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Hey There, Romeo

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“Hey there, Romeo,” Betty says from the couch and gives Jughead a small wave.

His brows knit together briefly as he contemplates the situation. Taking in their surroundings, he surmises that Betty’s mom is not home and they are alone. Betty is stretched out on the couch, apparently reading, with her hand propping up her head beneath her ubiquitous pony tail. Must be homework.

Jughead sidles – or is that flops? – onto the the couch, landing – or rather squeezing himself in behind her.

“You okay there, Jug?” Betty laughs. “It looks a little tight back there.”

“No, I’ll be okay,” he says and settles his arm about her waist. He gives the back of her neck a little kiss as she tilts her head to give him access.

When he’s this close to her she can smell his almost woodsy scent, feel the tickle of hair that’s dared to escape his ever-present cap as his soft lips caress her neck. That knit cap is so much a part of him that it is as forever wrapped up in his scent as the Southside is. He’s decidedly different. But that’s not bad.

His hand reaches over to tug at the book she’s reading for AP English and he reads aloud from it, “A plague o’ both your houses!’ Ah, I see you’ve gotten to that part. Intense stuff there, Juliet.”

“Quite,” Betty agrees and tilts her head to smile back at him. “That’s why I called you ‘Romeo’ when you first came in.”

“I thought it was just my ‘wrong side of the tracks’ disposition.”

“Oh, Juggie,” Betty protests and reaches back to cup his neck, pulling him down into a kiss, and rolls her body towards him a bit, making room for him to lay more by her side than behind her. Lost in each other for a moment, they lose hold of the book.

“Oops!” Betty breaks the kiss, laughing a bit, and retrieves it.

“Here, let me see that,” Jughead says and motions for it. She hands it over and watches as he flips a few pages forward from where she had been. “Ah yes, the Friar. My inspiration.”

Betty just smiles.

“You ready?”

“Ready and waiting, Jughead.”

He reads. “’Go get thee to thy love, as was decreed, ascend her chamber, hence, and comfort her.’”

“Aw, Juggie,” she smiles softly and takes the book from his hands, wondering if that’s his way of telling her that he loves her.

“That’s why I . . . why I came to your window that morning when we first . . .” he hesitates, remembering their first kiss. “When we had that moment. I knew your parents had given you hell the night before about Polly. Knew they would try to mess with your head. I wanted to be there for you, to comfort you.”

“It worked,” Betty says softly and places the book on the floor, shifting her body on the couch yet once again, moving even closer to him.

He smiles and playfully rolls on top of her, capturing her lips in his. He touches her cheek tenderly, strokes it slowly, as their lips begin to part. As the kiss deepens, Betty reaches up to his cheek as well and her fingers reach his hairline, slip past it, and find their way deep into his cap. She’s very careful not to disturb it. She can feel some of the coarse ribbing of the knit brush against the top of her fingers as she weaves them through the silky strands of his thick dark hair. She’s never even seen the part of him that her fingers are now exploring as she continues to pull him into her. He doesn’t seem to mind what she’s doing, yet instinctively she knows that if his cap were to somehow fall from his head, it would be bad times. There’s an intimacy there she knows he’s not ready to share with her yet for some reason, even though he may be in love with her at this point . . . right?

He breaks the kiss with a little panting and looks down at her – at her heaving chest, her rosy cheeks. The full weight of his body is on her and he wants . . .  more.

“Nurse going to be away for a while?”

“I think so,” Betty answers.

“Good,” he says and smiles.

Suddenly, he’s kissing her everywhere – face, neck, lips – and the fire ignites between them. She starts to moan a little and rock beneath him as he moves with her. When they come up for air, he notices that the hem of her shirt is just . . . there.

A silent breath passes between them as he looks down at it.

“May I?” he asks in a voice so quiet as to be barely audible, his hand on the hem. It is shaking.

She nods, bites her lip, looking almost shy.

He hesitates.

“Yes, Jughead,” she encourages, and he can see a blush rise in her cheeks.

He gulps.


That’s all he needs to hear and now his hand slowly slides up her ribcage, underneath her shirt, making its way over her warm skin. . .

And then.

The door bursts open and Alice Cooper’s voice rings out, “Elizabeth! I need you to do something for me if you want me to work for the Blue & Gold.”

Jughead startles backward, almost falling off the couch in the process, and grasps at his cap. Betty sits up and glares at her mom.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were with us, Jughead.” Alice gives a dismissive wave at the two of them before retreating into the other room. “As you were.”

Jughead composes himself, tugging his cap firmly into place and whispers lowly to Betty, “I don’t think so.”

She tilts her head and just smiles at him.