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Beca should’ve known better than to agree to anything Stacie suggested at a party.
It starts innocently enough—music too loud, cups already half-forgotten on every surface, the Bellas piled into a corner like they always are. Someone—probably Stacie Conrad—gets bored, which is always dangerous.
“We should all take the Rice Purity Test,” she announces, like it’s a completely normal group activity.
There’s immediate chaos. Aubrey protests. Fat Amy encourages it. Cynthia Rose is already grabbing someone’s phone. And somehow—because her life is a series of deeply questionable decisions—Beca ends up being the one to pull it up.
“Fine,” she mutters, thumb already scrolling. “I’ll take it. But I’m not reading my answers out loud.”
“No fun!” Stacie whines.
Beca ignores her, leaning back against the arm of the couch, phone angled toward herself. The questions start easy, dumb, whatever. She breezes through them, expression flat, occasionally huffing under her breath.
She doesn’t notice when Chloe drifts closer. Or when that bright, curious gaze drops to her screen. Or how long it stays there.
By the time Beca gets far enough down the list that her answers actually require thought—actual, uncomfortable thought—she exhales sharply, locks her phone, and pushes herself up.
“I need another drink,” she lies, already heading toward the hallway instead. The bathroom is quieter. Blessedly quieter. She leans over the sink, staring at her reflection like it personally betrayed her.
“Stupid test,” she mutters.
The door creaks open behind her. Beca doesn’t turn at first. “It’s occupied—”
“Becs.”
She freezes. Of course it’s Chloe. Slowly, Beca looks over her shoulder—and immediately clocks two things: Chloe has that look on her face, the door clicks shut behind her. Locked.
Uh oh.
“Did you—” Beca starts, narrowing her eyes. “Did you follow me?”
Chloe doesn’t answer right away. She just leans back against the door, arms crossing loosely, lips twitching like she’s trying really hard not to smile. Which means she absolutely did.
“Becs,” she says again, softer this time. Then, tilting her head— “you’ve never…gotten head?”
Beca blinks. Once. Twice.
“…wow.”
Chloe presses her lips together, but it’s useless—she laughs anyway, light and a little disbelieving.
“You’re kidding,” Beca says flatly. “You followed me in here to make fun of me for my score on that test.”
“No!” Chloe pushes off the door immediately, taking a step closer. “I didn’t—okay, I did follow you, but not to make fun of you.”
“Mmhm.”
“I just—” Chloe hesitates, which is rare enough to make Beca actually look at her properly. “I just noticed you didn’t check that box. And I thought—”
She trails off again. That’s new. Beca’s annoyance flickers, replaced by something sharper. More aware.
“Thought what?” she presses.
Chloe huffs a small laugh, shaking her head like she can’t believe she’s about to say this. Then she does anyway.
“I was gonna volunteer...”
Silence. Real, actual silence. Even the music outside feels far away now. Beca just stares at her.
“…you what?” she says finally, but there’s no heat behind it. Just disbelief. And something else. Something she doesn’t want to name.
Chloe shrugs, but there’s a faint flush climbing up her neck now. “Well. You’re my friend and I don’t think any woman should go through life without that experience. It’s not just a guy thing, you know.”
“Oh my god,” Beca mutters, dragging a hand down her face. “You sound like you’re pitching a charity program.”
Chloe laughs—really laughs this time—and takes another step closer without even realizing it. “Well maybe I am.”
“Yeah? What’s the slogan?” Beca shoots back automatically, but her voice has gone quieter.
Closer. Chloe hums like she’s thinking about it. “‘Helping Beca Mitchell expand her horizons since senior year.’”
Beca snorts despite herself. “That’s terrible.”
“Workshopping,” Chloe says lightly.
They’re standing too close now. At some point, Beca turned fully toward her. At some point, Chloe stopped keeping any real distance between them. At some point, the joke stopped feeling entirely like a joke.
Chloe starts fiddling with the hem of Beca’s top. Beca swallows.
“You’re—” she starts, then stops. Resets. “You’re serious.”
It’s not a question. Chloe doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicker—not to Beca’s face, not exactly—but lower, then back up again, like she caught herself.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m offering…but only if you want.”
That lands. Harder than Beca expects. Because Chloe isn’t teasing now. There’s no punchline coming. No easy way out. Just…that. Beca exhales slowly, her grip tightening slightly on the edge of the sink behind her.
“This is—” she starts, then huffs a small, incredulous laugh. “This is insane.”
“Probably,” Chloe agrees.
Neither of them moves away. From the other side of the door, someone shouts something unintelligible, followed by a burst of laughter. The party is still going. The world is still normal out there. In here, though—
Something’s shifted. Beca glances at the door. Locked. At Chloe. Still right there. Waiting. Not pushing. Just…offering. Her heart does something stupid.
“…you don’t have to,” Beca says finally, because she feels like she’s supposed to say it.
“I know,” Chloe replies just as quickly. “I want to—but only if you want me to.”
And she does. That’s the problem. Beca studies her for a second longer, like she’s trying to find the angle, the joke, the catch. There isn’t one.
Just Chloe. Bright-eyed. A little nervous, maybe. But steady. Beca exhales again, slower this time.
“…you’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”
Chloe’s mouth curves, soft and familiar. “Not unless you want me to.”
There’s an out in that. A clear one. Beca doesn’t take it. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, something almost challenging slipping into her expression.
“Wow,” she says. “You’re really committed to this…public service thing.”
Chloe steps closer—just enough that there’s barely any space left between them. “Very.”
Beca’s breath catches—just for a second. Then she huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
“Unbelievable.”
But she doesn’t move away. And neither does Chloe. The moment stretches—tight, electric, balanced on something neither of them fully understands yet. Outside, the party keeps going.
Inside, Beca’s phone screen lights up where she left it on the counter—Rice Purity Test unfinished.
Neither of them looks at it.
Not anymore.
Chloe moves first.
It’s not hesitant this time—there’s a kind of sudden, quiet decision in it. Her fingers wrap around Beca’s wrist, warm and sure, and before Beca can overthink it—
She’s being pulled toward the door.
“Chlo—” Beca starts, half a protest, half a laugh, stumbling a little as she follows.
“Come on,” Chloe says over her shoulder, quick and bright, but there’s something steadier underneath it. Something intentional.
The hallway hits them like noise and heat and too many people packed too close together. Someone whistles as they pass. Stacie definitely yells something. Beca doesn’t catch it. She’s too aware of Chloe’s hand still holding hers. Too aware that she’s not letting go.
They weave through the party like that—like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like Beca isn’t very aware that this is…not normal. Not for them. Not yet.
“Chloe,” Beca tries again, lower this time as they reach the stairs. “Where are we going—”
Chloe glances back at her, just for a second. “My room.”
That’s it. Simple. Direct. No joke to soften it. Beca’s stomach flips. She could stop this. She knows she could—pull her hand back, make a comment, turn it into something easy and dismissible like she always does.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she lets Chloe pull her up the stairs. Down the hall. Past closed doors and muffled music until Chloe finally stops at one, pushing it open and tugging Beca inside with her.
The door shuts behind them with a soft click. Quiet. Actual quiet, this time.
Chloe’s room is dimmer than the hallway, lit only by a small lamp in the corner. It feels separate. Like stepping out of the party and into something else entirely.
For the first time since the bathroom, Chloe lets go of her wrist. The absence is immediate. Beca stands there for a second, like she’s recalibrating, her eyes flicking around the room before landing back on Chloe.
“…you just kidnapped me,” she says.
Chloe huffs a breath of a laugh, leaning back against the door. “You came willingly.”
“Debatable.”
“Not really.”
Beca shakes her head, but there’s no real bite to it. Her pulse is still a little too fast. Her thoughts a little too loud.
“Chloe,” she says again, quieter now.
Chloe straightens slightly at that. More attentive. Less playful.
“Yeah?” Beca hesitates. It’s rare—visible hesitation from her—but it’s there now, tucked into the way she shifts her weight, the way her gaze drops for half a second before coming back up. “…you’re serious?” she says.
Not a question. Chloe doesn’t dodge it this time. “Yeah,” she answers, just as quietly, slowly biting at her lip.
The room feels smaller all of a sudden. Beca lets out a slow breath, running a hand through her hair as she looks away, then back. “This is—” she starts, then stops, huffing softly. “This is not how I thought tonight was gonna go.”
Chloe smiles a little. That breaks something—just enough. Beca’s shoulders loosen a fraction. The tension shifts, not gone, but different. Less sharp. More…anticipatory. She takes a small step forward.
“So what,” she says, tilting her head slightly, that familiar edge slipping back into her voice just enough to ground her. “You drag me up here and now you’re just gonna stand there?”
Chloe’s eyes flicker—quick, surprised, then something warmer. “Depends,” she says.
“On what?”
“You say the word?”
Beca holds her gaze. For a second, it feels like a standoff. Like neither of them is quite sure who’s supposed to move first. Then—
Beca exhales, softer this time. “…yeah,” she says. “I want you to.”
It’s not loud. Not dramatic. But it’s clear. And this time, when Chloe steps toward her—
Beca doesn’t stay still out of uncertainty. She meets her halfway.
Chloe doesn’t give either of them time to overthink it. She just—moves.
It’s sudden, a sharp inhale and then she’s closing the space between them in one quick step, hands coming up instinctively—one brushing Beca’s arm, the other catching lightly at her waist—and then her mouth is on hers.
Kissing her.
For a split second, Beca freezes. Not pulling away—just… caught. Like her brain lags half a beat behind what’s actually happening.
Chloe kisses like she does everything else—warm, a little impulsive, a little overwhelming in the best way. There’s no hesitation in it, no testing the waters. Just intent.
Like she’s been thinking about this longer than she let on.
Beca makes a small, surprised sound against her mouth—and that’s what breaks it. The pause. The distance. Her hand comes up, almost without her telling it to, catching at the front of Chloe’s shirt like she needs something to hold onto—
And then she’s kissing her back.
It’s not as smooth. Not as practiced. There’s a split second where she adjusts, tilts her head, figures it out—
But then it clicks.
And suddenly it’s not Chloe leading anymore. Beca leans into it, breath catching as she presses closer, the edge she carries in everything slipping right into the kiss. It’s a little rougher, a little more searching—like she’s trying to make sense of it through action instead of thought.
Chloe lets out a soft, surprised laugh against her lips—barely there, but it’s there—and her grip tightens just slightly at Beca’s waist in response. Encouraging. Grounding. Beca’s fingers curl more firmly into her shirt.
The room feels smaller. Warmer.
The party downstairs might as well not exist anymore. There’s just this—this moment, this shift, this thing neither of them can walk back now.
When they finally break apart, it’s not by much. Just enough to breathe. Chloe’s still close—really close—her forehead nearly brushing Beca’s, her breath uneven in a way that mirrors Beca’s own.
For once, Chloe doesn’t speak right away.
And Beca—
Beca lets out a quiet, disbelieving huff of a laugh, her lips still hovering too close.
“…okay,” she murmurs, like she’s recalibrating in real time. Her grip hasn’t loosened. Neither has Chloe’s. And neither of them steps back.
By the time Beca exhales and whispers, “please,” Chloe is already dropping to her knees.
Chloe looks up at her. Really looks at her. Beca’s breath is uneven, her grip still tight, her usual sharp edges softened into something open—something that almost never shows.
“Hey,” Chloe murmurs, gentler now, one hand sliding to steady at Beca’s hip instead of rushing anywhere else. “You okay?”
Beca swallows, her eyes flicking down, then back up again. Vulnerable in a way she’d absolutely deny later.
“I—” she starts, then huffs a quiet, nervous laugh. “Don’t stop.”
Something in Chloe’s expression shifts at that. Warmer. Softer. Certain. “I won’t, Becs,” she says. “Don’t worry. I’ll do you good.”
Beca exhales, shoulders loosening as she sits back against the edge of the bed behind her. The energy changes. Not gone—still there, still humming under everything—but deeper now.
Less about the joke they started with, more about the way they’re choosing this moment, together.
Chloe’s thumb brushes lightly at Beca’s side, a quiet check-in. And right now, neither of them is thinking about the test.
Or the party.
Or anything outside this room.
Chloe’s on her knees, sitting back on her heels, the shift in height making everything feel…different. Quieter. More focused. Her hands come up slowly, not rushed this time, fingers brushing the waistband of Beca’s jeans before settling at the button. She hesitates—just for a second—glancing up.
Beca’s already looking down at her.
There’s nothing joking in her expression now. No deflection. Just that same breathless, steady yes she’s been giving in quieter ways.
Chloe swallows, then lets her fingers move—careful, deliberate—as she starts to work at the button. The small sound of it coming undone feels louder than it should. Beca’s breath catches.
Her hand finds Chloe’s shoulder without thinking, not pushing, not guiding—just there, grounding herself in something real as the moment stretches tighter. Chloe doesn’t rush past it.
She takes her time, eyes flicking up again like she’s checking, always checking— And Beca answers the only way she can right now, her fingers tightening slightly where they rest, her voice quieter than it’s ever been.
“Chloe…”
It’s not a stop. It’s not uncertainty. It’s just her saying her name like it matters. And it does.
Chloe smiles.
After a few minutes, the jeans are somewhere across the room—neither of them remembers when they got there—and Beca is standing in front of her in her underwear on a Friday night.
It feels unreal.
Not in a dramatic way—just…strange, in that quiet, this-is-happening kind of way.
Chloe’s hands still rest lightly at Beca’s hips, like she hasn’t quite let herself move forward again yet. Like she’s taking a second to look. And she does. Her gaze flicks up, slow and a little awed, like she’s trying to take in all of it at once and doesn’t quite know where to land.
Beca shifts under it.
“Don’t—” she starts automatically, that old instinct kicking in, but it doesn’t come out sharp. Just a little breathless. “Don’t make it a thing.”
“I’m not,” Chloe says softly. But her voice gives her away. Because she kind of is. Not in a bad way. Not in a teasing way.
Beca exhales, her arms hovering awkwardly for a second before she lets them fall to her sides again. She’s not used to this part—being looked at, being still, being the one unsure of what comes next.
“Chlo,” she mutters, half warning, half something else.
Chloe’s eyes flick back up immediately. “Yeah?”
Beca hesitates. Then, quieter—
“…you’re staring.”
Chloe huffs a small, nervous laugh, ducking her head for a second before looking back up again, softer this time.
“Sorry,” she says. Then, after a beat—honest, a little vulnerable, “You’re just…really—”
She cuts herself off, shaking her head like she can’t find the right word. That’s new, too. Beca swallows, something in her chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with nerves.
“…okay,” she says again, like she’s grounding herself. Her hand finds Chloe’s shoulder, more certain this time. Not just holding on—guiding.
Chloe leans into it without thinking, her hands tightening gently at Beca’s hips in response, her attention snapping fully back to her, to the moment, to what they’re doing instead of what she’s thinking.
When Chloe leans forward, she doesn’t hesitate. Chloe’s breath catches—just slightly—as she leans in, her hands sliding down, fingers catching at the fabric at Beca’s hips.
Beca’s hand tightens in her hair. Not pulling. Just waiting.
Chloe exhales softly and lets her fingers move, easing the fabric down, slow and careful, like she’s giving Beca time to stop her—
She doesn’t. Instead, Beca’s head tips back just slightly, her other hand bracing behind her on the edge of the bed as the air shifts against her skin. Chloe doesn’t rush past that moment.
She leans in first, pressing a soft kiss just above Beca’s knee—gentle, grounding—before another, a little higher this time. Not hurried. Not careless.
Beca’s breath stutters. Her fingers tighten again, a quiet reaction she doesn’t try to hide this time, and the sound she lets out is softer than anything she’s given Chloe before—less guarded, more honest.
“Chloe…”
It’s barely more than a whisper.
Chloe’s hands steady at her thighs, her forehead brushing lightly against Beca for a second as she lets that settle—lets her settle—before continuing, slow and attentive, following the rhythm of Beca’s reactions instead of pushing ahead of them. She continues pressing quick kisses up her thigh until she’s about one inch from her center.
The room feels smaller with every second. Quieter. Like the world outside has completely dropped away.
And Beca—
Beca lets it.
When Chloe finally reaches her center, she presses a long kiss there. Beca’s breath catches—sharp, involuntary, like her body forgot how to stay steady for a second.
She stays there for a beat, not pushing forward, just holding the moment still. Her lips are still warm against Beca’s sex.
“Still okay?” she murmurs softly, voice quieter now.
Beca doesn’t answer right away. Not because she doesn’t know. Because she’s overwhelmed in a way she doesn’t have a name for yet—heat and nerves and something softer threaded underneath it all, something dangerously close to trust.
She swallows, throat working as she looks down at Chloe.
“…yeah,” she says finally, a little unsteady. Then, after a beat, quieter—“don’t stop.”
Chloe exhales like she’s been holding her breath too. Not relief exactly. “Okay,” she says, simple and steady. But she doesn’t rush. She slows instead.
Everything about her shifts into something more careful, more attentive—less momentum, more intention. Her movements stay unhurried, like she’s listening even when Beca isn’t speaking.
Beca’s hand finds its way back into Chloe’s hair, not guiding, just anchoring there as she leans back slightly against the bed.
Her eyes stay on Chloe the whole time. Like she’s trying to memorize the fact that this is real. She cannot believe what she’s seeing. Chloe Beale is kneeling in front of her, mouth buried in between her legs. God. If freshman Beca saw this—
The noise of the party feels like it belongs to another world entirely. In here, it’s just breath and warmth and the quiet unfolding of something neither of them is joking about anymore.
Chloe finally gets started for real. Her tongue flicks out and licks slowly against Beca’s slit. And when Beca exhales, it isn’t shaky.
It’s strong and breathy and quiet.
The sensation sends a shock through Beca’s system—unexpected, sharp in a way that makes her inhale like she’s just remembered how to breathe. Her grip tightens in Chloe’s hair on instinct.
“Chloe—” she moans out.
“Mm,” Chloe hums, still drinking in the sight of Beca above her. They make eye contact as Chloe’s head bobs between her legs, continuing with her tongue.
Beca exhales again, shakily. Her free hand presses into the bed behind her like she needs the support.
“…fuck,” she exhales.
A small, almost relieved smile flickers across Chloe’s face. “I’ve got you.”
That lands differently. Not big. Not dramatic. Just solid.
Beca’s shoulders loosen a fraction, her head tipping back slightly as she tries to process the fact that she’s still in control of herself in a moment that feels like it should be overwhelming her completely.
“…okay,” she murmurs again, softer. “Shit—feels so good—”
Chloe’s smile turns warmer at that. “Mm,” she mumbles, still twisting her tongue into Beca.
And this time, when she leans back in, it’s slower than before—careful, responsive, like she’s moving with Beca instead of ahead of her. Like they’ve found a rhythm that belongs to both of them.
Then Chloe stands up. When Beca exhales and opens her eyes, Chloe pushes her back onto the bed and continues. She shifts, lifting Beca’s legs onto her shoulders.
She smiles at Beca’s glistening center.
“So pretty, baby,” She said quietly. Beca is speechless. “And you taste good, too.”
At that, Beca’s head tilts back and she groans. She covers her mouth and whimpers, “fuck.”
Chloe opens her eyes and pushes Beca’s hand away. “I want to hear you.”
Beca is feeling everything, deeply. Her breaths give it away. Her breath keeps catching, sharp inhales she doesn’t mean to take.
Her hands don’t stay still. One stay: anchored in Chloe’s hair, fingers flexing unconsciously, tightening every few seconds. The other alternates between gripping Chloe’s sheets and hovering like she doesn’t know what to do with it.
Sounds slip past her lips, soft and unplanned. Her eyes close, but every time they open she looks down at Chloe, almost disbelieving. Chloe is the one there. Chloe is performing one of the most intimate acts, one typically not reserved for your best friend. Chloe’s tongue is inside her—it’s Chloe’s tongue that’s making her see stars and forget every other sexual experience she’d marked off on that stupid list.
Chloe’s hands are steady, anchored at Beca’s thighs, squeezing gently.
“Shit,” Beca moans out, her fingers tightening in Chloe’s hair with sudden intention, finally pulling it. “Ch—Chlo—“
Her voice falters around her name, softer than it’s ever been, edged with something she’s not even trying to hide. Now Chloe groans, her eyes rolling back at the hair pulling.
It hits Beca all at once. Not really gradual, not something she can ease herself into. Her breath catches, sharp and then gone almost. Her grip tightens again, her head tipping back as it spikes.
“Yes, yes,” Beca whimpered softly. “Shit—yes—Chlo—“
“You gonna come?” Chloe husks, smiling against the brunette’s center. “Come for me, Becs.”
Every bit of control Beca had been holding onto slips. Her knuckles whiten, pulling hard at Chloe’s hair again.
“Chloe, fuck,” she moans as she approaches her climax, her back arching.
Chloe licks away as Beca rides out her orgasm, not slowing, her rhythm never faltering. When it passes, it doesn’t disappear. It lingers and echoes through her in smaller waves. She collapses back onto the bed and lets out a steady exhale.
Her grip loosens, but not completely. She’s still holding onto Chloe but she softens.
“God. Fuck.”
“You okay?” Chloe says, moving Beca’s legs off her shoulders as she moves to sit next to her on the bed.
“Yes—“ she exhales out again. It’s half laugh, half disbelief still, like she’s still not entirely sure what just happened.
She barely even gives herself a second to come back down before she moves. Her hands find Chloe’s face, almost urgent. She pulls her into an intoxicating kiss.
Chloe makes a small, surprised sound against her lips but melts into it.
“Thank you,” she murmurs against Chloe’s lips, the words coming out breathless.
Chloe huffs out a laugh, warm. She tilts her head and deepens the kiss. This time it’s different, less frantic. It’s slower, but deeper. They fall into each other easily.
Chloe feels it a second later. Beca’s hand, hesitant at first, pressing lightly against her chest. Her breath catches softly against Beca’s lips, feeling the touch. She moves her hand to cover Beca’s, pushing harder.
Beca’s fingers press just a little more firmly.
“Okay?” Beca murmurs against her mouth, quieter.
Chloe smiles into the space between them. “Mhm,” she hums, her hand latching around Beca’s waist. “Gettin curious are you now, Mitchell?”
“A little,” she replies sheepishly.
“Well I’m all yours, babe. All yours”