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drink tequila for me, babe

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Veronica inches closer to Betty.  The space of the closet is dark, and Betty's arms automatically wrap around her shoulders, and she's staring at the black of Veronica's eyes, not knowing what she's doing.

"What are you doing?" she asks, instead.

Veronica tilts her head, a smile on her mouth. It's barely visible, in the dim light shining through the crack of the bottom of the door, but Betty can still see every angle of it, the sharp edges that she wants to know the taste of, the plush that's kissed so many boys before.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Veronica asks. "It's seven minutes in heaven."

Betty stammers. "Y-Yeah, it's seven minutes, but that doesn't mean we have to do anything."

Both of Veronica's arms are dangling off of Betty's shoulders now, and she's shorter than Betty but Betty has never felt any smaller in this moment. Veronica has always been dominating, larger, more sure of herself than Betty has ever been. "Are you saying you wouldn't want to do anything with me?" she says, a teasing edge to her tone.

"I-I didn't say that," Betty says. "I would do anything—" and she thinks, anything, and Veronica's getting closer, and oh god, does she really mean it? "You're my best friend," Betty says. "That's always going to be true."

Veronica's smile turns a little sad, a little challenging. "Is it always?" she whispers, and she leans in, and Betty doesn't know what she's doing.

Betty doesn't know what she's doing, because Veronica's mouth is on hers, and the bottle had landed on the both of them, and Cheryl had said, "Guess one of you is going into the closet with Archie," before Veronica had said, "No, we're going in alone." Cheryl hadn't protested, had just given Veronica a strange smirk like she'd known what Veronica was thinking, but Veronica had ignored her, fastened her hand around Betty's and tugged her into the closet until they were trapped together. Betty had never played seven minutes in heaven before, much less with a girl, and now Veronica's mouth was moving against hers, pressing gentle kisses against her lips, leaning and arching in like she wanted to taste more.

Veronica tastes a bit like the spiked punch, and just a taste that was her, her chapstick, the red of her mouth breaching in and in again, between the seam of Betty's lips, wanting to taste all of her. Betty had never—this is strange, she's never felt so wanted before, but Veronica makes her feel like she's the only person in the world, that nothing would ever amount to the feeling of Veronica's mouth on her own. Betty's hands wind downward, lace between Veronica's fingers, and she pulls her in more, getting the courage to use her tongue, because there's no way she would be able to taste enough with just her lips. Veronica moans against her and backs her into the wall, hands slipping out of Betty's own and to Betty's waist, pushing her past the coats that are hanging and onto the hard surface behind her because she can't feel anything anymore—nothing but Veronica and her hands gripping Betty's own and her waist grinding in small circles and keeping Betty pinned, helpless, and Betty loves it.

The door opens. Cheryl's voice says, "Girls, it's time to—oh, I see." Cheryl might sound smug, but Veronica doesn't care because her mouth is still fixed on Betty's. Betty says, between the space of the mouths, "Maybe we should—" but Veronica silences her again, and Betty is too busy making small sounds against Veronica's lips for any more protests.

The closet door closes again. Faintly, Veronica hears, "They're busy," and then the suggestion for another party game, but Veronica doesn't care. Betty's under her, like Veronica had imagined since the first time she'd move into town and saw her in the booth in Pop Tate and there was a burning need inside of her that Veronica didn't think she'd ever get the taste of, know what it was. Now she knows—it's how much she wants Betty, wants her skin against Veronica's own, the trail of her own finger tips sliding up against Betty's stomach, reaching higher and higher until—

"Veronica," Betty breathes, and Veronica keeps going, because she doesn't know how to stop, knows how much the burn in her stomach wants as much of Betty as possible. Betty exhales again, and then goes, "Are we—right here, now—?"

"Betty," Veronica says, pulling away and looking Betty in the eyes. "Shut up."

To her surprise, Betty obeys, pupils blown in the dim light of the closet. Veronica thinks of the friend's she's made in Riverdale already, Archie and Jughead and Josie—but none of them measure up to Betty, who's gasping underneath the touch of her fingertips, little sighs like she's begging for more and more and Veronica is welcome to deliver. Veronica's fingers trail down the path of Betty's spine to the hem of her dress, tucking under her skirt and Betty's breaths turn desperate. Veronica says, "Do you want this?" and Betty pulls away and looks Veronica dead in the eyes and says, "Yes, I do."

There's a banging at the door. Cheryl's voice calls, "You girls have been in there for fifteen minutes already! You better not be having sex in my closet!"

Betty giggles, and that causes Veronica to shift to the side and giggle against Betty's jawline. "What if we do?" Betty says, and that's how Veronica knows that Betty's gone—either with the adrenaline of their touches, or maybe the spiked punch from the dance, but Veronica doesn't care. "Would you have sex with me here?" Betty asks.

She's looking into Veronica's eyes again. Veronica knows how serious this is, how much Betty wants to know. There aren't a lot of girls like Betty, who easily trust Veronica, who match the lightning to the roll of Veronica's thunder. Veronica shivers, because she knows how much she wants Betty—but more than that, Betty's gaze is just saying, please take me, have me, I trust you. Veronica wants to, wants to show Betty what they could be—on top of the world, or just happy.

When she moved to Riverdale, Veronica never anticipated this. A girl who could match her. A girl who could fit into the places where Veronica is open, make her whole.

Veronica says, "What kind of question is that?" and Betty's smile turns slant, and Veronica kisses it. Her fingers drag along the inside of Betty's thighs, and she feels Betty shiver before Betty says, "A car would be less conspicuous."

Veronica grins against her. "Are you suggesting we have sex in your car?" she says, and Betty's hips shift up against her. Whether consciously or unconsciously, Veronica doesn't know.

"It would be preferable," Betty says, and she gasps as Veronica's thumb strokes the inside of her thigh, "to this."

"And more scandalous," Veronica concedes with a grin, brushing her lips against Betty's again.

Betty gently pushes her away, though Veronica doesn't mind, because Betty slips her hand into hers, and Veronica knows what's going to happen, can already feel her mouth between Betty's thighs, Betty's fingers tightening in her hair. Betty shoves the closet door open and they're met with wolf whistles, but Betty ignores it all and says, "My car has more privacy too, so we should—go to it."

"I'm not protesting," Veronica says with a smirk. Betty tugs her out and guides her through the house. Veronica's making note of every detail of Cheryl's house, the pictures of her and Jason, the corners of her walls—but mostly she's concentrating how Betty is pulling her through the bodies of the winding students, looking back every once in a while to make sure Veronica's still there even though they're still holding hands.

When they make their way to the cool autumn air—when Betty's opened the door to her car and Veronica's dragged her mouth over Betty's again, in the driver's seat but delicious, the door still open, Betty says, "I didn't know you wanted me like this."

Veronica kisses the side of her jaw and says, "Of course I do. I want all of you." She kisses down Betty's collarbone, to her breasts, feeling her through her dress and Betty's tense, in the way where she's anxious and wants more. They don't know each other that well, but Veronica can recognize it, slides her fingers up Betty's dress and rubs her palms against her stomach until Betty relaxes once again.

"I want you like this," Veronica says, sinking to the floor of the driver's seat. Betty spreads her legs, gasping, as Veronica braces down on her knees and opens her mouth.