less smut, more angst really.
push against him, hips snapping together, heavy fingers leaving bruises on the exposed skin of my waist. Friction, burning, stinging friction. I'm angry, so angry even the warmth of his lips on my bruised neck isn't a distraction.
He's in his boxers, dark black against perfectly placed white lace. He's pushing me, my name tumbling from his lips, barely audible as he moans into my skin
"Betts...Betts please."
No. I hate him, he loves me.
My fingers tangle in the mess of curls on top of his head, I'm pulling too hard, but he likes it. He likes everything I do. I don't want space, I want bee stung lips and breathy moans. He holds me closer, I want to cry.
I hate him. He loves me.
I'm sliding his boxers down achingly slow, the heat pools in my stomach and I stare for a moment. Jughead Jones is perfect, every freckle and mole I know all too well. He's pushing the damp blonde strands out of my face, his fingers stroking my cheeks, my lips, my eyes.
"I missed you. I love you. I need you."
His hands dip lower, unsteady hands carefully peeling away lace. There's no hesitation, we're both ready, always so ready.
I rock against him. This will be the last time.
I said that last time.
He's gasping, I'm floating.
I hate him. He loves me.
I'm coming down and he's flying up. My eyes catch sight of the familiar leather jacket hanging on the seat beside his bed.
He groans, deep and guttural, lips dropping to press into mine. I take what I can get, I take it all
But it's never enough.
And then it's over.
I've surprised him this time when I roll off of the bed, pulling my cheerleading skirt on and tying my hair up.
"What.. where are you going?"
"Home." I whisper into the quiet trailer, lacing my sneakers.
"What did I do? Talk to me baby please." He's desperate, heartbreakingly confused.
My knees are unsteady, heart is aching. I'm not ready to say goodbye.
I hate him. He loves me.
"I can't do this anymore." It's simple. 5 words.
He's crawling across the bed, silk sheet pooling around his waist.
"It wasn't good for you? I can make it better, I was selfish, let me show you how much I love you." His long fingers shakily press against my bare back, pulling me back into the bed, untying my sneakers slowly.
I'm staring at the ceiling
"You don't love me." It's a whisp of a whisper, more to me than my love.
He hears, so in tune to every little piece of me, his eyes are wide and he's tugging me to sit, he wants to talk, wants to know.
I hate him. He loves me.
"I love you. Don't ever think that I don't. How can you say that?"
I'm laughing now, bitter and sad as my eyes catch sight of the jacket. He reaches for me, turning my head to his, hands cupping my cheeks.
"No. no baby. Not yet, I can't leave them yet. They need me."
I'm still laughing, tears streaming down my cheeks and though his fingers
"I need you."
He's pulling me on to his lap, I've always been safe here, this is my safe place.
"You have me baby."
I want to get away, feel for the mattress but I can't move. I won't move.
"I have a part of you. It's not enough. Not anymore."
There's no more laughing.
I hate him. He loves me.
"You have all of me. Always. I'll give you whatever you want, I'll give you everything."
He's crying, I'm crying.
My fists are clenched but he sees that too, pulls my palms up to kiss.
"No. no. I love you."
I run my fingers over his cheeks, rub my nose over his.
"I love you so much I hate you."
He's nodding, easing me back into the bed, unzipping my cheerleading skirt.
"I know."
I love him. He loves me.
