nights." She felt an uncomfortable tightening in her stomach though she knew that he wouldn't be there. It wasn't even the idea that he would catch her; it was the idea that maybe Jug and Archie had crossed paths. She wanted to keep Jughead to herself in a weirdly possessive way. She climbed off the bike and unlatched the helmet from under her chin as Jughead dismounted after her. He quirked an eyebrow at her.
"You okay, there, princess?"
"Yeah!" Betty said quickly, "Yeah! Of course!"
Jughead flashed her a knowing smirk, like he was privy to all of her secrets. He held his hand out to her. Betty had to take a deep steadying breath as stared at his outstretched hand. There was a voice in the back of her head that told her she was in over her head; that she was delving into a world that she not only didn't know but didn't understand; that she was about to place herself in a situation where something was going to change; her life was going to change. The natural human inclination to be hesitant of change made her question whether she had made the right decision in coming with Jughead…but then her gaze traveled from his hand to his deep green eyes…and all that hesitation simply melted away to be replaced with a golden warmth. She slipped her hand into his and let him lead her across the parking lot and into the infamous serpent bar.
Jughead wanted to beat his chest. He wanted to toss Betty over his shoulder, carry her up to his apartment and have her all to himself. There was something about having her there, in the South Side, his kingdom that lit a fire in his belly. It felt like she was his.
He opened the door to the Wyrm and held it, stepped to the side so she could proceed him into the building. He stepped over to where Sweet Pea was leaned against the wall and with little more than a tilt of his chin, bummed a cigarette from his second while he watched Betty step deeper into the bar.
The lights were dim and red and hazy with smoke and he couldn't help but think how it was juxtaposed to the girl in front of him. His home, his den of snakes and sin seemed to make her beauty and cleanness and purity shine all the brighter and it damn near took his breath away.
"You got blondie here." Sweet Pea as he snapped his Zippo open to light Jughead's cigarette for him.
Jug took a drag and nodded on his exhale. "We got a shipment coming in Wednesday. Going out Saturday."
"That's not a hell of a long turn time. How many?"
"Six crates."
"Six f- are you shitting me?"
"My understanding is it's a one time thing to impress a new customer."
"Who's the new customer."
At that, Jughead grinned, "FP poached Shankman."
Sweet Pea's eyes widened to an almost comical variety and then he belted out a loud belly laugh and slapped Jughead on the shoulder. "Hell, yeah! I'll process six crates in three days myself to see that knife twist!"
"Glad you feel that way. Let Toni, Joaquin and Fangs know. I need y'all on it. Put together a list of who you wanna work with and I'll make it happen." He watched as Betty drifted further into the bar, almost to its center, her gaze lingering on the stage, specifically the poles on the stage. There were no dancers out right now, but he knew she was putting it together. He gave Sweet Pea's stomach a playful swat and then started toward the bar, "For now I have a pretty blonde to entertain."
He all but jogged across the room to where Hogeye was manning the bar.
"Hey Hogeye, can I get a Modelo and…" He glanced over a Betty, contemplated what she might enjoy, "and a Red Stripe."
Hogeye winker and popped the tops on both of the beers for him. He picked the bottles up with one hand and sauntered over to where Betty was standing, her eyes still on the stage.
Betty stared at the stage, lit up in red lights that reflected oblong patterns off of the three stainless steel poles that stood in a triangle formation across it. When he spoke, it was right against her ear, his warm breath blew against her cheek bone.
"Shows start at six pm if you're interested."
"Oh!" she turned to face him, then looked back and forth between him and the stage several times, so much so that she almost felt like a bobble-head. She probably looked like one too which was not the impression she really wanted to make with him. "Is it…are those…do…um…"
Jughead took a pull from his cigarette and nodded at her, "Mmhmm."
"Oh. Okay." She started nodding as well and increased her bobble-head aesthetic, "Do you…um…have you ever…"
"I'm a red-blooded American young male who identifies as heterosexual, Betty. Yes, I've watched."
"Oh. Okay. Often?"
Jughead laughed, a deep and rasping sound that went right to Betty's stomach.
"I'll put it this way, Betts, I'm not exactly the type who has to pay for it, okay?"
Betty turned to face him at that. She could feel as heat flooded her cheeks.
Of course he doesn't have to…that wasn't what I was…God, just kill me now. The thoughts moved through her head a such a rate that she couldn't quite keep them all straight. How had he managed to frazzle her so? She'd been around him enough at that point that she would have thought that her nerves would be faded but… they seemed to be back in full force in this place.
"C'mon," he said and offered a squat brown bottle with a red label, "here. Sugar cane beer from Jamaica. You'll like it. Let's play a game."
He jerked his head toward the pool tables in the back corner of the bar. Betty took the bottle from him and let him guide her over to the tables. Betty watched as he jerked his chin again, this time to the four mean who were currently playing a game on table. Each of them nodded back and then without preamble of complaint, packed up and left the table. Betty tilted her head to the side and studied him as he slipped his heavy leather jacket from his shoulders and draped it on a nearby stool.
"People seem to jump to do what you say, huh?" she teased.
"Perks of being the serpent prince, baby," he tossed back with a grin.
"Ah, I see," Betty laughed as she unbuttoned her own grey pea coat and lay it on top of his leather.
Jughead circled the table and started dropping heavy balls that hit the green felt with a thunk. "You ever play before?" he asked.
"I've watched people play. I understand the basic rules and concept, but no. I myself have never."
His smile was predatory, "Well, alright then."
Halfway through their first game and a second beer later, Betty was not only frustrated but she was fairly certain that Jughead was toying with her. She stood from where she was bent over the table and let out a growl as she watched the white cue ball drop into a side pocket. That was the third time she had scratched.
"Why am I so bad at this?" she snarled.
Jughead laughed and pushed up from the stool that he had been perched on. "You're holding the cue stick wrong, too tight." He set his beer on the side of the table and pulled her to stand in front of him, "Here, let me show you."
"Is this a move?" Betty asked with a smirk, "Cause this feels like a move."
"Only if you want it to be, princess." He grinned back. He wrapped his arms around her and positioned the cue in her fingers, "Hold it like a bird. Not tight enough to crush it, but firm enough so it doesn't get away. And then, loop this finger over this one just to guide it where you want it to go."
He bent forward at the waist, forcing her to do the same. Betty could feel him pressed snug against her from behind and thought she might start hyperventilating. It was like the motorcycle again but multiplied by about a million. She was enveloped in him; his warmth, his breath, his scent, his body. Everything that made Jughead Jughead had surrounded her and oh what a feeling it was.
He guided her hands to pull back and snap forward and she watched as the white ball darted forward and smacked the yellow one ball into a corner pocket.
Without letting her straighten, Jughead turned his face so the tip of his nose caressed her cheekbone before he breathed into her ear, "See?"
Betty's voice was embarrassingly shaky, "yeah."
Jughead stepped away from her and immediately missed the feeling of her firm little body. He leaned back and rested his hips against the billiards table as he picked up his beer.
"So, princess," he started and watched as she turned and mirrored his pose, leaned back against the table. There was a question that he was going to ask her and he knew it was going to make her uncomfortable. She was too sweet, to innocent for it not to. But he had to know. "This boyfriend of yours, he the only guy you ever been with?"
Betty's gaze snapped up to meet his, her bright eyes impossibly large. "What?" she stumbled over the words, "We…I … that is…I mean…"
"Oh," Jughead said and felt his heart rate speed up, "You haven't yet."
Betty was blushing that touchable, inviting shade of pink that she had a tendency to turn.
"How about this?" he went on, "He the only guy you ever kissed?"
"That's really none of your business." She said, but she dropped her gaze and wouldn't meet his eyes.
Jughead pushed away from the table and stepped in front of her, invaded her space. "That means yes."
Her eyes were locked onto his collarbone and didn't appear to be about to move.
"Let me ask you this; you ever think about kissing someone else?"
She did look up at that and he watched with a distinct sense of satisfaction as her pupils dilated so that the green of her eyes all but disappeared. They dropped to his mouth and then back up to his eyes.
"Of course not." She said.
"Now, now, now," Jughead tsked and moved so his body was flush with hers, braced his arms on either side of her hips, bracketed her in, "Betty Cooper, that was just a flat out lie."
With that, he moved.
He moved slowly. He didn't just pounce on her. He made sure she knew what he was doing as he leaned toward her; he gave her plenty of time to move away should she choose to do so. She did not.
His lips brushed hers and they were soft and warm and slick and as sweet as honey and he wanted to nibble on them for the rest of his life.
Lemme in, he thought.
Betty's pool cue dropped from her grasp and clattered to the dirty bar floor.
Lemme in.
Her hands floated up over his biceps and shoulder to cup his jaw.
Lemme in.
With a delectable little moan from somewhere in the back of her throat, Betty's lips parted.
YES!
Jughead did not hesitate. As soon as those lips gave and granted him entrance, he took it. He licked into her mouth with a hunger that he had never before experienced. He gave himself over to the kiss; he used his entire body. He kissed her with his tongue, with his teeth. He wanted to swallow her, absorb her, possess her.
When Jughead Jones looked back at this time in his life, he would pinpoint this moment, the moment his lips met hers, as the moment his pursuit of Betty Cooper ceased to be even a fraction of a percentage about revenge against Archie Andrews and became completely and totally about Betty Cooper. He wanted her. He wanted her for himself in whatever way, shape or form he could get her. If he could breathe her, he would.
Even after just that brief, Earth-shattering moment, he already know that he would never tire of the taste of her. He pushed his thigh between her legs and was rewarded with another delightful noise from her.
Then, all at once, on a gasp Betty jerked her head to side, breaking the kiss and pulling her mouth away from his. She pushed both hands against his chest and forced him to take two stumbling steps back. She pressed her palms against her flaming red cheeks and then rushed over to her jacket.
"I'm sorry…I can't…I didn't…"
She didn't ever complete her thought. Instead, she turned and rushed for the bar exit.
"Fangs!" Jughead called. In less than ten seconds, the young man was by his side, Sweet Pea not far behind. Jughead pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped to unlock it and handed it to Fangs. "Get her an Uber and make sure she gets in. And make sure the driver knows who's tracking the ride!"
Fangs nodded and took off after Betty.
"You not going after her yourself?" Sweet Pea asked as he took his place by Jug's side.
Jughead shook his head in reply, "Too much, too fast. She needs a little time."
Author's Note : So, they finally kissed! Sure, Betty freaked out a little but… well, you know! She's a good person and very confused right now. What do you think is gonna happen next? I am curious to hear theories!
Leave a comment! Let me know!