Work Text:
Intermission: a time during which something is temporarily stopped or delayed
hey
That's all Chloe's text message says; three little letters with no punctuation. And it's just a simple greeting but any correspondence from her makes Beca's pulse flutter the same way it always has. She unlocks her screen and quickly types a reply.
Hey. What's up?
The dots that flicker to show the other person is responding pop up right away.
nothing. i just went to your room but you're not there
Beca feels a pang of loss at that.
Sorry, I'm at Jesse's.
Her stomach twists at the admission, makes it uncomfortable and tight.
Did you need something?
The flickering dots do not appear.
"Babe, do you want a drink?" Jesse's at the fridge, door open, lifting a soda can up above his head and gently shaking it at her as if to emphasize what he's asking.
"Uh, sure. Coke?" She glances over and watches as he bends out of view and then straightens again, moving back and nudging the fridge closed with his foot. He comes back over to the couch, placing Beca's coke down on the coffee table in front of her and his chosen Dr Pepper next to it. He reaches for the remote and starts flicking through the options.
Beca's phone lights up silently in her hand.
no
not really
But?
i miss you
You saw me this morning, weirdo.
that's not what I meant.
Something inside Beca's chest swoops as she reads the message.
Then what did you mean?
sure you want to know?
Her eyes dart to their corners and see Jesse still perusing one of the many streaming channels.
Yeah.
Those three little dots appear to let Beca know that Chloe is typing.
"Are you in more of a Hitchcock or Spielberg mood?" Jesse asks her and Beca glances up at the screen to see a still image of a blonde woman being terrorised by crows.
"Is there a difference?" She asks offhandedly, then turns her head to the side to find Jesse looking like she's just slapped him. Her mouth starts to curve into a sheepishly amused smile and she does a passable attempt at trying to tamp it down as she says, "Sorry. That was-"
"Offensive," Jesse cuts in, holding his hand over his heart, looking for all the world like he's trying to keep it inside his chest despite Beca's attempt to rip it out and stomp on it. Beca nods. "Mean." Another nod. "Ignorant." One final nod from Beca and he sighs. "You're basically the worst person on the planet." He shakes his head, pityingly, then lets the facade fall and a wide smile lights his face.
"Whatever, dude." Beca leans forward to grab her coke and pops the tab with a satisfying click-click-fizz of sound. "Let's go with the murder birds." She takes a hefty sip from the can and sets it back on its coaster before reclining into the couch cushions again. She scoots down a little, unfolding her legs to stretch them out so her heels are propped on the edge of the table.
"Actually, it's just 'The Birds'," Jesse corrects her, still grinning and with the purposeful air of some snarky internet troll who delights in pointing out everyone's mistakes. Beca rolls her eyes as he snags a piece of popcorn from the bowl sitting between them and pops it into his mouth. "This movie does have a really amazing score, though. Every note serves a purpose in its scene and it's all so perfectly tailored towards terror that-- what?"
Beca is smiling at him now. He smiles back, bemused.
"You're such a nerd," she picks up a piece of popcorn to throw at his face and barks a laugh of delighted surprise when he jerks forward and actually catches it in his mouth. He flings his hands up in their air like he just scored the winning touchdown, or some other vague sports reference Beca doesn't really understand.
"I am the nerd King!" He announces, voice deep and booming.
"Oh my god, dude, shut up. They're going to think we're doing some weird roleplay thing in here." This time, Beca grabs a handful of popcorn to throw. Most of it hits Jesse's chest and falls into his lap and he wastes no time gathering them into his palm and tossing them into his mouth one after another.
"You ever think it's weird how popcorn is the only food we'll willingly root around in our crotch for and still eat?"
Beca stares at him for a long moment.
"I think you're weird," she eventually says and he turns his attention back to the TV with a huff of laughter and presses enter on the remote to start the movie. Beca looks back down at her phone and sees a string of texts from Chloe. She uses her thumb to scroll up to the first unread message and she's sure her heart stops beating.
i miss your hands on me
i miss touching you
i miss the way you feel around my fingers
i miss hearing you beg for it
i miss the taste of you in my mouth
Heat pools low in Beca's stomach as she reads and by the time she's done, a familiar throbbing between her legs has made itself known.
Jesus christ
you asked
you know I'll give you anything you ask for
Anticipation slithers down Beca's spine, landing heavily on the edge of her stomach and flipping it up and over. Her thumbs hover over the virtual keyboard for a few seconds, mind racing through a host of potential replies until her gaze is drawn towards Jesse and a cold, jagged lump of guilt works its way down her throat to settle, pinching, between her ribs.
She thumbs the button that turns the screen off and sets her phone down on the arm rest of the couch, then reaches between them to scoop up some popcorn. He turns his head and smiles at her, and she covertly releases a steadying breath as, onscreen, the star of the film makes her way inside a petshop.
Minutes pass, handfuls of them, and it's not that Beca is bored exactly, it's just that one of the women in the movie is on the telephone talking about chicken feed and it kind of reminds Beca that she has her own phone. Wherein there are messages from a woman decidedly not talking about chickens or feed, but a different kind of animalistic hunger altogether.
Beca's fingers twitch, suddenly itchy, and she flexes them, trying to avoid looking at her cellphone still perched on the arm of the couch.
It's then that Jesse pauses the movie with a groan and complains about soda going right through him before he announces he's going to the bathroom.
The second she hears his feet hit the hallway, she picks up her phone and thumbs the screen to life, anticipation making her skin buzz.
She shouldn't want there to be another string of dirty texts waiting for her, but she does.
She shouldn't feel such a strong sense of disappointment when she sees there aren't any new messages from Chloe, but she does.
She shouldn't engage any further, shouldn't want to keep this going.
But she does.
Anything?
And despite the lull in conversation, Chloe's reply is almost instant.
within reason
can't imagine a request from you i'd turn down
but i'm all ears if you want to try me
Beca doesn't know how to reply but it's not for a lack of ideas. Quite the opposite; theoretically, she could have a list a mile long of things she might want Chloe to do for her. With her. To her.
She shouldn't.
But she does.
She starts to type a reply, a jokingly worded rebuff that will end this line of conversation without doing damage, but she doesn't like how it sounds and erases it. When she tries to rephrase it, her mind goes blank save for three words, standing out in striking white against the otherwise empty blackness of her brain.
Tie me up?
The couch suddenly shifts and a second later, Jesse lands beside her, having launched himself over the back of it. He misses the popcorn bowl, but does jostle it hard enough that some of the puffed kernels decide to abandon ship and throw themselves over the side. She drops her phone face down into her lap, jumping, and levels him with a mock glare that he just grins at.
"You're like a toddler."
"A sexy toddler?" He starts to waggle his eyebrows but seems to rethink what he's said halfway through the gesture. In the end, he's left with a singular brow arched and a distressed look on his face. "Can we forget I said that?"
"The fact that I'm still sitting here means it's already left my brain." She smiles at him, all teeth, too wide to be sincere, and he makes a show of wiping imagined sweat from his brow. He picks up the self-sacrificing popcorn pieces and presses play on the remote, and for a good five minutes, Beca behaves. She plays the role of interested girlfriend and keeps her eyes on the screen.
But her phone is burning through the material of her pants, searing the skin of her thigh under where it's resting, and honestly, Jesse is used to her being on her phone for most of whatever movie he's put on for them to watch anyway.
She picks it up and her pulse jumps when the screen comes to life and the notification banner tells her she has eleven unread messages from Chloe. She tries to release a steadying breath as inconspicuously as possible and thumbs in her pin number.
fuck Beca
Immediately, Beca knows this is a bad idea. Because Chloe hardly ever swears. She prefers to use insane stand-ins like "fudge" and "shoot". Even with Beca's hand between her legs, she's more likely to unleash a litany of "oh god's" before anything else. So, Beca knows she's in trouble here right from the start. It doesn't stop her, though.
It should.
But it doesn't.
yes
god i bet you'd look so good tied up
maybe silk scarves
or some leather restraints
something that would hold you
i'd have you pulling so hard on them they'd have to be up to the task
because i'd want to take my time. make it last
see how many times i could make you come before you beg me to let you out
and then i'd make you come one more time
just to remind you who's in control
Beca's face is hot. The fire had started in her chest, she'd felt it spark to life and burn along the column of her neck, spit burning ash into her throat before swirling into her cheeks. She feels like she can't breathe, like the flames licking their way through her insides have burned up all the oxygen in her body.
She tries not to gasp. Tries not to draw attention to herself or make her sudden multitude of struggles obvious.
She works at slowly inhaling and exhaling, eyes still on her phone screen.
She tries not to make any dramatic movements.
Tries to ignore the fact that she can now feel how wet she is just from Chloe's words and the images they've conjured.
She has to clear her throat to avoid making a different kind of sound altogether and, thankfully, Jesse doesn't so much as glance at her. He's too enthralled in the movie - the joyful, familiar comfort of an old friend that, even after all this time, you still find so charming it makes it hard to look away - his big hand taking up shovels of popcorn that he then holds above his mouth to release at one-piece intervals, using his pinky as a stopper.
DUDE
Initially, that's all she can think to say. Her heart is still pounding, only just starting to pump blood back to her brain.
what?
Chloe doesn't need to use the angel emoji, Beca can sense its presence regardless.
Jesse is literally right next to me
You can't just
Text me stuff like that
you wouldn't have sent your lil' tie me up text if you were worried
or expecting anything less from me
Beca pokes her tongue out to wet dry lips. Chloe's got her there. To even insinuate she'd been anticipating some sort of placid, tame response to what was a query about, basically, bondage, would be a bald-faced lie.
And there are enough of those following her around these days. Like good little pets on leashes.
did i paint an unpleasant picture?
She can practically hear Chloe's coy smirk through the phone.
didn't you like my ideas?
You know I did
Beca absently gnaws at her bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth and kneading plump flesh as she types, deletes, then retypes her next text.
Would you really want to do that?
Chloe's message comes in right as Beca sends her follow up.
yes
With me?
They collide inside Beca like a flaming freight train.
especially with you
Beca restlessly pulls her legs in and away from the coffee table, tucking them up in front of her as she shifts slightly onto her side, leaning into the arm and angling her body away from Jesse. She can rest her hands against her legs this way. It'll make their trembling less noticeable.
would you trust me to?
Beca thinks she'd trust Chloe with anything.
Everything.
Yeah
god i wish you were home right now
Something like excitement churns Beca's stomach, makes her muscles want to squirm and she has to fight to remain still. Has to settle for curling her toes into the couch cushion beneath her as the weight of what she wants to type makes her chest tight.
She wants to ask. She wants to know. But the sinister sounds of seagulls are emanating from the TV and Jesse is right. There.
This is so beyond depraved; that's what she thinks. What she tells herself. That it's wrong and she's the worst excuse for a human being to ever walk the earth, and that should be enough. That should stop her.
What would you do if I was?
But it doesn't.
She tries not to bounce her knee; the urge to do so brought on by the nervous anticipation that had flooded her system the second she'd sent the message. Like the button for a morphine drip being pressed.
That's how Chloe makes her feel. Warm and tingly, high, like her brain has been liquified by the heated stare of sky-blue eyes.
Chloe makes her feel fucked up. Out of her mind. Almost like a different person sometimes. Or maybe most like herself.
That same, aforementioned heat melting away all of her protective layers.
And it's not a drug. Beca can't actually blame this on that, but regardless, she feels like an addict sometimes. Times like this. Where she's two feet away from her boyfriend, texting her best friend to ask exactly how she'd fuck her if she were home right now.
It's not a drug, but it feels like one.
And Beca's always pushing the button for one more hit.
i'd ruin you
Beca's stomach clenches and rolls, pleasant and agonising.
don't have restraints
we'd have to improvise… our bella scarves maybe
i'd find something
Beca's eyes are fixed on her phone screen and she's trying to keep her breathing even as she waits for another message.
"Girl talk or aca-talk?" And Jesse's voice is so unexpected, it almost makes Beca jump. She whips her head around to stare at him, heart in her throat, pulse in her ears, eyes as wide as saucers. He seems to take her reaction as surprise because he shapes his mouth into the same amused, boyish half-grin that had so endeared him to her. "What?" He almost sounds affronted, like he's offended by the idea of, well, something. "You get all quiet and focus-y whenever it's one of those." The idea that he wouldn't notice something's up with her. That he can't read her well enough by now to see that in just the way she's holding herself. "It's been happening a lot more lately. Is everything okay with…." Brow furrowed, he trails off, gesturing aimlessly with his hand. "I don't know, everyone?"
And fuck, Beca feels like a piece of shit.
Because Jesse is genuinely concerned. About her, about the Bellas. He's asking because he gives a damn. Because he's a good boyfriend who cares about her and the things that are important to her.
There are so many people who would give anything to be in a relationship with someone like Jesse. Someone who loves with his whole being, who says what he means and actually means what he says. Who isn't afraid to be vulnerable or show his emotions. Someone who would give you the shirt off his back to keep you dry in a rainstorm.
Someone who is sweet and good.
Far too good for Beca.
And even now, part of her wants to turn her phone off and close the distance between them. Wants to curl into his side and see him smiling down at her as his arm winds around her back to hold her close. Wants to breathe in and be comforted by his familiar smell, and doze against him as he watches a film he's seen a million times but will watch at least once more just so he can show it to her. Because he wants to share these parts of himself with her.
She wants to share them with him, she does.
At least, she had.
She really thinks she'd wanted to.
Maybe she still does.
Maybe it's just not in the same way.
And maybe Beca not knowing should be enough to make her sit back and reconsider. To stop everything, put it all on hold so she can get her head together and figure stuff out.
It should be, but it isn't.
It's like her mind and body fully reject the idea of anything that isn't potentially disastrous. Like the only way she can keep any sort of forward momentum in life right now is on an undercurrent of would-be chaos.
"Yeah, no, everything's fine." It shouldn't be this easy to lie to the person she's supposed to be in love with. "It's just," screen off, she lifts her phone up slightly and shakes it as part of her explanation, "Chloe." Because if a lie has some truth to it, then it isn't a complete falsehood. "Wants to go over some rehearsal stuff."
The crease in his brow actually dissolves at that, like he's relieved it isn't something more serious, and guilt and shame start to burn a hole through her stomach. They should fester there, she thinks. Eat away at her as painfully as possible while she silently condemns herself and tries to calculate how much, percentily, of her rotten insides resemble those of her father's circa the lead up to her parents' divorce.
"You say that like we both don't know Chloe can be one of the most intense people on the planet." He's back to smiling at her and Beca almost chokes on the chuckle she forces out.
Because yeah, she knows how intense Chloe can be.
On the TV, birds start swooping and squawking, and Jesse's attention is pulled back towards the movie.
And Beca waits. She waits and she watches the TV too, for a few moments, watches as things start to turn and all hell begins breaking loose.
She unlocks her phone without looking at the screen, steeling herself before she finally does.
then i'd make quick work of getting you naked
Lava rolls over the widening, acidic pit of contrition and anguish which had opened up inside of her, solidifying into a bridge that her desire can flow over without a second thought.
I'd be too excited to take my time
Patches up the hole, leaving it like a discoloured spot of scar tissue. Forgotten until the next time her fingers unexpectedly graze the area.
don't think you'd complain tho would you?
Chloe wants her to participate in the conversation, that's what the question really is. A request. Because Beca's been quiet on her end and Chloe wants to know she's still there. Still reading. Still wants this. Her thumbs are clumsy as she replies. She has to retype her measly two words twice to get them right.
Definitely not
didn't think so
god you'd be so wet for me
A heat so intense it's almost cold drops over her like a weighted blanket, molding itself to her shape.
Chloe…
She's not sure what else to say, her brain is starting to fog up.
are you wet right now?
She doesn't need to move, doesn't need the sensation of her underwear clinging to her to know that she is. She can feel it in the way she keeps clenching at everything Chloe says, and how she feels painfully empty when she does.
Can feel it in the way she can't decide whether her chest wants to cave in or explode.
She reaches for something to relieve some of the tension there and finds it in an attempt to take back some of the control in their conversation.
Wish I was there so you could find out for yourself
Pride swells as the seconds tick by without a reply and she imagines Chloe, lying back on her bed, staring at her phone, speechless for once.
Still there? ;)
sorry. needed a minute to… recover
but now i can tell you that I'M wet. in case you were wondering
And then Chloe isn't simply lying on her bed anymore in Beca's mind. No, she's touching herself. Stroking her fingers between her legs and making those hitched breath half-moans that make Beca feel untethered, wild with the need to fuck Chloe harder into the bed or against the wall. Whatever she can do to keep pulling those sounds from her.
Partly because she's always thinking how it might be the last time she gets to hear them.
Partly because those sounds mean Chloe's lost her grip on her control; that Beca has wrested the reins from her by making her feel so good and that's the other part of it.
There's a mad desire that rises up in her in those moments, one that sees her desperate to drive out all thought and memory of those that have come before her. One that makes her want to fuck Chloe so well, she forgets them. Fills those empty pockets in her brain with Beca instead. Beca's fingers, her tongue, her teeth. Beca's lips, her hips, her thighs. She wants to be the only person Chloe ever thinks about, wants to be Chloe's best, Chloe's only.
Jesus i'm probably soaked right now
Her face is hot as her thumbs hit the letters, but she sends the message anyway.
Feels her stomach swoop like a bird of prey at the reply.
i want to know
Then crash and burn at the follow-ups.
tell him you're going to the bathroom
then call me
Each word pulls some distant cousin of a shiver through Beca; a shiver slowed down, drawn out by each letter until it's almost unbearable. Internal and invisible, toeing the line between pleasure and pain so effectively, she doesn't know whether she wants to curl into herself to keep it close or crawl out of her own skin to get away from it.
She quickly finds herself incapable of doing either.
Beca stares at her phone screen, idly wondering if it's possible to bore a hole through something with vision alone. She sucks her tongue against her top row of teeth and thinks.
Pretends to think.
Chloe I can't.
Pretends to fight.
you can if you want to
Pretends this doesn't turn her on.
i want you to tell me how wet you are for me
Because what kind of fucked up person would that make her?
while you touch yourself in his bathroom
She doesn't want to be that person.
She doesn't want to be this person.
She wants…
She wants.
Fuck. Just give me a minute.
Because if she pretends to fight then she can at least pretend she's trying to resist. Trying to do the right thing. Trying to refuse. If she pretends to fight, she can throw her own guilt off the scent of impending transgressions. Fake a left while she takes a right and her brain will be waylaid from screaming disparaging diatribes at her until later. Once the fog she's let in clears.
i'll give you anything you want
Once she's done what she already knows she's going to do.
"I have to-" she cuts herself off, feeling the sudden swell of guilt rushing towards a boil and almost laughs, because whether or not she actually has to use the bathroom shouldn't be the thing tripping her up right now. But she rephrases her statement anyway. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."
Wonders if it's because she actually can't stand lying to Jesse anymore than she deems necessary.
His head is already tilted back, hand poised to drop another kernel into his mouth, and he flicks his eyes to her.
"Do you want me to pause it?" There's a smile playing at the edges of his mouth that tells her he already knows the answer and the sight of it is another deserved knife twist to the gut.
So many knives and daggers have found a home there lately, all by her own hand, that she'd look like a pin cushion if you could see them.
She hates to think of the state Jesse's back would be in.
"You can tell me what happens," she says, smiling the same way she has every other time she's told him some version of that. Usually it's because she's tired or has rehearsal, or some other legitimate excuse, and he always says he will and lets her go. Just like he does now. And he always makes good on that promise, either pausing to catch her up when she gets back or rehashing a grand finale in great detail the next day.
Just like he will later.
The walk to the bathroom isn't long but it's uncomfortable. Her underwear is slick and sticking to her, rubbing against her in a way that's distracting. She clutches her phone tighter in her hand and tries to focus her attention on navigating her way to the right room. She isn't really afraid that she won't be able to, but it also wouldn't completely surprise her.
She reaches through the dark doorway and finds the lightswitch, sweeping her hand up so that the side of her finger catches the switches for both the light and the fan at the same time. She crosses the threshold and somehow manages to avoid slamming the door closed behind her, instead shutting it with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot in her head.
Her heart is thundering and her hands are useless, almost numb, as they try to unlock her phone screen. Try to get back to Chloe. She walks by the sink and catches the movement of her reflection in the mirror hanging over it but doesn't look at herself. She walks as far away from the door as she can, then leans against the wall beside the shower and across from the toilet.
She looks down at her phone, rereads what texts she can see without scrolling back up and lets her thumb hover over the tiny icon of a telephone underneath Chloe's face.
The warring factions of bad and good create a debris-strewn wasteland of her insides, leaving her heart and soul kneeling in the dirt as weak, tattered versions of themselves.
She wants to be a good person. She wants to go back to Jesse and his dumb movie about killer crows. She wants to lean into him and press her ear to his chest and hear the low rumble of his voice as he explains some element of the score in a way that reminds her how passionate he is about that stuff. How nerdy and attractive she'd found that. She wants to feel that way again. Wants to be compelled to crawl into his lap and make him forget about the movie's music. She wants him to press her into the couch cushions and not feel crushed by his weight. Not think his hands are too big or his chest is too hard. She wants to be with him without thinking about being somewhere else. With someone else.
She wants to hear Chloe's voice in her ear.
She taps her thumb against the phone icon and her pulse spikes.
Barely half a ring goes by before there's a click on the line.
"That was fast." Chloe's tone is teasing and when Beca closes her eyes at the sound of it, she has no trouble picturing the smile that's probably playing across her best friend's lips.
"Yeah, well." She rolls her eyes at herself and bites the inside of her cheek as though the pain is some kind of punishment for her pathetic attempt at a comeback. The thing is, there's something about Chloe, her frequency, that completely messes with the connection between whatever part of Beca's brain is responsible for her witty sarcasm and her mouth. Things can get inexplicably confused, lost, or pulled right out of existence when Chloe is involved.
"That just the effect I have on you?" There's something melodic about her voice; it makes Beca think about Greek myths and Sirens. "Even if it's just running, I can make you come quick?"
"Did you just-"
"Yes. Shut up."
"Oh my god, Beca, I've barely touched you!"
"You've been looking at me all day, dude."
"What, I can't look at you now?"
"Okay, you've been eye-fucking me all day."
"Mm, no idea what you're talking about."
"You know exactly- ah! Fuck. Chloe..."
"Sorry, did you think I was done?"
"Can we- oh god. Fuck. Bed, Chloe."
"In a minute. I wanna see how quickly I can get you to number two."
"Oh my god, shut up." Beca's cheeks warm at the accusation, truthful though it may be. But then Chloe's delighted laughter is in her ear and she's flushed for a different reason.
"But I never finished."
"What?"
"Telling you what I'd do to you."
"Chloe, I can't-"
"You don't have to say anything, Bec." Chloe interrupts, insistent without being forceful.
And at any other time, Chloe calling her 'Bec' wouldn't elicit much of a reaction from her.
"Gotta get your cardio in, Bec!"
"Bec, please, just one more Miley song."
"I told you not to touch the tequila, Bec."
It's usually said in a manner that is light and teasing. All sugary sweet or slyly sarcastic. It's all of those things now, but it's also heavy. Heavier than it has any reason to be and the sound of it dripping through Chloe's voice in moments like these, when she says Beca's name like that, almost undoes Beca every time.
Maybe it's the juxtaposition of 'sweet best friend' and 'person Beca can't keep her hands and mouth off of' that makes her stomach feel like it's falling through the floor.
Whatever it is, it turns her feral for an instant, like she's a beat away from turning into an actual beast and attacking.
That's what the pull in her gut feels like. Like a weight tied to the pull tab of a zipper, trying to open her up and let the animal out.
"You don't have to do anything," Chloe repeats herself earnestly, wanting to make sure Beca understands. "I just want you to listen to me talk about what I want to do to you while I touch myself. Is that okay?" And she says it all so easily, without an ounce of worry or shame. Like she isn't afraid of being turned down or hung up on. Like she isn't afraid Beca won't want this.
And she's right.
"Yeah," Beca whispers, quiet under the sound of the bathroom fan, but Chloe hears her. Giggles in a way that's somehow sexy instead of cute and has Beca picturing her settling back against her pillows.
"Awse." She exhales a long, loud breath into the phone, and then says, "Where was I?" Hums, like she's trying to remember. "Oh yeah. You, naked and wet. Tying you up. God, I wanna say I'd take my time, play with you for a while, but if I close my eyes I can picture you lying there and it's…" she trails off with a quiet gasp that Beca feels all the way down to her toes. Makes them curl against the tile. "You're so hot, Bec. I don't think I could wait."
Beca's head rolls back and hits the wall behind her hard, but she doesn't really notice. Won't register the pain until later.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Chloe asks, but Beca knows she isn't expecting an answer. She screws her eyes shut and listens, hears the little, pitchy gasps in between Chloe's words. "I mean, of course you do." Feels them burn through her and pool between her legs. "Look where you are." Chloe moans and it's loud enough that Beca wonders if the other Bellas are out or just out of earshot. Or if Chloe just doesn't care.
And that pulls at Beca, the same lead weight, and she switches her phone to her right hand as Chloe takes a breath to continue. And Beca knows just from the pitch of her inhale that she's about to say something that will knock her sideways.
But she doesn't brace for it. Sometimes she likes the unsteadiness.
"About to fuck yourself in your boyfriend's bathroom while you listen to me come all over my hand."
She somehow never expects it when the entire Earth shifts on its axis, though.
"Chloe-" She starts, a biting whisper, an attempt at a warning, but Chloe rolls right over her and Beca lets her.
"Hey," Chloe shushes her, literally shushes her. "Gotta be quiet. Can't let him hear you."
The reason Beca doesn't expect or forgets to expect is pretty simple; Chloe isn't normally like this. While she's gotten better at standing up for herself, becoming more assertive, and while she's never had a problem interrupting someone's shower to have a conversation, she isn't bold like this outside of their time together.
In rehearsals, she's happy for Beca to take the lead. Happy to offer thoughts and opinions and can say no when she needs to. She's not domineering like Aubrey was and she doesn't get stuck on the little things like Beca.
This version of Chloe, the one on the other end of the phone, is still the one Beca calls her best friend, but she's also something else entirely. When she talks, those plush, brightly coloured boxing gloves come off and she stops pulling her punches. Every word is unfiltered, direct, pointedly naked in its meaning.
There's no sugar coating and she doesn't use pretty words to hide behind what she really wants. And maybe Beca should have expected her to be like this with sex, given how confident she knows Chloe has been from almost the moment they met.
Chloe knows what she wants and she's not shy about asking for it, or telling Beca exactly how to give it to her.
So, yeah, this is the same Chloe she's always known, it's just as though all her dials have been turned up to eleven.
God, she hopes Jesse is still on the couch.
"Are you touching yourself yet?"
Beca isn't, but her hand has dipped beneath the waistband of her sweatpants and her underwear, and is resting over the curve of her abdomen. She doesn't remember moving it at all.
She doesn't answer, just lets out a heavy breath.
"Gotta catch up," Chloe says, then groans in the same exact way she does whenever Beca's fingers slide inside her after they've spent an almost cruel amount of time teasing. "Gonna," a gasp so high it's almost a whine and suddenly Beca's hand is moving, "leave you in the rear view otherwise."
It makes Beca think about cars and back seats and Chloe's thighs bracketing her hips.
She curls her fingers through her folds and finds herself so achingly wet that her own warmth spill into her palm. Her hips jerk off the wall as her fingertips find her clit and she bites her lip to keep herself quiet, but a soft grunt works its way free from low in her throat.
"There you go." Chloe's airy chuckle is uneven as it tumbles from her. She sucks in a breath, sudden and sharp, then whimpers. "God, I love the sounds you make. I wish I could hear you now. Really hear you." And Beca turns her fingers in firm circles against herself. "I think," Chloe moans again, "I'd want to take you somewhere for this. Somewhere-" Chloe's breath hitches and then stutters, just like it does whenever Beca adds a third finger and Chloe slowly rocks herself down onto her hand. "Somewhere you wouldn't have to be quiet. Somewhere, fuck, you could pull hard enough on the restraints to rattle the headboard." Chloe's panting now. Beca has almost bitten through her lip. "Somewhere you could scream so loud," another quietly broken moan, "I'd hear you even with your thighs covering my ears. Fuck, Beca."
That last part is said so softly it would probably be inaudible in the room, but it goes off like a bomb in Beca's ear. Her fingers slip out of rhythm as her hips give an involuntary jerk and her knuckles turn white against the gun metal grey of her phone case. The familiar sensation of an almost unbearable pleasure begins building at the base of her spine, in the pit of her stomach and she quickens her pace, chasing it.
Chloe's quickening breaths paint a picture that's all too easy for Beca to see behind her closed eyes. She knows the angle of her jaw as her mouth opens, the shape of her lips.
"I'm so close."
Knows how it feels to have Chloe arch up into her, pressing their bodies together while Beca's hand works between her legs.
"You are too, I can hear it."
Knows what it's like to have Chloe's leg thrown over her hip and Chloe's heel digging into her back, trying to pull her closer.
"Fuck, Beca." Knows what that sudden urgency in Chloe's voice means. "Come with me. Please."
And she knows that whatever this is between them, Beca's in so deep Chloe never has to ask her anything twice.
That tight pressure peaks, the taut rope strung between the bottom of her spine and the low pit of her stomach snaps, as the sounds of Chloe's orgasm reach for her through the phone. Liquid silk, molten, running through her ear and down her neck, spreading across her shoulders and dripping down her back in thick rivulets.
Beca lets go of her lip so she doesn't break skin and her mouth falls open in a silent cry of what would probably be Chloe's name if she were elsewhere. But she holds her breath to keep herself quiet, body bowing forward and back leaving the wall, trembling all over as her orgasm hits.
And she's sure she hears Chloe saying her name. A broken, whispered version of it that sounds like a dream to Beca.
She comes hard with Chloe's airy moans in her ear and her name on Chloe's lip, while her own head is filled with visions of red hair and pale skin, and she struggles to avoid sliding down the wall of her boyfriend's bathroom. Tries to keep her legs under her, even though Chloe had taken her out at the knees long before now.
She comes down to the sound of her own laboured breathing, ragged and choppy from the way she's straining to stay silent. She can hear Chloe trying to catch her breath on the other side of the call and her stomach flips when she remembers what it's like to hear that in person.
The seconds that follow are filled with a familiar fuzzy lethargy and Beca's hand feels heavy when she yanks it back out of her pants to let it hang at her side. Her heart is beating so hard that Beca has the fleeting thought that it's going to actually crack a rib and it's the kind of dumb notion that only pops up in this exact spot; lingering in a post-orgasm haze, the limbo between unhinged pleasure and actual reality.
"God, that was so hot." Chloe's breathless laugh makes Beca shiver. "You should go, though."
It's a swift kick to the gut, but Beca knows Chloe doesn't mean it to be. She knows Chloe's only saying it because Beca really should go.
Because she's bordering on being gone too long.
Because Jesse is waiting.
The fingers of her left hand twitch and she's suddenly made aware of the way they're becoming tacky, her wetness starting to dry on her skin.
"I don't know if you're staying over," Chloe's voice is quiet, her pause thoughtful, and Beca can practically see her worrying her lower lip, choosing her next words carefully, "but um, let me know if you come home."
Beca closes her eyes and finally manages to draw in a lungful of air that doesn't make them feel like they're going to burst.
The rest of her still struggles, though. Still aches. There's the pleasurable, tingling throb of having gotten off, but there's also the pain of being torn in two different directions. So real it makes her joints hurt.
"Okay," is all she says, hushed, just enough for Chloe to hear.
The plan had been to stay over. To spend the night at Jesse's. Beca had wanted to do that.
Now, her skin prickles with the desire to flee. To hightail it back to the Bella house.
To Chloe.
"Talk to you later."
And she will, Beca knows that. Knows that even if she does stay the night at Jesse's, she'll still be texting Chloe as she climbs into his bed. It might not be like this, like what they've just done; it might be what Jesse had assumed earlier and they'll be texting about song or rehearsal, but Beca will be texting her regardless.
Because she can't put Chloe down.
Can't set Chloe aside and leave her there.
Finds it hard to get through the day without having Chloe in her hands, in one way or another.
The line goes dead and Beca locks her phone screen before sliding it into the pocket of her sweatpants. Then she spends a handful of heartbeats just standing there, leaning against one wall while she stares at the painted surface of the one across from her.
Shit.
She pushes off the wall with her shoulder and crosses over to the sink on shaking legs.
She needs to wash her hands. He'll smell her on her own fingers.
She twists the knob for the hot water and lets it run.
Her underwear is ruined. Does she have spare clothes here?
She pumps soap into her hands and catches a few drops of water in her palms before rubbing them together. Up, down, over, around.
God, her thighs feel tacky. If he tries to touch her, he's going to know.
Up, down, over, around. Again and again, until the soap suds cover her hands two-fold, and then she holds them under the scalding water until all the soap is gone and her skin is red.
This was so stupid, that's what she tells herself as she dries her hands on the towel hanging beside the sink. Stupid and careless, because now she's going to spend the rest of the night terrified he's going to find out she's been up to something, unless she goes home. And while one half of her is being tugged in that direction, the other half of her wants to stay. Wants to spend time with Jesse and selfishly enjoy his company and remember the way he used to make her feel.
She wants to try and make herself feel that way again.
She wants to go home and climb into Chloe's bed.
Beca finally looks at herself in the mirror.
Wonders who the person is that's staring back at her.
She sighs and moves to the bathroom door, cracking it open.
"Hey, is it cool if I shower?" She calls out into the hallway and then waits patiently, knowingly, as Jesse pauses the movie to answer.
"Yeah. Help yourself to my closet." He's grinning, she can tell by his inflection, and she lets her head rest against the surface of the door. He likes when she wears his clothes. "You know," he drawls, the suggestion of a laugh in his words, "this can stay paused if you want company."
And she knows that he's joking, mostly, but in that moment she wants so badly to tell him yes. Wants to tell him to get his cute butt in there like she used to.
She wants to want those things.
"Stay on the couch, you perv," she jokes, forcing the joviality into her voice. "I want to get clean. You only bring filth." He lets out a series of grunting sounds that Beca assumes are supposed to be some kind of aural display of his manliness. "I won't be long."
She shuts the door and turns, walking over to the shower and reaching in to turn the handle. Water spits out of the head unevenly for a second and then starts flowing out in an even stream. Beca stands back, pushing down her sweats and underwear at the same time, then pulling off her shirt. She hadn't worn a bra in the name of comfort and so she stands naked in front of the shower as the water starts to steam.
She steps under the spray and tugs the shower curtain into place, effectively cutting herself off from the rest of the room. She lets the water soak into her hair and travel down the rest of her body, enjoying the momentary isolation.
But these days, she's never truly alone.
Chloe is a constant, even when she's not physically there. She's always in Beca's head.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
She reaches for Jesse's body wash and wonders if Chloe has any idea what she's done to her.
Wonders if she should tell her.
Wonders if she should tell Jesse.
Wonders if, maybe, a murderous flock of birds could come and peck her to death so she won't have to wonder anything ever again.
Unlikely.
Beca uses her hands to lather the soap over her skin, trying to get herself clean.
And wonders if shame and guilt stain.