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can't fight the moonlight
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Even with all the trucks parked outside, Pop’s is fairly empty when Archie walks in there: an old guy reading the newspaper, some couples, and a few of his students are sharing a booth in the corner, dunking fries into vanilla milkshakes and laughing.
He smiles briefly—he misses being that young and carefree, sitting across Betty and Jughead with his hand on Veronica’s thigh, talking about everything and nothing at once.
Sean, one of the kids in the team, spots him and the dress uniform he’s been wearing for most part of his day now. He wolf-whistles. “Looking sharp, Coach Andrews!”
The other students turn to look at Archie. Truth is, he’d rather be wearing anything else, but he’s late as it is, so stopping by his place to change after his meeting with General Taylor would be impossible.
“Thanks, Sean.” Archie gives them a friendly wave, heading towards the door that will lead him to the Wyrm. “Have fun, guys.”
Downstairs, it’s a very different scenario.
The pub is packed with people, men mostly, cheering at a few girls dancing and singing on the bar, a rendition of Poison’s Nothing but a Good Time.
Archie’s eyes roam over the girls as he approaches one empty table. He can see Cheryl and Tabitha, and they look great, but they disappear next to her. Veronica, swaying her hips and shoulders, wearing this tiny little black shirt and sheer tights, leather shorts. Her black hair tossed to the side.
Veronica, who’s in the background, but also who’s the center of everything. The center of it all.
He sits at the table, wetting his lips even though his mouth is suddenly dry, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Not so long ago—twenty-seven days, but who’s counting—he was pressing her into the mattress of her new bedroom, making her gasp out his name.
He still can’t believe things didn’t go the way they had planned after she came back from meeting Chad in New York.
Her eyes narrow, a little intrigued. He realizes she’s seen him sitting there and was probably not expecting him. He presses his lips together. Truth is, he came to help finding some killer Betty’s after, and he intends to do so, but right now watching Veronica moving like that seems more important.
Archie knows he probably shouldn’t, considering they’re taking their time apart, but he allows his gaze to go down her body—the choker collar around her neck that looks like it could rip so easily. All the skin she’s showing, shoulders, arms, cleavage. Those legs and the recent memory of how they felt wrapped around him.
He feels stuffy inside his uniform. There’s some stirring in his lower belly, that desire burning like a small flame that has been lit. It’s such a familiar feeling—a never ending crave whenever he’d look at her, something that was never truly satiated. It’s been ten years since he watched her walk into that diner upstairs, and he still feels the same.
It's crazy.
She steps forward, her eyes locked on his for a moment before they shift. It’s her turn to sing, raising a shot glass to match the lyrics. Archie chuckles when she takes the shot, the laugh turning into a smile. She probably tastes like rum now. It makes him want to order a shot himself just so they can share the same taste in their mouths.
Her voice hits just the right note. It fills her movements with energy. She shakes her shoulders and their gaze meets again—his smile is reflected on her smile, and as the crowd yells and whistles, he can’t help but join them. He claps and gives her a nod, eyebrows traveling towards his hairline.
The three girls hold each other once the song is over. Tabitha announces the next round will be on the house, making everyone cheer even louder.
Veronica hops off the counter, grabbing a bottle of rum from the bar and walking in his direction.
“Sergeant Andrews,” she greets in that flirtatious tone that will be the end of him, coming closer. She’s breathless, and Archie can see the tiny beads of sweater on her chest. His hands itch to touch her, but he keeps them on his lap, tongue darting out to wet his lips again. “We weren’t sure you were coming.”
She sits on his table, crossing her legs, and sips from the rum bottle and hands it to him.
Archie has two instincts—the first is to tell her about his day, about his meeting with General Taylor, ask her what she thinks about it. He fights against that. They’re not together right now, not until she’s a free woman, so she doesn’t have to be bothered with his shit.
The second instinct is to touch her, place a hand on her tight-covered thigh, caress her with his fingertips. He fights even harder against it, and accepts the bottle.
The rum burns its way through his throat. Good.
“Looks like I got here just in time. Nice show.”
“Mm, you know me. Always ready for a Friday night.” She raises one eyebrow and takes the bottle back. He laughs a little but it soon stops once he realizes she’s reaching out to touch him, smoothing down the collar of his jacket. “Where did you go, hm, dressed like this? Are you trying to murder me?”
“Ronnie,” he warns, holding her hand to stop her. He can’t breathe with her looking down at him like this. The skin of her hand is so soft.
“Who is Ronnie?” she arches her eyebrow even higher. Archie frowns, confused. “Sergeant Andrews, don’t tell me you forgot about me so soon.”
“What are you—”
“You must remember my name.” Her voice drops a notch when she says that, leaning closer to him.
When it hits him, he’s half-amused and half-annoyed at her, because that’s one low blow, and she knows it. He told her they had to stay away until she got divorced. Still, he can’t seem to let go of her hand, or stop himself from the name that drops from his lips the next second.
“Monica?”
Her eyes sparkle. Archie hates her, and himself, for playing along. How is he supposed to stay away from her when she’s doing this, bringing back some of the wildest things they’ve ever done together. Whispering Monica’s name in her ear, feeling embarrassed of that little game and so turned on at the same time; or those days in juvie where thinking about her with dark lipstick and a blonde wig were the images that kept him going.
“I knew you wouldn’t forget.” Her fingertips slide from his hand, down, and she undoes one of his jacket’s golden buttons, and then the other. Archie’s breath hitches.
“You’ve changed your hair,” he whispers, since he’s always been a total idiot. Veronica slips her hand under his jacket, smoothing her palm over his chest. He's wearing an undershirt, but it's still not enough to keep his skin from filling up with goosebumps.
“Going a little more au naturel lately.” She leans even closer, her hand down his stomach now. Archie can’t do this. It’s too easy to forget they’re in a bar full of people. “Why don’t we go somewhere, Sergeant? Hm? Just you and me? Like old times?”
He closes his eyes for a second, just so she won’t see the way they’re rolling to the back of his head. He’s starting to strain in his pants, and they won’t do anything to hide it, if this goes on.
“What about the divorce papers?” he asks, not only to cool himself down, because he has to let her, Veronica, know he wants to keep his promise, no matter the effect she, Monica, has on him.
She moves, her lips brushing his cheekbone, and then up his ear. “Veronica is handling that, I promise.” She presses a light kiss on his earlobe, and then whispers, “Please?”
He runs the hand that was holding hers up her arm, towards her shoulder, feeling the soft skin under his palm. He curls his fingers around the thin strap of her top, and then stops. God, he truly is such an idiot. He’s just gonna get burned again. He needs her to be Chad-free, he needs her to tell him she wants him, only him—
Her tongue darts out into the shell of his ear. “C’mon, lover.”
She jumps off the table, as if she knows he will go after her, that she’s won already. Archie heaves out a defeated breath. He gets up and takes one last swig of rum, letting her pull him by the hand. Cheryl and Tabitha seem to be ready for another dance, up on the counter one more time.
What am I doing? He thinks as he follows her through the crowd. What is she doing?
Monica takes him to a place he knows very well—Veronica’s old office, when the Wyrm was La Bonne Nuit. They’ve been together here before, seven years ago. It used to be so finely decorated, with black and white pictures of New York during the prohibition hanging on the walls. She used to own a victrola and play jazz records while working, his girl from another era, and more than once they had made love on her polished wooden desk with that soundtrack on.
It's different, nowadays. It’s still an office but all that old glamour is gone. It fits the pub’s new aesthetic, walls covered with ragged posters, glass rim stains on every surface, a perpetual smell of cigarettes and beer. The song the girls were playing can be heard from inside, you can try to resist, try to hide from my kiss.
As soon as the door is closed, Archie feels his back hit the wall and her body presses his. She holds his face and pulls it down, closer to hers. He licks his lips before capturing hers in a deep kiss, hands clutching at her waist. She makes a sound into his mouth, and he feels the effect it has on his blood, making it all rush down. He’s hard against her stomach where their bodies meet within a second.
So much for trying to stay away from each other.
Fuck, twenty-seven days and he’s missed her so much. Now that he had her again, he isn’t sure how he survived the past seven years. Or how he’ll survive the next twenty-seven days if she doesn’t—
“You’re so fucking handsome dressed like this. I saw you from up there and I went crazy,” she mutters into his mouth, pushing his jacket off his shoulder. Archie shrugs it off and holds her again, chasing her lips with his, both his hands sliding down her waist to her ass in the leather shorts.
He groans at the feeling of her flesh in his hands. She’s tugging at his tie, losening it up, and even though she has a lot less clothes on than he does, there’s still too many barriers between them.
“I must be crazy,” he says, running his hands up her back and into her hair. “You drive me nuts. Do you know that?”
She kisses him in response, her tongue rolling against his, determined to drive him even further into madness. She removes his tie and starts opening his shirt, button after button, her hands rushing, unlike her slow, deep kiss. He’s missed it so fucking much, her tongue, her taste.
Veronica—or Monica, whoever she wants to be right now—moans when he touches her chest, his thumbs finding the hardening nipples under the thin fabric. He already knew she wasn’t wearing a bra but it’s still so fucking hot to push the strap of her top down and reveal one of her breasts. She stops kissing to throw her head back, and Archie kisses down her neck, his teeth tugging at the choker.
Archie reaches down to undo her belt. She does the same to his—faster than him, and her hand is already making its way into his pants. He grunts when she wraps around him roughly, pinching her nipple as a response.
They’re wearing too many clothes for a quickie, is what he thinks once she takes some mercy and stops moving her hand. To get where he wants he needs to get past her belt and her shorts and her thighs. She’s taken off his jacket and shirt and tie, but there’s still the white undershirt to deal with. He has boots and pants and—
She reads him like she always has, takes note of his racing mind, and places her hand on the nape of his neck and pulls him into another bruising kiss to ground him. Archie bends to take her exposed nipple into his lips. He lets his tongue work around it, catching little noises that come from the bottom of her throat.
He wanted to be somewhere else with her. Something like their first time after seven years, when they made love in her unfinished living room’s floor, rediscovering every inch of each other’s body. He wants, loves, and misses her too much for this to be enough. He—
“Stop thinking, Archiekins,” she says, and in the next second she’s dropping to her knees in front of him. Archie looks down, holding his breath as he watches her reach for him inside his pants again. His erection springs free in front of her and he pushes his head against the wall as she starts licking along it, from base to top, so slowly he has no choice but to do what she said and stop thinking.
“Fuck,” he swears when she wraps her mouth around him. His hands automatically search for her hair, and with Monica it was always that platinum blonde, slightly dry texture running through his fingers, but given everything he’s so glad that she’s not wearing the wig tonight. Her raven, sleek hair is all he wants in his hand as she twirls her tongue around his tip, that starts oozing after only a couple of minutes.
She takes him deeper into her throat once, and then once more. Archie increases the grip on her hair, shutting his eyes and groaning. He feels a tightness on his stomach, on his legs—he forces his eyes open to watch her work her mouth and hand around him, and he wants—he needs—
“Please,” he begs, surprised with the desperation in his voice. He’s so hard, pulsing, and every time she bobs her head, he feels like he’s going to combust with the heat vibrating through his body. “Please, baby.”
He’s not sure what he’s asking for. Her, he thinks—he's asking for her, because while he does have her right now, it’s not enough. He needs her closer. He needs more. He cups the base of her head and pulls her up, kissing her again with abandon, his hand finding her uncovered breast once more.
She moves away from him and in a quick motion, they exchange places. Veronica turns around, bracing herself with her palms against the wall. Archie comes closer behind her, pushing her hair to the side and putting his mouth on her neck. His hands are quick to push down her shorts, tights, panties, everything, until they’re pooling up around her ankles. The contact of her bare backside with his erection, still wet from her mouth, makes him grunt.
Archie touches her slowly—first her breasts, exposing the other one; then down to her stomach, and then his right hand goes even lower. His fingers find her center and he breathes heavily into her ear as he finds out how turned on she is, soaked in a way that makes it so easy for his fingers to go up and down her slit, and for his thumb to circle her clit.
“Archie,” she whispers, and he moves his fingers again and again until she’s rolling her hips against him, increasing the friction between them. “Archie, Archie, God.”
He could come just from this—touching her, hearing her say his name and grinding against him—but he definitely can't stop now, since he’s already so far gone from what he initially came here for. “Do you want—”
She parts her legs as wide as she can with her clothes around her ankle, and it’s space enough for Archie to guide himself inside of her. They both freeze for a second when her velvet walls completely sheath him, that completeness he's never found with anyone else. Archie holds on to her naked breast with one hand and to her hip with the other, and then moves slowly in and out of her, hissing against her ear.
“Ronnie,” he says, and maybe he doesn’t know how to roleplay anymore, because he probably should be saying Monica, but it doesn’t matter.
“Fuck me.” She pushes back, meeting his thrusts as he rolls her nipple between his fingers, grabbing her hip with such force that it might mark.
And hell, maybe he wants it to. Maybe he wants to mark her. He doesn’t like giving into these thoughts, but this between them, this is why nothing else will ever work. They belong to each other. No one else can make them feel like that, can they? And even if something happened with Chad in New York, Archie knows that this, this feeling, this heat that only grows and grows and grows is just his, no one else’s. The way Veronica clenches and moves, the noises that she makes, the sweat that pours out of her skin.
“You’re mine, baby, aren’t you?” Archie hears himself ask as he pushes into her. One of his hands wraps around her neck, clutching just a little. His teeth graze her earlobe.
“Holy shit, Archie,” she moans louder, and they’re lucky that there’s still music coming from the bar, because they’re not being quiet. Archie keeps the hold of her neck while his other hand works on her clit, pinching and pulling.
“Tell me that you’re mine,” he demands. He tugs at her choker again, just like he fantasized before when she was dancing, and rips it off her neck. The harsh movement makes her whimper, and Archie wonders if he went too far, but then she starts to clench around him. "I need to hear it."
“I am.” She turns her head, so their mouths are close to each other again. Archie slows his rhythm, turning into sweet, slow, deep torture, and he can feel himself getting closer and closer as they move in sync. “It’s all for you. Everything, anything you want, I’m yours, I’m—”
Archie kisses her with an open mouth and it takes him three, four slow thrusts to feel her start to lose it. He picks up his pace—hips and tongue and fingers—and her walls squeeze him so tight that he can’t help but give himself up to the feeling, letting it take over him. He erupts into her as she starts to tremble and tremble until she’s right there with him.
He kisses her softly as they calm down, catching their breath. He kisses the side of her face and then down her neck, gently, and her shoulder. I love you, he wants to say, because it’s been so long since he did, and he keeps thinking that she needs to know he still does, that he always has, but he also knows it’s still not the right time.
Slowly, Archie gets out of her and Veronica turns in his arms. He takes a small step back so they can rearrange their clothes—they can’t forget that they’re in public, no matter how easy it was until now—and once everything is in place, she’s wrapping her arms around his neck, looking up at him.
I love you, he thinks again when he holds her by the waist. “I miss you,” he says instead because he didn’t get enough of her. “But I don’t want us to lose sight of—”
Veronica places a finger on his lip, shushing him. “I meant what I said. I’m yours.”
He drops his forehead closer to hers. There’s so many things he wants—to take her home and take off her clothes and enjoy the fact that she’s still slick with him to push inside her again; to take her home and sleep with her and then wake up with her, every single day of their lives. But she’s still married to that man, and he needs to patient and follow his own rules.
“I thought that was Monica speaking,” he decides to tease instead of bringing any heaviness into it.
She chuckles, rolling her eyes a little, and then kisses him. “Don’t wear this uniform around me again. It’s not fair.”
His jacket and shirt are on the dirty ground, all his honors so insignificant. He sees a faint mark on her neck, probably where the choker broke, and bends to kiss it too, feeling a little bad for it. Archie holds her face, cupping her cheeks.
“I know you’re handling it. Just hurry up, okay?”
Veronica doesn’t say anything, doesn’t update him. She just tiptoes to kiss him again, soft at first, just a brush of her lips and a hint of teeth, and then she opens her mouth for a slow, deep one that has so much meaning. When it's over, she throws her hair to the side and steps away.
“I’ll go back, before the girls start to worry.”
It’s as hard to let go of her as it’s always been, but he does, immediately missing her proximity. When she opens the door, the music comes in even louder, a reminder of the world outside.
“Ronnie?” he calls.
She stops with one foot outside the room. “Yeah?”
I love you. “I’m yours too, you know,” he says.
She gives him a soft smile that turns into a little smirk that tells him that she does know. “I'll be seeing you soon, Archie,” she says, just like she did at Pop's the other day.
He heaves out a breath. No matter how soon she promises to come back, he'll never get used to watch her walk away.
.