When Reggie retracts his lips from Jughead's, he sees that Jughead is grinning. "What?" Reggie says, because Jughead's dark hair is mussed and his dumb beanie is lopsided, on par with Jughead's hazy eyed smile.
"Nothing," Jughead says.
Reggie would say that he hates this, except he doesn't. Jughead is an asshole like that, a fucking know-it-all bastard who walks around high school like he thinks he's better than the rest of them, or at least knows more about the real world than them. Which in all honesty is probably true, but Reggie would never give him the satisfaction of letting him know.
"Ugh, you're annoying," Reggie says, though kind of defeats the purpose of his words when he arches down to press his mouth to Jughead's again. Jughead curls his hand around the back of Reggie's head, fingernails scraping against his scalp, feeling embarrassingly good. Reggie lets out a low groan into Jughead's mouth, and feels him grin against him.
"Stop doing that," Reggie mutters, sweeping his mouth across the underside of Jughead's jaw. "Otherwise I'll end up propositioning you on Andrews's bed again."
"You know I'll say no," Jughead says smugly, stroking at the nape of Reggie's neck with his stubby bitten nails.
Reggie does; Archie is never home after school because of his dumb music shit now that football season's over, and somehow one time when Reggie was sneaking into his room to see if Archie was taking any juice and ran into Jughead who was doing god knows what in Archie's room too has led to this semi-regular defiling a mutual acquaintance's bed with not-quite hookups. Reggie's not one to complain, anyway, since he always thought Jughead was too busy acting like he was better than high school to really pay attention to Reggie staring at him longer than the both of them are comfortable. But coincidences led to Reggie crowding Jughead against Archie's bookshelf, Jughead smirking like he wanted this, leading to Reggie gripping Jughead's hips and crashing their mouths together, over and over again.
Now, Jughead is letting out these pleased humming noises as Reggie bites at the skin around his collarbone. He never really thought twice about how Jughead would taste (other than good, hopefully), but he can't get enough of it, the way Jughead is both bony and soft and small against Reggie's football-built body. Jughead chuckles when Reggie scrapes his teeth against him, and asks, "Are you a vampire?"
"Shut up," Reggie says, slipping a hand up Jughead's shirt.
Jughead doesn't listen. Or, he does, and ignores him because he's an asshole. "No, seriously," he says. "Why is it always teeth? What's sexy about teeth?"
"Oh my god, shut up," Reggie says again, and his hand skates up Jughead's scarily thin torso and tweaks a nipple.
Jughead gasps, but that's all Reggie does. Reggie licks at the small hickey he's sucked into Jughead's neck, and Jughead says, "I don't understand how this shit feels so good," moving his leg a little so it bumps into Reggie's. Reggie tries not to hiss, but he does have bodily reactions that aren't very hard to disguise.
He pulls away again and says, "I'm good at making you feel good, then?" He's the one smiling this time because Jughead looks grumpy, splayed out on Archie's bed and pillow, frowning at him, beanie still lopsided. Reggie reaches up and yanks it away from him.
Jughead says, "Hey," but doesn't make a move as Reggie plops it onto his own head. "And don't look so proud of yourself, I can be pretty indulgent when I want to be."
"Oh yeah, that's definitely what it is," Reggie says. "You're just indulging yourself with me."
Jughead's the one to say, "Shut up," this time, grabbing the front of Reggie's shirt and tugging him down. Their noses bump and Reggie laughs; Jughead says, "You're such a big, stupid jock," as their lips align again. Reggie licks into Jughead's mouth and Jughead immediately sucks on his tongue, hands framing Reggie’s hips, bodies colliding closer and harder. Reggie is hovering above him, on sore elbows and raking his fingers through Jughead's weirdly long black hair. Jughead plucks the beanie from Reggie's head with one hand, gripping onto it while he slides his hand down the curve of Reggie's back.
"I still hate you, you know," Jughead murmurs as Reggie slots his knees between Jughead's. It's okay to be hard between him without any reciprocation (Jughead had made it quickly evident that he wasn't interested in actually defiling his friend's room the first time they'd done this); pleasantly, Jughead's lips on his are good enough.
Reggie says, "Hate is a strong word." He presses his thumb against the bruise on Jughead's neck, and Jughead winces again. Reggie knows he likes it, though; Jughead's eyes are getting darker and he doesn't say no, sometimes muttering insults between their lips before Reggie kisses him harder.
"You're a big boy, you can handle it," says Jughead, nudging Reggie's head to the side so he can fasten his own lips to Reggie's neck. Reggie delights in this; Jughead is never as apathetic as he pretends to be, absently gliding his teeth along Reggie's skin, leaving his own bruise. Reggie lets out a groan of satisfaction, deep his throat; his eyes flit upward and, for a second, he sees a wide-eyed blond girl through the crack of the bedroom window curtains.
"Shit!" he yelps, and immediately tumbles to the floor.
Jughead shoots up, eyes darting around the room. "What are you doing?" he hisses. "Mr. Andrews could be home!"
Reggie presses his hand to the flat of Jughead's chest (where his shirt is distractingly riding up), shoving him back horizontal on the bed. "Tell me Andrews' blonde girlfriend isn't his next door neighbor."
"Betty's not his girlfriend," Jughead says, tugging his beanie back on. Then he frowns. "Wait, what?"
Reggie jerks his head toward the curtains, where Jughead peeks between before ducking his head down. "Oh shit," he says.
For some reason, this sends Reggie into peals of laughter. He's on his ass on the floor and trying to stifle his mouth just in case Archie's dad is home, but Jughead looks ruined and frustrated on Archie's bed, staring at Reggie like he thinks he’s an idiot—so, his usual expression.
"What are you laughing at?" he demands, joining him on the ground.
Reggie covers his mouth. "Nothing," he says, though a giggle escapes him. "You're just—neither of us are supposed to be here."
"I'm well aware of that, yes," Jughead says grumpily, readjusting his hat.
But instead of continuing to berate him, he leans across and kisses Reggie again, not really aggressive like he usually is, but kind of sweet, angled in a way like he wants this to mean something, capturing Reggie’s bottom lip with his own. Reggie snakes a hand down the side of Jughead’s face, tugging at an ear, pulling away with his fingers pressing wonderingly against a sensitive spot at the bottom of Jughead's chin that makes Jughead sigh nicely into his mouth.
"I guess our cover's blown, then," Reggie says, trying not to sound too much like a kid at the end of a date. This isn’t even a date, but Reggie's lost track how many times they've done this already.
"You know," Jughead says, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes, "Archie does have a car."