Author's Note:

What can I even say, you guys? This has been probably my favourite story to write, which surprised the hell out of me since it started as a quick little idea I needed to put to paper (or rather, Microsoft Word). Devoted Bughead shippers, I appreciate your temporary conversion to shipping Betty with Sweet Pea instead. Those of you of less fixed or more varied ship loyalties, thank you for welcoming this one into your collection. It's been a pleasure to write for such a supportive, encouraging, and invested audience these past few months.

Before this turns into some kind of Oscar acceptance speech, I'll simply say, enjoy.

XO ForASecondThereWe'dWon

XXI

Of course Betty didn't pick Jughead, but when she paused in front of him, the whole bar held its breath. Hitting him, wildly and ceaselessly, might have made her feel better in another universe where meeting Sweet Pea hadn't given her heart a chance to mend. Besides that, a beating would've belatedly offered Jughead the justification he sorely needed for why he'd been the mopey, moody one when she was the one who'd been dumped. She didn't owe that to him and, holding his gaze, she let him know it without words. There was going to be nothing else between them except what was done with each other (as friends or Serpents), not for or to each other. When Jughead quit looking vaguely pained, Betty rewarded him with a close-lipped smile. Then she looked from son to father.

"They can't hit me back, right?" she asked F.P. He shook his head.

"This isn't for our entertainment. We only want to see what's inside of you in a figurative sense," he grinned, "not a literal one. It's for you to decide whether that makes this easier or harder."

Good question, Betty thought. Maybe she wouldn't know until it was over.

"Sweet Pea," she told F.P., making her selection.

He nodded and signalled for everyone to clear some space. Betty almost missed the security that being in the center of that tight circle had provided. She faced her boyfriend, sightline stuck around chest height until she could talk herself into meeting his eye. As soon as she did, he winked at her, then unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off.

"Don't want you cutting your fists on the zippers," he explained quietly, the chatter of the bloodthirsty crowd nearly drowning him out.

"Very chivalrous," she mumbled nervously. Sweet Pea gave her a brief smile.

Before he could throw the jacket outside of their makeshift battleground, Jughead stuck out his hand to take it. Betty's gaze slipped uneasily from one boy to the other, but Sweet Pea handed it over with such complete nonchalance, she might not have known Jughead had ever been anything but Sweet Pea's right-hand man. As if he was seeing how much he could shock her, Jughead then passed Betty a pair of fingerless gloves. Her eyes widened and she pulled them on, not in a position to refuse the protection. She'd thank him later.

"This is your last chance," Betty said to Sweet Pea as Jughead backed out of the circle, going to stand with Toni. Betty felt like her heart had been replaced by a hamster wheel and the hamster running on it had just been injected with an experimentally high dose of adrenaline.

"My last chance?" Sweet Pea's eyebrows leapt up with his smile. Actually, it looked like he was trying not to laugh. Was he intentionally attempting to piss her off to increase her desire to hit him? In the background, Betty heard F.P. put a stop to what sounded like people betting on how long it would take her to give up. She guessed the leader was wrong about the initiation not being for their entertainment.

"Mhmm," she affirmed, smoothing her hair into a ponytail that prickled her scalp. "I think this test might be as much for you as for me. How badly do you really want me here?"

"The worst thing I'm supposed to endure for that is letting you take a few swings at me?" He shrugged. "That's nothing."

Touched, Betty's lips parted, but now F.P. was quieting everyone down. She didn't want the last words they heard her say before the final stage of her initiation to be something disgustingly sentimental. With this bunch, she doubted that either she or Sweet Pea would ever hear the end of it.

"Any rules I should know about?" The question was for F.P., though Betty's eyes didn't leave her chosen partner.

"We give most people a talk about not whipping out any concealed weapons, but we trust you a little more than that," said F.P. Laughter swept around the lopsided circle. "Anything you'd like to request, Sweet Pea?"

A creeping grin on her boyfriend's face prepared Betty for a shift in tone. He twitched his head thoughtfully to the side. If his hair hadn't been so slicked back tonight, she thought it probably would've flopped over.

"Just one thing. I request that the initiate keep her hits above the belt." Betty glanced sideways to find F.P. laughing, head hanging down. His head lifted and he nodded to Sweet Pea, who then shot a playfully pleading look at Betty. "Think of our future children."

"Can I start?" she brusquely inquired, raising more laughter from the spectators.

"Get to it, Betty," F.P. commanded.

Being close to Sweet Pea often made her feel like she couldn't breathe, but on her last exhale before she loosed her first punch, Betty wasn't sure her lungs would ever be full again. Her fist collided with his cheek and nothing made sense, not respiration or her relationship or her past or her future. The one certainty Betty held onto as she was cheered from the sidelines and immediately struck out again was that the gloves had been a good idea. Higher this time, putting the full weight of her body behind it, and Sweet Pea winced. She couldn't imagine how hard it must be for him not to pull away, the nerve it must take to face her onrushing fist. The love. She guessed he felt it too, whatever was always drawing them together. Toni had coached her into a flicking left-handed jab so Betty used it, catching the lower portion of Sweet Pea's mouth and his chin. He was bleeding now, though he kept presenting his face to her. Betty decided to temporarily retire her left―she couldn't believe she'd once called his features 'delicate'; his chin was sharp!―and went back to her power with a pair of swift right-handed blows to his face. Even if his eyes didn't look angry at her, his skin did, and Betty had to grind her teeth to make herself keep going. She planted her feet and delivered a solid blow to his chest, which she felt shoot from her fist to her elbow like a pinball release. Sweet Pea exhaled hard, fingers flexing closed into automatic fists then opening again. Aware that she had to be relentless, not give him room to recover, Betty put her left hand back into commission and punched him just as ferociously in the stomach, following it with an uppercut by her right. Laughter broke loose as Sweet Pea staggered.

"Careful, boy!" F.P. called, laughing with the others. "You only get one chance to keep your feet!"

Thinking she saw a way to end this faster, Betty rushed up to her boyfriend, tangling her leg around his. It wasn't intuitive and it wasn't something Toni had taught her, but she'd been friends with Kevin Keller for most of his life and all of his high school wrestling career. She knew what Kevin would do to throw his opponent off balance and assumed it would work even better in a scenario where the competitors (even if one was passive) were farther from the ground. Giving her throbbing knuckles a rest, Betty shoved Sweet Pea's chest with both hands. Normally, he wouldn't have budged, but with her jerking her leg back and taking his with it while pushing him… well, gravity was on her side.

Their audience jumped out of the way, some more clumsily than others according to their indulgence at the bar before Betty'd shown up, she presumed. It left Sweet Pea a nice clear area to fall over in. He sat back on his hands, looking up at her like she hadn't quite impressed him yet. Winded from the effort of hitting his body over and over, Betty rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Betty!" F.P. shouted, making her look over at him. "That," he pointed down at Sweet Pea, "is not the face of someone who's given up! We want to see his back flat on the ground. DON'T WE?" he yelled to a deafening cheer.

"You picked me," Sweet Pea called up to her. His eyes were doing that intense, hypnotic thing they did so well and the blows to his face weren't doing anything to diminish it.

"You signed me up for this!" she shouted back, feeling the freedom of expressing herself in such a primal fashion make her as light as a helium balloon. If only I'd known sooner, Betty thought, I could've saved my palms those scars.

With a cocky smirk, Betty planted her foot on Sweet Pea's chest and applied pressure. For the first time, he fought back, not with blows but with resistance. He'd locked his arms, obviously not as dazed as he'd been a minute ago when she'd been able to topple him. Narrowing her eyes, Betty pushed more firmly, though it felt like trying to shift a wall. Sweet Pea kept staring up at her, expression moving between something that said he was proud of her and something that said he expected more. She removed her foot and stepped forward to stand beside him. Though she'd planned on getting closer so that she could press straight down, making her attack more effective, the smirk he gave her changed her mind.

Betty threw her leg over Sweet Pea instead and sat in his lap, resolving to let the onlookers think whatever they wanted. Sharing a gentle smile with her boyfriend, Betty then cranked her arm back and punched him square in the face. His hands skidded on the rough floor of the Whyte Wyrm and he went horizontal.

Immediately, people were grabbing Betty under her arms, pulling her up and yelling in her ears. For what must've been the longest second in recorded history, she couldn't take her eyes off Sweet Pea, craning her neck to keep him in sight as the circle caved in. Jughead stepped across her view and mouthed that he was going to help Sweet Pea. Or at least Betty assumed he'd mouthed it. He might've screamed it for all she knew, bombarded by sound, hands feeling like she'd laid them on a track in front of an oncoming train. She just had to trust him and let herself be thrust in front of F.P. Jones as voices she'd never heard before shouted their praise of her and demanded her acceptance into the Southside Serpents. Someone was yanked away from her side and Betty almost fell sideways, overstimulated and overwhelmed, until Toni stepped into the breach, wrapping an arm around Betty's waist with a reassuring smile. Then Toni was shouting too, not at Betty, but for her, and F.P. was standing there absorbing it all with a grin on his face. After a minute or so, their leader mounted the bar, thudding his foot against its surface for quiet.

"ARE WE SATISFIED?" he asked the Serpents. They let out a noise that sounded somewhere in the neighbourhood of 'yes'. "THEN LET'S GET THIS GIRL A TATTOO!" F.P. pointed down at Betty, grinning hugely.

As Betty stood in the hot squeeze of leathered bodies, meditating on whether she was ready for any more pain that evening, another, higher, voice rang out.

"NOT SO FAST, F.P.!"

Before Betty had even turned, Toni still right at her side, her eyes had widened. If there was one thing she hadn't been anticipating tonight, it was seeing her mother at the Whyte Wyrm. As on her last visit to the Serpent stronghold, Alice was looking stylishly dishevelled―totally grunge, except for the outrageously deep V of her semi-sheer blouse. If Betty hadn't been so freaked out about her mother being possibly about to screw up the entire initiation for her, she would've been profoundly embarrassed… and maybe a little proud.

"Get a drink or take off, Alice," F.P. offered dispassionately, climbing down from the bar, "but you can't stop this. Your daughter wants to be here and we've already voted her in." He patted Betty's shoulder reassuringly then crossed his arms, face smug.

Her mother approached on the other side―Betty and Toni finding themselves caught between the pair of adults―twisting her mouth in displeasure.

"First things first," Alice corrected. "My daughter," her eyes cut to Betty, "needs a jacket."

With that, she hefted the garment that had been draped over her arm, which Betty had barely noticed, so busy had she been trying to avoid looking anywhere in the vicinity of her mother's cleavage. Alice shook it out, holding it by the shoulders. Sure enough, it was a Serpents jacket, unmistakable vivid green snake and all. The bar became as close to silent as Betty could imagine a room full of half-drunk gang members could get.

"I was a few inches shorter at your age," her mother expounded, not deigning to give her attention to anyone other than Betty, "but it should be a good fit." Her serious expression shifted smoothly into a beaming smile. "Here, try it on."

Numbly, Betty rotated, shooting Toni a what the actual fuck? glance as she did so, Toni's eyebrows giving her hell if I know, man in return. Remembering the gloves she wore and worrying about them snagging the jacket lining (Alice would never forgive her for that after bestowing such a possession), Betty peeled them off with a gasp of pain and handed them over to Toni. Gritting her teeth, Betty maneuvered her arms into the sleeves while her mother guided the jacket onto her; every time her knuckles brushed fabric, Betty felt like giving something a hard kick, even if it had to be Sweet Pea. However, there was nothing her mother had taught her if not self-control.

"That's more like it," Alice declared, running an assessing eye over her daughter's completed ensemble. "Finally, you're dressed appropriately."

Betty laughed in disbelief, recalling the way her mother had teasingly picked on her for that very thing the last time they'd entered this bar together. Maybe it was the place, the people, or the sense of belonging they were obviously both feeling (Alice already flipping her hair and planting her hand on her hip like she was ready to hold court in the middle of that rowdy crowd), but it seemed to Betty that, once again, she and Alice were on the same side. Trying to explain it would be pointless―her mother would never be naturally forthcoming―so Betty decided to just be grateful for it. Disregarding Alice's sassy posture, Betty wrapped her arms around her.

"Thanks mom," she whispered near her mother's ear, feeling Alice slide the elastic from her ponytail and stroke her hair.

"I want to hang onto the one child I have left under my roof," she replied, "even if that means supporting a serious change in lifestyle." She pulled back to give Betty a very yes, I'm still your mother, young lady look. "Besides," she confided, narrowed eyes glancing furtively around them, "these are good people."

"What was that, Alice?" F.P. asked loudly, stepping closer and disrupting the moment with all the finesse one might use to tip a cow. Betty's mother rolled her eyes at the Serpent leader's entitled smirk.

"I said you owe me a drink," Alice snapped at him, pushing towards the bar.

Betty turned away, smiling and wondering what she was supposed to do now. The group was dispersing, some offering, out of Alice's earshot, to buy their newest little Serpent a beer or something stronger, but Betty appreciatively waved them off. There was only one person she really needed to see. Toni's pink hair was the beacon that guided Betty to the young Serpents' regular table. Seated next to her friend/fighting coach was Jughead, smiling placidly, and across from Toni: Sweet Pea, who immediately started to rise when he spotted Betty, to the laughter of his gathered friends. He'd gotten his jacket back, she noticed.

"Don't get up!" Toni barked at him, twisting in her seat to greet Betty.

"I'm fiiine," Sweet Pea complained, letting his head drop back.

"Ok," Toni consented, "but slowly."

Betty watched with amusement as her bruised boyfriend locked his eyes on his friend and stood at an absurdly sluggish pace. The instant Sweet Pea was upright, Betty slammed into him, nearly felling him for the second time that evening, though with a spontaneous hug instead of a calculated takedown. He laughed and squeezed her back as she let the apologies pour out. Toni broke it up, reminding her about the mandatory tattoo that would officially mark her as one of them.

"Do you know where you want it?" she inquired.

Although Betty hadn't told anyone, she'd given the placement a lot of thought, for longer than she would've cared to say. She shrugged her inherited jacket down her arms and passed it to Sweet Pea.

"Hold this," she instructed, noticing his eyes brighten at her bossy tone. Next, Betty slipped her arms out of the straps of her lacy black bra, unhooked it, and yanked it out from under her white shirt. "And this," she told Sweet Pea, dangling the see-through lingerie. One of the young Serpents whooped, but her gaze didn't budge from her boyfriend's eyes―dark and predatory.

"I'm not giving this back," Sweet Pea warned, fingering her bra and tucking it, bunched up, into the tight back pocket of his jeans. His gaze sunk down to her chest.

Half-turning away from him to address Toni, Betty raised her arm. The oversized armhole of her muscle shirt and the absence of her bra left her ribs and the side of her breast exposed. She tapped her ribcage.

"Here."

"You sure?" Sweet Pea butted in. Betty saw Toni's eyes swish between them appraisingly as she turned her head to reply.

"Don't you prefer it right where everyone might see it?" Betty asked coyly, eyebrow popping up. They both knew the 'it' she was referring to was sex, not the tattoo. Sweet Pea bit his bottom lip, grinning. He walked around Betty and kissed the side of her head. Apparently, it was just a cover so he could whisper in her ear: "Don't tempt me."

"Uhhh," Toni droned uncomfortably, observing what Betty, blushing, knew to be the most obvious and suggestive flirting she'd personally ever engaged in. "Hold that thought, Betty. We can get you tatted another day."

"Maybe that would be…" Betty's eyes darted sideways to assess her boyfriend's expression. Categorically horny. "… for the best," she concluded, smiling sheepishly at her friend.

Toni laughed.

"Get out of here," she urged, "but come find me later and I'll make you a special celebratory drink."

"Deal," Betty agreed. She took her jacket back from Sweet Pea and then took his hand (not linking their fingers though, because of the ache in her own), figuring that if she kept hold of it then that was one less that might start wandering up or down her body while they were still in the warm, public space of the bar. "Oh," she exclaimed, dragging Sweet Pea back to the table. Jughead looked up at her, surprised. "I wanted to thank you for the gloves."

He smirked mischievously, glancing back and forth between the couple.

"Anything for the cause. While you were using Sweet Pea as your human heavy bag, I was living vicariously through you. Now please find the man some ice before he gets any uglier."

"I could still knock you out, Jones," Sweet Pea retorted jokingly, though Betty did see him touch his tongue to his split lip. He rubbed his thumb softly along the back of Betty's hand, probably knowing she was checking on him.

"Really?" Jughead scoffed. "Because less than five minutes ago, you told me you were seeing double."

"So? Two targets, twice as good a shot at hitting you."

"That's very poor logic," Jughead gently rebuked.

"On that note," Betty intervened chirpily, smiling between her two favourite male Serpents, "maybe I will go take care of him. We'll hang out later on though, ok Juggy?"

"Of course," he acknowledged tactfully, seeming to Betty like he was ready to play along and pretend this 'just friends' thing had always come easily to them. "Maybe we can team up to try to cut through the revolting sexual tension between Alice and my dad."

"Oh my god," she groaned, eyes closing momentarily. "That is so not something I'm ready to deal with."

"Buck up, Betts," he recommended, "you're a Serpent now."

Betty snorted, slipped back into her mother's jacket, and waved her temporary goodbye to the others. As soon as they'd turned away, Sweet Pea slung his arm heavily across her shoulders. Startled, she wrapped hers around his back, looking anxiously up into his face.

"Don't worry," he murmured, "I'm just trying to look feeble so they don't suspect."

"Suspect?"

"That I'm dragging you away to fuck you. This act," he gestured loosely between them, "is for the sake of your reputation."

Betty's mouth fell open.

"You're hardly drag―"

"Why do you make me do this to you, babe?" he interrupted. Before she could seek clarification, Sweet Pea grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder, fireman-style. "We'll be back," he announced boomingly as he flung the door open, "but not too soon."

"This is ridiculous. Am I still being hazed?" Betty protested. Sweet Pea just laughed and carried her out into the night, around to the back of the Wyrm.

When he set her on her feet, she didn't feel like grumbling anymore. In fact, with Sweet Pea standing tall in front of her, the diluted glow of background neon bleeding across his face, and the spike in her desire for recklessness, Betty felt more like kissing him. With just his eyes, Sweet Pea persuaded her to back into the wall and she went, heart racing. Despite the violence she'd shown him (committed out of necessity and never to be repeated), he leaned protectively over her and lightly tucked her hair behind her ear. Betty could hardly get her eyes to close as Sweet Pea's face lowered, but once she did, she sighed, feeling his lips stroke fleetingly over hers. She could smell him―his body, plus his leather jacket, plus whatever he'd slicked through his black hair―and heard herself inhale shudderingly when his lips suddenly compressed against her throat. Already, there was an urgency in her, a throb between her thighs that couldn't have been more different from the one in her battered fists, and yet she wasn't in a hurry. Betty Cooper―planner, fixer, persister―felt the world stop around her as Sweet Pea's mouth lifted from her neck and she opened her eyes.

"You did amazing," he told her, face inches away. "I have never been prouder to stand in that crappy bar with all those idiots than I was tonight with you."

"It was the right time," Betty justified, his praise compelling her scramble to humble herself, "the right reasons, the right training… you," she finished as his nose rubbed along hers.

"You're perfect," Sweet Pea said simply, not wasting his breath huffing and puffing at her humility, just letting his shoes crunch gravel as he shifted even closer to her. Oddly, Betty found it was easier to believe in the way he believed in her when he just acted like it rather than arguing it.

"Do you love me?" she asked him breathlessly, feeling his eyelashes flutter against her temple.

"Like nobody," he professed.

Betty took his chin carefully between finger and thumb, stood on tiptoe, and pressed her mouth to the three-quarters of his that was unaffected by the cut her punch had left in his lip. Hand sliding under the back of her jacket, Sweet Pea leaned into Betty and opened her mouth delicately with his tongue. She made a little noise and his hips came forward, pinning her resolutely to the wall. Breathing through her nose, Betty began to get comfortably lightheaded as her boyfriend's tongue rolled deliberately against hers. Their kiss made caution sweet in a way she imagined it had never been for her restless young Serpent. In fact, Sweet Pea's prediction of what was going to happen out here seemed like it wouldn't be realized, until Betty felt his hips dip and rub insistently against hers, the swell of his erection catching her between the legs. She breathed fast through her nose, inhaling the scent of his blood, and Sweet Pea took a firm grip on her ass, moving against her again.

Things sped up then, their foolish, eager fingers fumbling with the fastenings on one another's jeans as muted laughter rumbled on the other side of the wall. Impatiently, Betty grabbed Sweet Pea's ass, hand slipping into his back pocket and running across the lace of the bra he'd stuffed there.

"Condoms are in the front pocket, babe," he spoke against her lips.

"What's your point?" She gave his ass a purposeful grope.

"Nothing, if you're just enjoying yourself. Personally…" his palm flattened against her stomach and he slid it south, dragging down the front of her underwear as much as her unzipped jeans would allow, "…I'd rather enjoy you under your clothes."

"Oh yeah?" Betty teased, extracting her hand and copying him, bringing it around to his abdomen and tunneling it up under his shirt; even the soft cotton stung her knuckles. This close to Sweet Pea, she noticed his chest move as he worked harder to breathe. "So anything over the clothes," her hand lifted, fingers trailing down to reposition her palm on the outside of his exposed boxers, "is a waste of time?" She pressed his rigid erection.

Like he was trying to one-up her, Sweet Pea poked two fingers into her underwear, forcing her jeans to give up ground and let his hand curve all the way down to her crotch. Betty banged her back against the wall as if pushed when his fingertips skimmed over her clit.

"Stop with the trick questions and get a condom." His words were needy, his tone offered them as a suggestion, but his fingers held off on rubbing her.

Biting her lip, Betty took her hand off him and twisted it into his half-folded-over front pocket.

"Ouch!" she yelped, the texture of the denim and tightness of the fit too much for her scraped up knuckles. "Sorry," she said with a smile. "It looks like my fingers are going to be pretty useless tonight."

"Yeah, well don't expect me to feel sorry for them. You skinned your knuckles hitting my fucking face, remember?" he asked wryly, extricating the condom for her. Sweet Pea started to offer it to her, but Betty made a face to let him know she wouldn't be tearing it open or putting it on him either. She held up her hands, the backs to him, and wriggled her fingers.

"Useless."

Sweet Pea made a noise of soft disappointment, then met her eyes, his positively burning. He raised the wrapped condom to his mouth and surprised Betty by not tearing it open, but leaving it pinched between his teeth instead.

"Good thing my fingers work just fine," he said distortedly, keeping his teeth clenched together.

His one hand slipped out of her pants as he used both to grab the material at her hips and yank it harshly down. Betty glanced quickly from side to side; the door of the Wyrm banged shut, causing them both to stiffen, though she stiffened in alarm and he stiffened in his boxers. Long seconds later, a motorcycle thundered to life, the noise rolling away from them, and she could breathe again. Betty turned her head to look at Sweet Pea and found him grinning ecstatically, now holding the condom between two fingers. She knew what he was thinking, how he was feeling, and in a moment, she was feeling it too, or at least his rough fingers, which were back on her clit, massaging her into hysteria.

When she was wet and panting, barely keeping her feet under her for the amount she kept corkscrewing her ankles―like she thought she'd find pleasure by bumping her foot over it in the dirt―Betty plucked the front of Sweet Pea's shirt and pulled his smirking face down to hers.

"I want you. Now," she gasped. Sweet Pea shook his head mournfully.

"I can't lift you."

"You carried me out here!"

"I think that was the last of my strength."

"You sure?"

His distressed sigh warped into a groan of desire as Betty (careful not to bend her fingers more than they could stand) pushed his jeans, then his boxers down his hips.

"You punched me in the chest, you animal," he accused, laying his hand over his heart. Betty frowned at him sympathetically.

"We're giving up then?" Maybe it was mean to pretend, but she couldn't help teasing him.

"Hell no. We don't give up," he said gruffly and grasped her hips, turning her to face the wall. She heard the wrapper rip, felt his cock nudge her entrance, then his warm hands slid straight up her stomach to hold her breasts as he thrust inside.

Her exhale hiccupped out and she braced her hands against the wall as Sweet Pea pumped into her again with a groan. Betty laid her cheek on her arm, peeking back at him. Eyes closed, licking thoughtfully along his bottom lip, he looked so sexy. And she reveled in it. His hold on her breasts contracted and Betty arched lustfully into those hands, big like the rest of him. She pushed her hips back, moaning when he pulsed ahead, driving up along her inner front wall. By the time they'd hit half a dozen thrusts, they'd adjusted their stances and her boyfriend was bucking into her with an easy repetitive motion that had Betty biting down briefly on her leather sleeve.

She made the mistake of believing it couldn't get better, feeling him hot between her legs and his hands roving her chest, but Sweet Pea proved her wrong; she was starting to think that was a thing with him. He leaned closer (she felt the angle change, making her tighten up) until he had his chest to her back, his heart to her Serpents symbol. His hands fell, holding her waist, tracing over her stomach―one going (finally! her brain scream) even lower, seeking fingers discovering her clit all over again. The best thing was the way he kissed her cheek and swept the hair away from her ear with his nose so she could hear his uneven, love-struck breathing. With his fingers toying with her, and his trembling breath, and his greedy, giving thrusts, Betty came powerfully, nearly collapsing but for his hands holding her up. He was persisting, maybe (probably) just to show her he could. Weak, yet deeply content, she caught one of his hands where it was stroking along her ribs like they were piano keys his fingers were about to play and brought it to her mouth, doing nothing but grazing her lips aimlessly over the back of his hand. His thrusts became shorter, less rhythmic and Betty, loosely holding his hand, turned to look at him, face pressed to his.

"I love you," she said. His nose dug into her cheek as he gasped her name and his entire body shuddered against hers.

After he'd thrown the condom into a rusted garbage can, which Betty figured was probably full of its latex kin and worse, Sweet Pea came back to where she was standing, combing her fingers distractedly through her hair. His eyes went from hers to her lips and he kissed her like he couldn't help it, until she was leaning her shoulders into the wall, clinging to the arm he'd flexed next to her head, propping himself up and over her. The door of the Wyrm clanged again and this time, someone turned their corner and stared at them woozily. They didn't exactly jump apart, but they managed to disconnect their mouths and turn their heads.

"Helping her find her keys," Sweet Pea explained to the man, indicating Betty by patting her hip. She was so, so thankful that they'd both pulled their jeans back up―though she still felt startled and calmed it by sneaking her hand into her boyfriend's jacket and touching his chest. The man snorted.

"Yeah right. I'm not that fucking drunk, kid." He shook his head and retreated. Betty and Sweet Pea glanced at each other and laughed.

"We could just take off," he tossed out. Tempted, Betty clutched at his hips, eyeing him up and down.

"No," she decided. "They're probably waiting for me."

"Oh, fuck them," Sweet Pea griped, kicking the wall of the Wyrm.

"Hey!" Betty snapped jokingly. "That's my family you're talking about! You see this patch, buddy?" She pointed to the miniature embroidered snake that Alice or someone else had affixed to the sleeve years ago. "This means something to me! I worked hard to―"

Sweet Pea grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her soundly.

"Too much?" she asked with raised eyebrows when he lifted his mouth from hers. "I'll learn to get more like them."

"Don't," he told her. "I'm kinda hoping they'll get more like you."

Betty grinned and leaned her head into Sweet Pea's shoulder, letting him throw an arm around her and lead her back towards the bar's entrance. Before they could step inside, she made him stop so she could glance around the parking lot. There was nothing much to see, really, but Betty was smiling when she tilted her head back and looked at the stars.

The End