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The Opposite Of Freshening Up

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“I need to freshen up,” Veronica announces, sliding out of the booth. She doesn’t leave, though, instead standing there staring at Betty with an expectant look on her face.

Betty lets out a small sigh. “Guess I need to freshen up too,” she says, and Veronica beams at her.

Archie, who’s been watching them in confusion, a fry held halfway to his mouth, grins at Veronica’s antics. Jughead rolls his eyes and steals Archie’s fry. Betty tunes out Archie’s splutter of indignation, following Veronica to the bathroom, very pointedly not letting herself stare at the bounce of Veronica’s hair or the sway of her hips.

“You look at me like you want me to throw you down and eat you alive,” Veronica had teased just the night before, and Betty doesn’t mind Veronica noticing, not in the slightest, but she’d rather everyone else around them didn’t see. Betty’s never been a good liar, and apparently she’s not good at hiding her lust either.

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind them, Veronica moves along the stalls, nudging them open, checking they’re alone. Betty’s about to ask what she’s doing, but then Veronica turns to her with that smirk that always makes the bottom drop out of Betty’s stomach, part out of nerves and part out of a hot wave of want.

She hasn’t known Veronica long, even if it already feels like Veronica’s been a part of her life forever, but that smirk always means trouble.

“Trust me?” Veronica asks, and Betty’s throat is suddenly too tight to speak so she settles for nodding.

Veronica’s legs fold slowly, never breaking eye contact as she crouches down in front of Betty, and her hands start to slide up Betty’s thighs.

“You said you wanted to try being naughty, right?” Veronica’s eyes are gleaming.

It’s true, Betty had huffed out those fateful words a little over a week ago. Except when Betty says the word ‘naughty’ she always sounds like she’s talking about unruly school children, whereas Veronica says it with a low purr that makes Betty’s legs tense, her toes curling in her shoes, her pulse spiking.

She feels her eyelids flutter when Veronica’s fingers brush the hem of her panties, hands palming Betty’s hips, and it doesn’t matter if the bathroom door is unlocked and someone could walk in on them any moment, because she’s so weak for this, for Veronica’s smirks and her purred words and her everything.

Betty gasps, one hand streaking out to grip the sink to steady herself, when Veronica starts sliding her panties down her legs.

“I can’t!” she hisses, but it’s automatic, wavering, and they both know what she really means is that she needs Veronica to convince her.

And Veronica always does. “Your skirt reaches her knees,” she reminds Betty playfully. “No will know.” She eases one of Betty’s feet up, and Betty doesn’t resist in the slightest. “Except you.” There goes the next foot; Betty steps out of the panties completely, looking down at Veronica with wide eyes. “And me.”

She stands gracefully, slipping the panties into her purse, and Betty can feel herself gaping, trying to find the words to explain to Veronica, to explain to herself why this is a bad idea. But her throat is too tight again and her mind is spinning in circles; Veronica snaps her purse shut and sashays from the bathroom and all Betty can do is follow her.

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind her, Betty almost stumbles. It’s like she’s forgotten how to walk properly, like everyone in the diner is looking at her even though not a single head turns their way. Sweat prickles at her skin beneath her clothes, the red neon lights along the windows blurring around her, but Betty makes herself move, trailing after Veronica back to their booth.

She wants to grip the end of her skirt, holding it down against her thighs, and it takes a Herculean effort to keep her hands limp at her sides. Every step makes the fabric of her skirt brush against her ass, makes her want to moan, the sensation of it as much of a tease as the way Veronica smiles at Betty over her shoulder.

Archie and Jughead are chatting away when Veronica takes her spot next to Jughead. Veronica’s face is perfectly neutral, but when Archie glances up at Betty his brow furrows in concern. “You okay?” he asks quietly, and Betty doesn’t know if her face is flushed or pale because she’s sweating and shivery at the same time. But she manages to make a reassuring humming sound as she sits beside him, instinctively trying to cross her legs and only succeeding in bumping her knee against the bottom of the table.

“What were you guys talking about?” Veronica asks innocently, except it’s not innocent at all the way she carefully distracts Archie’s attention so Betty can focus on just breathing.

“Metaphysics,” Jughead deadpans.

“Music,” Archie corrects, lighting up a little the way he always does whenever the subject comes up, but Betty’s no longer listening. She soothes her hands over her skirt, making sure it’s lying flat across her legs, then does it again, again, not even sure why, until she forces herself to stop.

She can’t get comfortable. Betty feels like she’s sitting unnaturally still, when all she wants to do is squirm. She squeezes her knees together, trying to cover herself, then barely manages to stifle her gasp at the way the push of skin against skin feels like pressure directly against her crotch, from the outside and inside. She feels herself throb down there, fingers digging into the cushioned seats, and when she glances up Veronica’s watching her with shrewd eyes and the corner of her mouth twitching in a secret smile.

Betty has to fight the urge to whimper.

The next twenty minutes are spent with Archie and Jughead talking and Veronica prompting them with the occasional question and Betty not hearing a word of it. The throbbing between her legs gets more and more insistent the longer they sit, and she can feel herself growing wetter with every passing minute. She wants to spread her legs, wants to push her hand between her thighs, wants to just throw her head back and groan, but she sits ramrod straight instead, staring ahead with unfocused eyes.

She twitches when Veronica’s foot brushes the inside of her ankle. Archie glances at her and the smile she gives him is probably weak and wobbly, but Veronica coaxes his attention away once again. And all the while her foot coaxes Betty’s ankles apart, then her shins, her knees, leaving Betty feeling naked, exposed, burning hot and aching for touch.

Her pussy is soaked; a part of her is scared she’s marking up her skirt, that everyone will be able to see as soon as she stands up.

A bigger part of her doesn’t care.

Veronica’s foot slides between her thighs; Betty’s trembling and breathing raggedly and so, so needy.

Her hips shift forward, Veronica’s toes are so close to where she wants them, and then they’re gone, Veronica’s entire foot slipping away.

“Time to go,” Veronica says cheerfully, just in time to cover Betty’s tiny little mewling noise of disappointment at the loss of contact. “I’m just going to freshen up before we leave.”

“That’s your cue,” Jughead jokes, raising an eyebrow at Betty, and her laugh probably sounds strangled and forced as she scrambles up, one hand keeping her skirt flattened and managing to hit her knee on the table again.

She’s not sure how she makes it to the bathroom, but as soon as she does Veronica backs her into a stall, the door clanging shut behind them.

God, Veronica,” Betty gasps, thighs shaking. Veronica yanks her skirt up around her waist, and there’s a gap around the edge of the door to the stall, it’s not nearly as private as it could be, if anyone comes into the bathroom they’d be able to see, but Betty doesn’t care, she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care.

Her head falls back against the door, feeling it vibrate under the impact. Veronica’s hand slides down and cups her, and Betty reaches up to grip the top of the stall door for balance, rolling her hips forward and moaning for it.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Veronica murmurs, and her fingers push inside, so easy where Betty’s slick and swollen. Betty’s mouth falls open, her eyes fall shut, whole body arching towards Veronica’s touch. “Watching you falling apart, wanted to crawl under the table and spread you, eat you out right there.”

The stall rattles; Betty manages to prop one heel against the toilet paper dispenser, Veronica’s fingernails digging into the meat of her thigh as her other hand fucks Betty quick and shallow.

“Gonna make you wear my panties to school,” Veronica continues breathlessly, and Betty makes a noise like a sob, clenching up around Veronica’s fingers. She can imagine it, Veronica’s underwear sliding between her legs, the feeling of expensive silk or lace against her labia, driving her to distraction all day. “Bet you’d make them so wet.”

Betty nods desperately, so close it’s making her dizzy. Veronica fucks her harder and deeper, and Betty has to turn her head, muffling her voice against the cashmere of her sleeve. Two fingers becomes three, and she feels too full and not full enough, and the dispenser is creaking under her foot, and the door shudders with every snap of her hips, and when she forces her eyes open she finds Veronica looking at her like Betty’s the sexiest woman in the world.

She bites her own bicep when she comes, fingers white around the top of the stall, back bowed, a scream caught in her throat that tastes like Veronica’s name.

Her chest is heaving, her head swimming, and it takes a long time before Betty can make herself let go of the door. Veronica has her smuggest smile in place, but she helps Betty straighten her skirt and pull herself into some semblance of order.

“Ready to go?” Veronica asks finally, and all Betty wants is to melt into a puddle or, ideally, get her hands on Veronica and return the favour, but she agrees instead.

She hopes the smell of sex isn’t clinging to them. She hopes nobody notices the toilet paper dispenser is now crooked.

“I’m keeping the panties,” Veronica tells her in a stage-whisper, before sweeping through the bathroom door. And Betty follows as usual, she’ll always follow Veronica, even if she’s instantly regretting not cleaning herself up better, knowing that her juices are smeared all along her inner thighs, knowing she’ll be able to feel it the whole way home, knowing that any breeze could blow up her skirt, and knowing she’d do the whole thing all over again tomorrow if Veronica asked.