Beronica Oneshots

Lead Me

Now that they’re here, in her room, Betty is starting to lose her nerve.

“We don’t have to do this,” Veronica reassures her. She’s looking around Betty’s room with interest – the pictures on her vanity, the frills and flowers, the knick knacks on her shelves. Betty wonders what Veronica’s bedroom looks like. Wonders if she’ll ever get to see it. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

And that’s the whole crux of the matter, when you get down to it. Betty is a good girl. She does what she’s told. She does what’s safe. She follows expectations.

It’s a life, but not much of one. And not the one she wants to be living.

“I want to,” Betty says, firmly. Decisively. She uncurls her hands and reaches for Veronica.

Veronica takes the hint, and the lead. Her lips brush against Betty’s, and for a split second she’s back in the gymnasium, baffled and sweaty palmed, with the weight of Cheryl’s disdainful gaze on them. Panic bubbles through her, and then Veronica’s tongue presses against the seam of her lips, and it’s the most natural thing in the world to open them and let her in.

For their second kiss – and, incidentally, her fourth ever – it’s good. Sweet, and tender and full of promise.

Betty has always been patient. Always been able to wait for a promise to be fulfilled, no matter how long it takes. But she’s tired of waiting, wishing and hoping. It never seems to get her anywhere, or at least nowhere she wants to be.

She presses forwards, hovering her hands over Veronica’s hips before the courage flows through her enough to let them rest against the fabric of Veronica’s cheerleading skirt. A thrill ripples through her body and she slides her tongue to meet Veronica’s, demanding more without speaking a word.

She nudges her towards the bed.

“Whoa, tiger,” Veronica says, breaking the kiss. Her eyes flash, but she’s smiling.

“Sorry,” Betty says, automatically, glancing away. Embarrassment floods her, colouring her cheeks. She wonders if being rejected is something she’s going to have to just get used to.

Veronica’s fingers catch her chin, tilting it up.

“I just meant we have all the time in the world. No need to rush.”

“My mom will be home in an hour,” Betty says. She wants to warn Veronica how very not awesome it would be if her mom caught them, for far too many reasons. But she can’t seem to find the words. Not without explaining about Polly, about what her mother things about Cheryl and Archie and Veronica.

Veronica laughs. It’s soft, but it makes Betty’s toes curl inside her white sneakers. “Then we have a whole sixty minutes,” she corrects herself. “There’s plenty we can do in that time.”

“Like what?” Betty hears her own voice, breathless and eager. She feels at such a loss with this sort of thing, out of her depth. It’s not normally a feeling she enjoys, but Veronica is so patient.

Veronica toes off her sneakers and sits down on the bed, patting the space beside her. “Why don’t we start by getting more comfortable?”

Betty only hesitates for a heartbeat or two before she kicks off her own shoes and sits beside her.

“Lie down,” Veronica suggests, nudging Betty until she’s reclining on the pillows.

Betty bites her bottom lip as Veronica nudges her legs apart and crawls up the length of the bed. There’s something feline about her movements, and Betty is entranced by the fluidity of her, the self confidence she exudes. She wonders what it would be like to feel that way about herself.