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It’s the most competitive game of musical chairs JD has ever seen.
Okay, well...
Technically, everyone’s all jolly and chill, with just that brand of tipsy, explosive energy you'd expect from a bunch of haggard college students suddenly coming back to life to party their woes away at the end of hell week.
Did they pass? Did they fail? Who cares when there’s cheap booze and funky music, right?
Lotsa fun and laughter to be had.
But, as usual, what party would be complete without thicc assed tension running between Heather and Veronica? You’d think after two years of dating they’d have mellowed out. Just a teeny tiny bit.
But, nooooooo...
They’ve just gotten worse.
So, yes, drunk fun and games aside, it is the most competitive game of musical chairs JD has ever witnessed.
This is probably one of their convoluted mating dances. For all anyone knows, they’re fighting for dominance to determine who’s going to end up bent over the other’s knee.
Whatever happened to good ol’ fashioned communication?
Hey, babe! I want to top tonight.
Sure thing, babe! I think that’s great.
Or something, JD doesn’t know.
All he knows is that he's the first to get kicked to the sidelines. Literally, mind you. Except there was less kicking involved and more aggressive shoving from Veronica. Okay, so maybe not “literally” kicking, per se. But Veronica did stick out a leg to trip him so it counts.
Of course, Chandler showed her up in the next round up by tackling one of the frat bros out of his chair. Frat Bro was rendered more than a little bit dazed and ready to complain (Hey! That’s not f—) but Heather Chandler has never known how not to use a well executed death glare so Frat Bro ended up conceding with a huff.
At some point Duke decided it wasn’t worth putting herself in either Veronica’s or Heather’s line of fire. She tapped out to let McNamara safely snag a chair even though it proves useless. Her girlfriend is out of the game two rounds later, right after Martha. Betty was a little bit more stubborn, ended up as the last of them standing. Sort of. And when it came down to the last three people, Duke and Martha egged her on to avenge their fallen butts.
Alas, no fallen butts were to be avenged. Martha gets points for good effort but Ronnie and Chandler – to no one’s surprise – still end up competing for the one chair to top them all.
There’s a bit of a lull after that. Because JD might be drunk, but he still knows how to be a proper ass. And he’s the ass who now has control of the music. So Heather and Veronica get to stand there for a little bit in a lil Mexican stand-off. But instead of a third person there’s a chair, and the chair wants to be anywhere but that room.
“Oi, JD, just play a fucking song already!” Veronica shouts, turning a bit to give JD her best attempt at a sideways glare.
Unlike Veronica’s evident irritation, Heather looked more amused than anything.
“Indeed, Jason.” She says, tone matching the sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You should play the song.”
Veronica is immediately suspicious of Heather and JD. She looks at them with narrowed eyes, gaze flicking back and forth between the two. Heather simply shrugs, a half smile sits on her face like a ghost. JD has a wider, dopier grin. His attention focused on giving Heather a thumbs up before very dramatically pressing the screen of his phone.
“Alrighty! Playing the song!” His loud declaration ends on an anticlimactic note and Veronica ends up staring at him because there’s a split second before the song just... starts?
Literally.
Slow, rolling intro and all.
And, it’s such a stark contrast to the cheesy party remix Betty so tediously made that Veronica’s brain lags a bit and, for a very (very) brief moment, she ends up forgetting she’s in the middle of a game.
That is, until she feels the gentle pressure of Heather’s hand on her cheek coaxing her attention away from JD.
“Eyes on me, darling.” Heather all but purrs.
When did Heather get that close?
Then she starts... dancing? ...around Veronica.
Sexily.
Sexy dancing.
Wowwords.
Words.
Veronica knows words.
“Uh,” She starts, totally not stammering.
(And totally not intimidated. Or aroused. Or bothered. Or feeling things because of the look Heather gives her at
Baby, I want to fuck you.)
“You’re supposed to walk the chair.”
Heather cocks her head sideways, questioning and looking very amused. She's still dancing.
(I’m gonna tear into your soul.)
“Around the chair, I mean. Walking. Around it.” Veronica is only sort of intensely staring at the hypnotic sway of Heather’s hips. “You should - uh - be doing. That.”
Heather snorts at her fumbling, a soft sound smothered by a bark of laughter. “But isn’t this more fun?”
It was very endearing.
And also confusingly hot.
Veronica is very gay.
“Y- yeah—“ She begins to say before catching herself, scowling, and finally moving to approach the chair. “I mean no. No. I came here to win.”
“Well, so did I.” Heather grins, unperturbed by Veronica’s attempt at dismissal.
(How do you want me? How do you want me?)
Heather does – and Veronica isn’t sure if she’s disappointed or relieved – keep the dancing to a minimum.
They move around the chair, with Heather still swaying a bit to the music and Veronica trying her hardest to look annoyed and pretend like half her attention isn’t on Heather’s ass.
(Finally, the song screeches to a halt—
Honey, I want to break you.)
Instinct and pettiness drives Veronica towards the chair. She was going to plant her butt on that damned chair and show Heather her attempts at distraction did not work.
Heather is closer, but Veronica is faster. She slides into the seat more than she actually takes a step to sit on the chair. Veronica’s eyes slam shut, half anticipating crashing into Heather. But when she feels herself actually landing on the chair, catching Heather in the process and getting the wind knocked out of her lungs, Veronica feels herself grinning widely in triumph.
She opens her eyes, huge grin still plastered on her face, about to laud her victory over Heather’s stupidly beautiful head when she realizes that they’re only a breath apart. Whatever annoyance Veronica expected to find on Heather’s face is replaced instead by a quiet sort of smugness.
Veronica freezes, all at once realizing that Heather’s somehow managed to casually (gracefully) end up on her lap in the middle of a fucking musical chairs game with her arms thrown casually around Veronica’s neck.
The logical part of her brain assures her that everything is happening within the span of a moment but Veronica’s damned sure time is steadily crawling to a standstill.
The words die on her tongue. Victory lost in the heat of Heather’s body pressed against her. Her eyes dart down to her girlfriend’s lips instinctively.
Veronica swallows.
“You’ve–“ She tries to say, wincing as her voice cracks. Veronica clears her throat, forcing the words out a little faster. “You’ve lost, Chandler.”
Heather hums thoughtfully at this, making Veronica groan internally. She wished she didn’t sound as dumb as she felt.
It isn’t until her brain finally registers the smirk that found its way on Heather’s lips, all teeth and amusement bared, that Veronica realizes she hasn’t stopped staring at the other girl’s mouth.
“Have I?”
Veronica sees the words forming on Heather’s lips without actually registering the sound coming out.
“What?”
She’s still staring. Tut tut she hears Heather chide. The next thing Veronica feels is Heather putting her index finger under her chin, nudging gently, and tilting her face upwards, forcing Veronica to meet her eyes.
And even under the low lights they were oh so vibrant and glinting something dangerous. Veronica is lost in a jungle of green, and Heather is the tiger ready to pounce.
“Have I actually lost, Veronica?”
The way Heather says her name is... delicious. Imbued with all the tantalizing promise of a damned good time.
That.
Or Veronica seriously underestimated how drunk she was.
“You’re sitting on my lap.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself. Veronica feels the heat descend on her face angrily and she can only imagine how red she must’ve been, silently hoping that the dim lighting and the ever-changing strobes might disguise it.
A look of surprise dawns on Heather’s face, as though she’s only realizing where she is. The expression is theatrical, mocking, and a brand of imperious that’s distinctly Heather Chandler trademarked.
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, her index finger comes to her chin, tap, tap, tapping as though she’s actually thinking about it. Then, she grins, wide and wolfish. “I am, aren’t I?”
In one fluid motion, her arm is back around Veronica’s neck and her fingers are weaving and tangling through dark hair. Veronica feels the light tug against her scalp as Heather’s fingers curl into a fist.
Heather is simultaneously pulling her hair, as if to bare Veronica’s neck, and leaning in.
“Tell me, darling. Who really won tonight?” Heather’s breath is hot against her ear. Veronica shudders, she screws her eyes tight.
Heather doesn’t give Veronica time enough to breathe or finish wondering why nobody has cheered for her tiny victory. She’s already squirming in Veronica’s lap, ass grinding down against her thighs in a way that clearly said I know exactly what I’m doing to you and, fuckity flippity fuck, Veronica just about groans something way too obscene for musical chairs.
After what felt like an eternity, the sound of JD’s half-drunken wolf-whistling finally cuts through the haze in Veronica’s brain. “Yo, Chan-chan, get up and join the losers already!”
Heather shakes her head, finally climbing off of Veronica’s lap, but not before giving her a quick peck on the cheek. She joins the rest of their friends, leaving Veronica sitting with a still-stunned look.
Obviously, Heather was playing an entirely different game and Veronica wasn’t warned about it.
Honestly, she should've seen it coming.
Was she complaining?
Not really.
Was she going to try and get Heather back?
Most definitely.