Brittany Snow and Anna Kendrick attend the fourth round Women’s Singles match between Serena Williams of United States and Petra Martic of Croatia of Belgium on day seven of the 2019 US Open at the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center on September 1, 2019 in Queens borough of New York City.
Okay, this isn’t the Christmas fic that I still haven’t finished (had a family tragedy right after the holiday, it’s a long story, but I will finish it as soon as I can.) But last year, I was asked by an anon to write a fic based on the Bechloe tags I wrote on this Valentine’s Day post. I wrote the fic last year and almost forgot about it until yesterday, then remembered I said I would post it *this* Valentine’s Day. It’s short, and is meant to fit in with PP1 canon.
The gifs at the end are reposted with the permission of the incomparable fandom queen, the Artist Formerly Known as Snodes.
Aaaand I just realized as I’m posting it that I have no title for this, lol. If I think of one I’ll add it later. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Beca ducks her head into the doorway of the rehearsal room, halfway hoping it’ll be dark and empty and she can just go back to her room and pretend she forgot they were supposed to be doing Bellas “outreach” tonight. Even the word makes her cringe. But no, there’s Chloe, standing at the whiteboard, doodling hearts and rainbows. When she glances over and sees Beca, she erases them, a little guiltily.
“Hey,” Beca says, coming further into the room.
“Hey! Where have you been? Everyone else got started half an hour ago.”
“Sorry, I know, I know,” she says with a sheepish air. “I fell asleep.”
Chloe looks incredulous. “Before eight p.m.? On Valentine’s Day?”
“Yes,” Beca says testily. “Because my life is awesome. Thank you for reminding me.” She looks around the empty space. “Are you the only one here?”
“I’m supposed to catch up with Aubrey. But I wanted to wait for you.”
Beca gives her a strange look. They’ve been friends for a few months now and spend a ton of time together, but she feels like she isn’t any closer to figuring Chloe out. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
As she approaches closer to the whiteboard, Chloe only now seems to notice her red hoodie. “Beca.” She sounds disappointed. “You were supposed to wear pink.”
“Yeah, I know that, and this is literally as close as my wardrobe gets to pink. So,” she shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”
Adjusting fast, Chloe assures her, “No, it’s fine. Red is good, too. You’ll clash with Amy, but luckily, this is the one day of the year when red and pink are allowed to mingle. Oh, except for, you know, on me.” She gestures at herself. “In which case it’s always allowed, because I’m the only ginger on the planet who looks hot in pink.”
“Congratulations.” Beca gives her a wry smile, but can’t exactly argue the point. Tonight she’s wearing a light pink sweater with darker pink hearts embroidered on the front of it, and the whole thing seems to be doused in glitter, but somehow, on Chloe, it looks good. “Speaking of Amy, where is she?” Beca asks. “Because I’m not doing this alone.”
“She already left, you’ll have to track her down.” Chloe picks up a clipboard from the top of the piano and consults it. “Let’s see, this time, you two are doing... Baker, Hammons, and Jackson Halls.”
“You gave me the dorm where I live? Chloe, that’s humiliating.”
“Sorry,” Chloe says with a slight grimace. “Luck of the draw.”
Closing her eyes for a second, Beca mutters, “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Well, you have to. It’s an official Bellas duty.” Chloe takes her phone from her pocket and holds it up in a threatening way. “Do I need to call Aubrey?”
“No, oh my God!” Beca stops her, alarmed by the thought that she might actually call her. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Chloe looks smug as she puts the phone away.
“Damn,” Beca says under her breath, a little impressed. “That was so hardcore.”
From behind the piano, Chloe drags out a massive and beat-up cardboard box. Beca by now has enough experience as a Bella to hate the sight of it. It’s their props box.
“Okay, so, here’s your bow. And your quiver of arrows. I love the word quiver, don’t you?” Chloe asks confidentially, miming a sultry little shudder. “It brings back memories of all those erotic novels my grandma gave me.”
Beca makes a perplexed face but decides it’s best not to pursue the matter. She reluctantly takes the bow and quiver from Chloe, giving an exaggerated stagger at the weight, which Chloe ignores.
“Okay,” Beca sighs. “Is that it?”
“Do you know how to use it?” Chloe asks. “Want to take it for a test run?”
Glancing at the bow, Beca says, “You know what, I’ll figure it out.” The sooner she gets started, the sooner this whole thing will be over.
“Okay. Just some pointers, it helps if you close one eye when you’re aiming,” Chloe offers. “And, um, if you can, try not to shoot directly at anyone’s eyes or testicles. We don’t need another lawsuit.”
Beca pauses as she adjusts the quiver, but again decides not to press for details. “Cool.” She turns toward the exit, but Chloe stops her.
“Oh, wait! You almost forgot your wings. The most important part of the costume.”
Beca turns back, looking miserable. “Is that really necessary?” she whines. “This already sucks so hard.”
“Of course it’s necessary. It’s what makes you a Cupid,” Chloe insists as she hands over the wings. “Otherwise, you’re just a freak in a hoodie shooting arrows at people.”
Beca considers this. “Valid point,” she admits.
“I’m wearing some too, see?” Chloe says in a coaxing manner, lifting a second pair of wings from the box and slipping into them easily, like she’s done it a hundred times.
“Is that supposed to make this less embarrassing?” Beca’s still holding her wings out in front of her, stalling for time.
“Here, I’ll help you.” Chloe reaches out to take them again and steps up close, right into Beca’s personal space, which Beca is starting to suspect is her favorite place to be. “Hold your arms out.”
Chloe delicately tugs the wings up over her arms and onto her shoulders, then brushes Beca’s hair out of the way, making sure none is caught under the straps.
“Your hair looks amazing tonight, by the way,” Chloe tells her. “It’s so bouncy.”
Beca doesn’t seem to know how to respond to this. “Thanks.” She tries not to smile, smiles anyway, then physically tries to force the smile back into non-existence while Chloe watches, amused.
Next, Chloe adjusts the shoulder straps, hooking her fingers underneath the edges to maneuver the wings into place. As soon as her fingers graze the sides of Beca’s breasts, which is basically impossible to avoid doing, Beca feels a totally unexpected jolt of heat. It’s like Chloe’s hands are made of fire, though of course they can’t be any warmer than normal. But there’s no mistaking the glow radiating out from every spot her fingers touch, even through the fabric of a hoodie, a tank top, and a bra. Then the heat seems to be spreading from places she’s touched to places she hasn’t touched.
Beca draws in a shaky breath, then just stops breathing completely for a second, holding perfectly still and fighting the urge to close her eyes. Oh, shit. This should not feel the way it does. And trying to act like it doesn’t feel that way is taking a monumental effort. She prays Chloe doesn’t notice anything, but is positive she does. Of course she does. There’s a sensual-yet-playful twinkle in her eyes that looks like an enhanced version of her usual flirtatious manner. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“There,” Chloe whispers. “Perfect.” Still only a few inches away from her face, she asks softly, “I’m not straight either, am I?”
Beca seems both baffled and alarmed by this question. “Dude, what?”
“My wings,” Chloe clarifies, trying not to laugh. “Are they crooked?”
“Oh.” Beca steps back and looks her over, trying to concentrate on anything other than the warm buzz of sensation still coiling through her. “Um…”
They’re not crooked. Not at all. The wings are perfectly straight. So there’s absolutely no reason for Beca to reach out to adjust them, to step right back into the body-heated, perfume-scented, too-close-to-breathe zone she’d just escaped from. Still, she finds herself doing precisely this, as if she’s being pulled by a magnet.
“Hang on,” she murmurs. “Let me just…” she trails off as she runs her fingers along the edges of the shoulder straps, starting high and then moving lower. She’s gratified to see that Chloe loses the upper hand as her composure vanishes almost immediately. Her body tenses up and seems to vibrate with responsiveness, her gaze becoming unfocused and her lashes fluttering as if she, too, has to struggle not to close her eyes. Beca works her fingers underneath the straps, needlessly tugging them around a little, letting her hands graze the sides of Chloe’s chest, even as she’s amazed at herself and wonders what the hell she’s doing. There’s a kind of power in it, she realizes. Not to mention, she can feel an echoing buzz in her own body in the exact places she touches Chloe’s, the heat fading a bit but definitely still there.
Eventually, she forces herself to drop her hands. “Okay, you’re good.”
“Thanks.” Chloe collects herself and smiles at her, the playfulness returning. It feels like a game, and now they’re both even.
But then the smile fades and Chloe bites her bottom lip, gazing at her with a sudden intensity that makes Beca think for a split second that she wants to kiss her, for real, and isn’t just doing that automatic flirting thing she always does. They’re still standing way too close to each other, but Beca doesn’t step back. Instead she finds herself staring at Chloe’s lips, which is probably not the signal she should be sending, and yet she can’t seem to look away. She can’t tell if she’s imagining it, or if Chloe really does seem to be leaning in now, just the barest fraction of a millimeter every second. Or wait, is she the one leaning in? Which one of them is moving? She tears her gaze away from Chloe’s lips and meets her eyes, which doesn’t help at all, because it’s like they’re stuck in some kind of force field. She’s never experienced anything like it.
Into the silence, Chloe’s phone suddenly emits an insistent chirp, causing them both to jump a little.
Beca remembers to breathe again as Chloe breaks their eye contact to search for her phone. Half relieved and half disappointed, she steps back to a safe, sane distance, and begins re-adjusting her hair, just to have something to do with her hands.
“It’s Aubrey.” Chloe still sounds a bit breathless, too. Wincing as she looks at the text, she adds, “Crap, she’s annoyed. I should get out there.”
Beca can read the text too, even upside down, possibly because it’s in all caps.
WHERE ARE YOU?!? ARE YOU MAKING OUT WITH SOMEONE???
Pressing her lips together awkwardly, Beca looks away from the phone. Her cheeks heat up at the implication, and at the fact that it’s possibly not that far off the mark. Especially if they hadn’t been interrupted.
Chloe seems flustered too as she rapidly texts back. I’m with Beca. Be right there!
Now they deliberately avoid looking at each other, and for a few seconds they busy themselves with gathering their things. Beca’s glad for the distraction. She hefts the bow and the quiver of arrows again, preparing to leave. “So I’m guessing she’s gonna be pissed at me tomorrow, right?”
Giving her a reassuring pat on the arm as they head toward the door, Chloe says, “Nah, she’ll be fine, don’t worry. Our route includes the frat houses, so I’ll make sure she drinks a lot.”
They’re both using their normal, everyday voices, as if by some unspoken agreement to pretend that whatever just happened didn’t actually happen. And really, Beca reasons to herself, it probably didn’t, she probably just imagined it. She’s lonely, and horny, and it’s Valentine’s Day. It was all in her head.
Chloe turns out the lights, then there’s a quick moment of awkwardness when they both try to pass through the door at the same time, forgetting about the wings, and they get hung up and briefly stuck. Both laughing, Chloe gives Beca enough of a shove to pop her free, then follows after her.
After she locks up, she turns to Beca and looks her up and down in a last minute once-over of approval. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Bec, but you look adorable.”
Chloe’s right, she doesn’t want to hear that. Instead of responding, she tells her, “And you look like you could wear that to class, and no one would even notice.”
She’s teasing, but Chloe does look ridiculously natural in the Cupid wings. They suit her. In fact, standing directly under the glow of the streetlight, with the glitter in her sweater sparkling and her bright blue eyes doing their best to compete, she looks more like an angel than a Cupid. Like an angel that’s fallen straight from heaven. Beca almost voices this thought, and is horrified at herself. Jesus Christ, what if she’d actually said that out loud?
Chloe misinterprets the source of her consternation, thinking she’s feeling mortified over the outfit, and tries to give her a pep talk before they part. “I get that this all seems really pointless, and cheesy, but just remember, it’s for the Bellas. We wouldn’t do it if it didn’t make a difference. So maybe, I don’t know,” she suggests gently, “try to have fun?”
“I can’t make any promises.” But Beca finds herself smiling. No matter how much she complains, she knows it won’t be that bad. Especially with Amy as her partner in crime.
As if reading her mind, Chloe grins too. “I mean, it’s better than being alone in your room all night, right?” she asks with a wink, turning to head off in the direction of fraternity row. “See you tomorrow.”
Too late, Beca suddenly recalls that Chloe was just dumped by her most recent boyfriend, only, what, a week ago? She feels like a dick for not remembering sooner. Tonight must be especially shitty for her.
She turns to walk away, hesitates, then turns back. Before she can stop herself, she calls out. “Hey.”
Chloe turns back to face her, curious and waiting.
Already rolling her eyes at herself before she even gets the words out, Beca manages to struggle through them anyway. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
It takes a few seconds for her to believe her own ears, and then Chloe seems surprised and touched, her smile mixed up with something achingly vulnerable. It’s almost sad, in a way, how little it takes to make her light up with joy. “Thanks,” she beams at Beca. “You too.”
As Chloe turns and continues on her way, Beca watches her for a second and realizes that her wings are now crooked, due to her own totally unnecessary adjustment of them, probably. For some reason, Beca doesn’t tell her. They look cute that way.
Finally, she turns around and heads off in the opposite direction, placing the back of one hand against her hot cheek and hoping that by the time she finds Amy, her face isn’t the same color as her hoodie. That girl can sniff out unresolved sexual tension like a beagle on the trail of a rabbit.
Already on the sidewalk up ahead of her, a group of guys is mocking her costume, trying to take a picture. As Beca passes by, she indicates the arrows. “These are poison-tipped, by the way.”
They laugh a little, but then they don’t seem to know whether she’s serious or not. She smirks to herself as they warily keep their distance.
Merry Pitchmas, awesome nerds! I didn’t do the official Secret Santa thing because I was so paranoid I wouldn’t get this done in time and didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but I’d like to gift it to the Bechloe fandom in general, and most especially as a surprise gift to @annakendrick4ever , because she’s been so supportive of my fics and is just an all-around sweetheart. I hope everyone who celebrates Christmas had a great holiday!
Not for the first time tonight, Beca finds herself wondering if it’s wrong to be this horny on Christmas Eve.
Because it feels wrong. Dirty, somehow. Not seasonally appropriate. After all, Christmas is supposed to be about wholesome, childlike, non-sexual things. Family things.
But then, the whole notion of family is precisely what’s put her into this situation, Beca muses, as she clumsily wields a screwdriver in an attempt to secure the wheel onto a doll stroller intended for her four-year-old daughter. Family, and the fact that in approximately five months theirs - hers and Chloe’s - is set to expand by two. And, most crucially, the fact that she’s the one carrying those two, and thus the one dealing with all the crazy, out of control hormones that pregnancy has brought in its wake.
For the ninth or tenth time in the past fifteen minutes, Beca finds her gaze drawn against her will to the other side of the master bedroom, where Chloe is wrapping presents, using their king size bed as her table. She’s got all her materials laid out on it; shopping bags full of gifts, ribbons, bows, tags, scissors and tape, boxes, and half a dozen rolls of wrapping paper, chosen specifically for color variety. But it’s not the paper or the presents that are drawing Beca’s attention, it’s Chloe herself. From here, Beca can only see her from the back. She’s dressed in a dark green romper printed with tiny red and white candy canes. In addition to this, she’s sporting fuzzy Christmas socks, dangly snowflake earrings, and a headband with a pair of perky cloth reindeer antlers. The fact that in spite of this ridiculous ensemble, Beca finds herself gazing at her lustfully says a lot about the current state of her libido.
Because no matter how hard she tries, her mind keeps sliding right back to sex. Her entire body is suffused with a kind of sensual energy like nothing she’s ever felt before, and it’s never satisfied for long. The fact that she’s already partaken of some afternoon delight today means nothing, because that was hours and hours ago, and these days the urges cycle back around continuously, with no let-up, multiple times every day.
Idly, she finds herself wondering, Is this what Stacie feels like all the time? Is that why she-
No. Picturing Stacie’s sex life is not going to help. Dolls. Strollers. Christmas. Wholesome family things. That’s what she needs to be thinking about. Focus, she commands herself.
“How’s it goin’ over there, Mrs. Claus?” Chloe calls to her, as if sensing her distraction.
