#chapter twenty-four

“I have decided to treat your arrival here as a sign, an omen,” it said, and Ivar and Asta both turned in time to see Prince Oleg himself entering the room. They shared a look, wondering how long he’d been standing there.

Not that there’d been anything wrong with what they’d been doing, but they still were slightly unnerved by this behavior. Nevertheless, they kept their mouths shut, electing to let Oleg explain himself. And explain himself, he did.

“You see,” he began. “For a long time, we Rus, guided by my brother-in-law King Rurik, looked to the east for trade, conquests, and expansion.” Oleg moved to stand just over Ivar’s shoulder, causing them both to have to crane their necks around to see him. A power play, something they both recognized. “Yet, even before your, I admit somewhat unexpected, appearance, I had begun to question this way of thinking.”

The way he got down on his knees beside the arm of the chair nearest Ivar had them glancing very briefly between each other. Asta wore her uncertainty and discomfort plainly, and in response to this, as did Ivar. Still, they continued to hear him out.

“Perhaps, after all, it’s time for us to look west again.”

He finally came around and took the seat nearest them, and only then did Asta relax a little. Having him seated, she felt better that he wasn’t going to do something. Her relaxing brought Ivar to do the same.

“Years ago, I hung my shield on the city gates of Constantinople,” he said. “But now, it’s time to hang it on the gates of Kattegat. Our ancestral and original home.”

Asta and Ivar shared a skeptical, disconcerted look. Clearly, she was not a fan of the idea. However, the wheels in Ivar’s head were spinning, and she could see that. He was up to something. After just the right length of a pause, Oleg added, “And you two, you can help me.”

Asta opened her mouth to say something. She was going to deny it, say she wouldn’t attack Kattegat, but Ivar could see Oleg still had something else to add, something to… sweeten the deal, one could say. “You can be revenged upon your brothers, at the same time,” he told Ivar. Now, she really wanted to say no. Perhaps she had her issues with the way things were done, perhaps it had wounded her deeply when Björn had attacked her, when Hvitserk betrayed her and Ivar, but she didn’t want revenge against them. And certainly, with the latter, who had released her into Ivar’s care so easily in the end, she didn’t want him to be hurt in the battle Oleg spoke of.

“I cannot-” she began to say, but Ivar let his thumb began to rub little circles into her knee, silently asking her not to decline this request. She paused, and looked to him. He had something up his sleeve, from the look on her face. She just couldn’t say what.

“I say it is a fine plan,” Ivar finally replied. “Now I see our arrival here in Kiev was no accident, as I supposed, but all arranged by the gods. How could it be otherwise?”

“The gods…” Oleg repeated, and Asta leaned more heavily into Ivar. Their relationship confused Oleg quite a bit, truthfully. News had finally reached Kiev of what exactly transpired in Kattegat, and that was what had prompted him to take Ivar into the mausoleum of his own late wife. He wanted Ivar to feel as though he understood him, in hopes of bringing him closer to an alliance, but his relationship with this woman, this… Prophet, as she was called, had thrown him just a bit with the news he had heard.

To him, they appeared to behave as lovers, as a husband and a wife would do. Neither had protested to sharing a room in the Palace, and even when he’d first approached that night, she’d being sitting with Ivar in the way a wife might. Now, he’d quieted her with no more than a touch- an intimate one, at that. And Oleg didn’t miss the quick glances they shared, checking in with each other whenever something in their environment shifted. They were perceptive, and almost seemed to be privy to the thoughts of the other, like a perfect team.

Well, if that were the case, it was possible she was his wife, he figured. He knew the Vikings to the west allowed for their men to take more than one wife, so perhaps that was the case here. Perhaps, Asta was Ivar’s second wife, who had escaped with him after the death of his Queen. How she had gained the title of Prophet, he wasn’t entirely sure, though the rumors said she had warned him of the first attack of Björn Ironside, before Björn had ever come to Kattegat’s gates. No doubt, marrying a woman with that sort of gift, the gift of a Seeress, would have been a wise move for a man like Ivar the Boneless, but either way, it seemed they worked together seamlessly.

He wondered how she felt about the death- or murder, rather- of Freydis. Some men said their wives became very close, some said they detested each other. If Asta was Ivar’s second wife, then Oleg would know exactly what sort of woman she was based on how she felt about his first.

But, for the time being, he chose not to question these things, and instead merely nodded his head, lifting his cup at what Ivar said. “Let us drink to… Odin,” he suggested. An interesting look crossed the Prophet’s eyes at that, though she still smiled slightly, and nodded as if to agree.

Ivar gave a bit of a breathy chuckle, but lifted his cup, and agreed, “To Odin,” before drinking. Their goblets tapped together, but he noticed Asta merely drank, as opposed to taking part in the toast.

Now that, that was interesting. They were Vikings, supposedly, and so why would she deny their gods? Especially if she was a Völva, then she would know her gifts came from them. Perhaps she was angry with them, for having allowed her and Ivar’s defeat in Kattegat. Whatever it was, that was something he wouldn’t ask either. After all, he didn’t want to make her any more suspicious than she might have been. And with her title, he knew that might have been very suspicious.

However, when they were through, he decided he did want to learn more about her, before he moved forward with his plans with the two. He didn’t trust Asta- or Ivar, for that matter- fully. Her less so than him, but only because so little was known of her to him. Ivar had stood, offered his hand to Asta, and she’d accepted it when she stood.

“Actually,” Oleg spoke, causing the pair to turn back toward him. “Queen Asta, if I could… have a moment of your time?”

They exchanged a quick look, neither of them exactly sure about what he’d just called her. She was not, after all, a Queen, nor had she ever been. It was easy for them to recognize the mistake that had been made, and neither bothered to correct him. Instead, Asta turned and gave him a warm smile, nodding.

“Of course, Prince Oleg,” she replied graciously. She lifted Ivar’s hand to her lips and kissed it affectionately, before releasing him. “I’ll be up to bed shortly, love. Go on.”

Ivar knew this for the way she behaved when playing at their cover, the idea that they were a married couple, and he went along with it easily. “Of course, my sweet,” he replied, and took a step closer to her to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I’ll wait for you, hm?”

A veiled warning to Oleg: Do anything to her, and I’ll know.

She smiled to him sweetly, nodded, kissed him on the cheek as well, and sent him off.

Once they were alone, Oleg stood, and walked over toward Asta. “Why don’t you sit and have another drink?” he offered. Something in his tone unsettled her, and the gentle, kind façade dropped immediately.

“I’m alright, thank you,” she said. He chuckled a little.

“So distrustful?” Oleg questioned. “You must have reason to be…”

Asta tilted her head. “Of course I do,” she replied. “If we could be betrayed in our own home, why could we not be betrayed here? You know what I am called, Prince Oleg. Don’t presume to believe it’s a title meant only for show.”

Oleg smirked and nodded slowly, before beginning to walk around her in a slow circle, his eyes pinned on hers. Well, they would have been, if she’d let him maintain eye contact. He tried to hold her gaze, but she followed him with her eyes for a moment, before turning to look straight ahead again.

“It makes sense, why Ivar likes you,” he commented making her lift a brow as he finally came to stand before her. “You’re a strong woman. You were… wounded, when you came to Kiev. Can I take it you fought, to avoid being captured?”

“You can,” she confirmed with a nod. “I fought for him, as I always will.”

“Yes…” he conceded, nodding slowly. “But, forgive me. If you are a Prophet, as you say, then how is it you were not prepared for my men to attack you?”

Asta gave a small smirk, improvising entirely at this point. “You call yourself Prophet as well,” she pointed out. “Don’t you know? I am not a Seer, nor yet a Völva. I am a Prophet. The gods… don’t reveal all to me as they might a Seer.”

Oleg hummed thoughtfully as he watched her. “Then how is it you came by this title?” he questioned her.

He was looking for a crack in their story, Asta knew, and so she had to be sure it was as watertight as a longship. If there was even one crack, they would sink.

“Surely, you’ve heard the tales?” she said. “I forsaw the Siege of Kattegat, and warned Ivar of his brother’s attack on our city.”

“But you still did not succeed,” Oleg replied. He sounded as if he had caught her, and so she shrugged.

“We won the first battle,” she pointed out. “The latter was an inside job, and the gods didn’t chose to reveal to me what would come, who would betray us.”

“Is this why you refused to drink to Odin tonight?”

Now, she smirked as if he had said something insightful. “It is,” she lied smoothly. “I drank instead to the most painful loss I suffered during Björn Ironside’s siege. If we are going to take it back- though I shudder at the thought of risking Ivar, hence the reluctance you may have seen in me earlier- then I will do so in the name of the woman who was Queen. In the name of Freydis.”

“And it was her you drank to then, in your own being?” he questioned, and Asta nodded. “So you are the sort of woman who becomes close to your husband’s other wife, is that it?”

“No,” she said. “To her only.”

A very curious look passed over Oleg’s face then, as he considered what Asta was saying. If he had been confused before, speaking to her had been no help. Still, he accepted her response with no question.

“Let us drink to her now, then,” he offered. “How did you lose her?”

He began to pour to goblets of wine, and she accepted the one he offered her as she answered, falsely, “She gave her life so Ivar and I could escape. I am not just a Prophet, but a Shieldmaiden as well. She knew if we were ever to retake Kattegat, it would only be together. I was the one who has to leave with Ivar, not her, much as it broke our hearts.”

Even fictitious entirely, the thought of having lost Freydis made her chest ache, and so the very real pain of her loss brought tears to Asta’s eyes, and made her lie all the more convincing.

“Then, to Queen Freydis,” Oleg said, lifting his cup in a toast.

“Queen Freydis,” Asta agreed, and lifted her cup as well with a brief nod. “Skål.”

They each drank from their cups, and Asta returned hers to the table beside him.

“I find it strange to hear you held such affection for Ivar’s first wife,” Oleg commented, watching Asta closely now. “Many women who marry a man who already has one wife… despise her. And the other wife despises the new as well.”

Asta gave a tightlipped smile and chuckled bitterly. “Well, I came to love her before anything began between myself and Ivar,” she said. And, really, wasn’t that true? “She and I had already grown very close when anyone realized affection had grown between us. And…” She chuckled. “It was she who noticed. Ivar and I were trying to be respectful of their marriage, but she suggested it for wanting to see us happy. We simply agreed. And becoming so close, I believe I only came to love her more.”

The look on Oleg’s face was a strange sort of curiosity, and thoughtfulness, which Asta couldn’t quite place. She imagined it had to do with what she’d said, but he apparently chose not to question it too much. At least- not to her face. 

Instead, he asked her, “And how did you meet Ivar?”

This… would be a bit more difficult to play off, she realized. She hoped Ivar hadn’t yet said anything about it, but knowing him, he’d have updated her on their story if he needed to. Right?

“I met him when I came to Kattegat,” she answered easily. “He received me in the Great Hall, and as soon as I told him I was a Prophet, he became interested in knowing me better. The rest is history, as they say.”

“But how did you ever come to Kattegat? Was it… a vision, which showed you that you needed to be there?”

He was trying to determine the limits of her power, she realized quickly. Unfortunately, she had no proof she was a Prophet, just as he had none (or if he had, he hadn’t shown it). So, she stuck to something safer than an affirmative response.

“No, I was a wanderer,” she replied. It concerned her a bit how easily these lies came to her. “I committed myself to the will of the gods long ago, and I believe that is what brought me to Kattegat, so I could serve Ivar.”

Oleg gave a small, thoughtful hum as he nodded slightly. He’d want to run all of that by Ivar, at some point, but not with Asta there. He couldn’t risk her taking over and answering for Ivar.

“I see,” he finally relented. “Well, that is all I wished to discuss. Feel free to return to your husband.”

They both knew that was a lie, but neither showed it. Asta instead simply offered him a gracious smile and a small bend at the waist, a small sign of respect.

“Thank you, Prince Oleg. I will see you shortly, I’m sure.”

She didn’t wait for his answer before turning and walking from the room.

The Shieldmaiden didn’t appear shaken in the slightest, and in truth, she wasn’t. What she was, was unnerved, and deeply so. Something about the very energy she felt from Oleg made her uncomfortable, though if asked, she wouldn’t quite be able to place what exactly about him caused her to feel that way.

She gave her shoulders a slight roll as she came to her and Ivar’s room, an attempt to force herself to relax. When she stepped inside, Ivar sat up a little to look at her, tilting his head.

“What is it?” he questioned. “You’re uncomfortable. What happened?” The Viking was already going over what he would do if Oleg had hurt her in any way.

Asta smiled at him a little, and shook her head. “Nothing,” she replied, coming to sit beside him. She let a hand brush through his hair, and come to rest against his cheek. “He asked about my history with you, and…” She paused to take a deep breath. “I had to come up with something on the spot.”

Ivar nodded a little, immediately soothed again by her touch. She smiled, and got up to start getting ready for bed. “What did you tell him?” Ivar asked.

“Well, he now really thinks I am your wife,” she answered. “Story goes, I was a wanderer, came into Kattegat, you and I fell in love and Freydis, in her love for us both, suggested you take me as a second wife so we would be happy.”

Ivar hummed and chuckled to himself as he watched Asta disappear behind the screen to change. “Well, my wife is certainly very modest for… well, my wife,” he quipped.

Asta’s head popped back out from behind the screen. “Put a real ring on my finger and make it more than a story, then we’ll talk about modest,” she teased in return, and disappeared again.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from his lips as he leaned back against the wall and waited for her to emerge.

When she finally did, he put his arm out and she wandered over to him, sliding into bed beside him. “Hello, husband,” she now quipped, and felt the way his laugh rumbled in his chest beneath her hand.

“We do live as though we are married,” he pointed out thoughtfully, his hand beginning to draw invisible patterns over her back. “With some obvious exceptions, of course.”

This time, it was her turn to give a thoughtful hum. “You’re not wrong,” she said. “But I like it. You and Freydis are the only two I’ve ever felt so close to. In Wessex, they’d have shirked at the idea of a man and woman having so intimate a relationship without being married. But it’s strange, because there really is little variance from how I behaved with her, yet that would have been allowed.”

Ivar smirked a little as he scooted down, settled into the bed to sleep. “It is because I am a man,” he said. “Hm? Though, that does not mean I have… done anything your churches would disapprove of.”

“No, aside from share my bed, even if not… in such a way as they should be worried,” she chuckled. “Heahmund loved Lagertha. He had a relationship with her, and yet, he was restored as a Bishop. Even after killing a man. Yet here I would face ridicule and condemnation for laying against you in the freezing cold so as not to die, and growing used to it as a comfort.”

Something about her admission that sleeping beside him comforted her brought a small smile to his lips. For so long, he had wondered if there was any part of him which could still do something good. He knew how close Asta had been to Hvitserk, and he still- essentially- made her choose between himself and his brother. But knowing this, he realized there was still good he could do. Even if it was only in supporting her.

Her small hum brought him from his thoughts, as well as the way she began to shift which signaled she would be going to sleep. “Anyway,” she said, adjusting to wrap her arm around his waist now and press herself as tightly into his side as she could. “I’m exhausted, and would like to sleep.”

“Then sleep, Asta,” he said with a chuckle, and she looked up at him with a pointed expression.

“You know what I meant,” she said, and curled back up to him. “See that you sleep, too, and don’t stay up all night debating the rest of our story. We’ll think of that in the morning.”

Ivar sighed, but nodded, secretly finding it endearing how well she knew him. “I will,” he promised. “Sleep well, hm?”

She gave a slight hum as acknowledgement of his words, and he kissed her head just as she fell asleep. Turning his head carefully, so as not to wake her, he blew out the candle and allowed himself to succumb as well, just as she had asked.

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Beca’s rougher than usual, the sharp flash of teeth against skin in concert with the hot tongue bathing her making Chloe cry out and wind her fingers into brunette tresses, desperate for some kind of anchor. Beca nips and sucks, capturing the peak of Chloe’s breast between her lips and pulling back until it slides from her mouth with a slick, sloppy noise before dropping to enclose it again. At the same time, her fingers play with Chloe’s other side, kneading and pinching, every touch raising Chloe’s back from the bed, desperate for more.

Then, Beca palms and squeezes her at the same time she firmly sucks skin into her mouth and Chloe gasps jaggedly, her hips lifting into Beca’s. Beca groans around her breast, releasing it as she rests even more of her weight on top of Chloe.

“So impatient,” she mutters, sliding her hand down to rest on Chloe’s waist, where her fingers curl around her side and draw idle patterns that tickle Chloe’s skin.

“You’re taking too long,” Chloe manages, dragging her hands out of Beca’s hair and down her back to squeeze at the full flesh of her backside, loving the way it makes Beca tense above her momentarily.

With a roll of her eyes, Beca kisses down her body, crawling backward, her lips leaving a searing trail down Chloe’s chest and stomach. Her tongue circles Chloe’s navel with purposeful slowness, drawing out the moment until Chloe is forced to melt into the mattress, her hands tangling in the sheets, waiting for the inevitable.

***************

She remembers what it was like, the first time she’d seen Beca at the Activities Fair.

The moment the sunlight illuminated the girl in the red tank top, Chloe had known she was someone special. She remembers the way Beca had become sarcastic, had thrown up her walls and had called a cappella “pretty lame.” She remembers the way it had made her feel, disappointed but intrigued, ensnared by this girl despite her tone and Aubrey’s blatant dislike of her. It had been so much harder than it should have been to watch this complete stranger walk away.

It had been even harder to contain her excitement when, weeks later, Chloe had heard the most angelic rendition of her lady jam she’d ever heard. She likes to think about that moment a lot, especially the instant Beca had forgotten herself and met her eyes, singing confidently enough to send a thrill through Chloe. Mostly, she likes to think about how stunning Beca had looked. It had been enough to make her forget all about Tom, even though he’d made the special trip to visit her.

It had been the same when she’d almost kissed Beca during Hood Night, pulling her close. Chloe doesn’t like thinking about how disappointed she is in herself for not kissing Beca then, because now, she’s lost her chance.

And every day since, every single look, smile, touch shared between them that had made her insides twist and squirm and her heart stutter in her chest, she’d refused to acknowledge because they were just friends.

Beca is her friend, and to feel anything more is unfair to her.

They could only ever just be friends, because there’s no other option.

***************

Beca’s fingers slide under the waistband of Chloe’s panties and tug; Chloe lifts her hips and Beca drags the garment down and off her, flinging it carelessly across the room before she half-collapses between Chloe’s open legs. Beca’s mouth is on her again, staying high, teasing, leaving wet kisses at the skin between her belly button and where her panties covered; Chloe whines and tilts her hips, lifting them up into Beca’s neck, desperate for her to move lower, but Beca only slows her movements, glancing up with a smirk.

“Wait,” she says, ghosting the tips of her fingers between Chloe’s legs and smiling when Chloe’s fingers tighten in the sheets. After a moment, she returns to kissing low on Chloe’s stomach, but gives no sign of moving farther down.

Fine then. If that’s what Beca wants...

Chloe’s hands fly to Beca’s shoulders and she pulls, hauling Beca upward.

“Hey, what are –”

Chloe silences Beca’s question with her lips at the same time she hooks her leg over Beca’s hips and grabs her bicep. She rolls, flipping them, pinning Beca under her, all without breaking their kiss.

Beca exhales hard with surprise, but rather than pulling away, Chloe uses the opportunity to slide her tongue into Beca’s mouth. Beca’s hands land on her back and Chloe rocks forward, her thigh positioned high between Beca’s; it makes Beca groan and turn her head, ending the kiss, and Chloe instead drops her lips to Beca’s neck, trailing along every inch of skin, pulling it into her mouth and sucking, nipping, leaving little red marks, all as she continues to rock forward into Beca.

“Shit, fuck –”

Chloe growls and presses even harder, stunned by the wetness smearing across her thigh as Beca’s hips lift to meet her thrusts. She licks up Beca’s neck, her skin tasting of salt and need, and finds purchase at her pulse point. Her lips close around it and Beca keens, her hands dropping to Chloe’s backside and tugging, bringing her pelvis down and into her own.

With a moan, Chloe shifts her weight to one forearm and palms Beca’s breast with her free hand. Its warm weight familiar, she squeezes gently, making Beca’s back arch up off the mattress with a hiss through clenched teeth.

The next second, the leg Chloe straddles rises, bending at the knee and giving Chloe something to bear down on. She grunts in surprise and has to fight the immediate urge to grind against it, and instead lifts away from Beca, removing her thigh from Beca’s center.

“What? Why’d you stop?” Beca asks breathlessly, her chest still heaving under Chloe’s touch.

“I’m making you wait,” Chloe whispers, though her body is screaming at her to continue. “Isn’t that what you were gonna do to me?”

Beca whimpers wordlessly and her body rolls under Chloe, hips rising but finding no relief. In response, Chloe drops her hand from Beca’s breast and back to the mattress, pulling even farther away.

Beca lets out a frustrated huff, blowing a strand of hair from her face, and lifts an eyebrow. “I suppose you want me to beg?”

Chloe has to restrain herself from leaning to kiss Beca; she looks so adorable that it almost makes her will crumble, but she manages, “Begging wouldn’t hurt.”

Beca rolls her eyes and deadpans, “Oh, Chloe, please, fuck me, I need you inside me.”

Chloe’s lips twitch. “That doesn’t count,” she breathes, but rocks forward once with purpose, making Beca’s eyes flutter. “Try again.”

Beca takes a deep breath, seeming to steel herself. She meets Chloe’s eyes, the playful challenge shining through as she presses her lips together tightly, a silent refusal.

Excitement kindling in her chest, Chloe again shifts her weight to her forearm and brushes her fingers over the peak of Beca’s breast, using only enough teasing force to feel the skin pebble before she reclaims her hand. At the same time, she grinds down onto Beca’s thigh, the friction ratcheting up her own arousal while also making Beca’s hands tighten on her back.

“You’re... soaked,” Beca exhales shakily, and Chloe can feel Beca’s leg tensing against her.

“Mhmm...” It takes all of Chloe’s focus to roll forward and into Beca again, rather than grinding down in search of her own relief, but she does it. She presses her thigh into Beca, feeling that she’s become even more turned on in the moments since they’ve touched.

“Chlo –”

Beca’s gasps turn increasingly needy and raise in pitch; Chloe gives in slightly, sliding her hand down to Beca’s stomach, past her navel, and down to where she pauses, tracing over an invisible line with her fingertips, back and forth.

“What do you want?” she whispers, leaning down to run her tongue over the shell of Beca’s ear, tasting the tang of her piercings.

Beca’s hips lift, then crash back down to the mattress. “God, I –”

Chloe rocks forward again, dropping her mouth to Beca’s collarbone, sliding her lips along it to dip her tongue into the hollow of Beca’s throat, where she can feel the vibrations of Beca’s hums.

“Chlo…”

Beca’s hands twitch against Chloe’s lower back.

“Yes?”

Chloe’s fingers skirt teasingly over Beca, delving between her legs for only the barest instant. At even that hint of touch, Beca’s mouth falls open with a garbled string of syllables and her legs shift; getting the hint, Chloe moves so she’s cradled between Beca’s legs, rather than straddling one.

Chloe’s kisses turn to light nips as she moves down Beca’s chest. She kisses the curve of a breast, then flicks her tongue lightly over its peak.

Beca’s hips rise again.

“What do you want?” Chloe repeats, again drifting her fingers over Beca’s center, marveling at the way her fingers glide over skin.

Beca glares at Chloe, fire in her eyes. “I – that’s –”

Chloe closes her lips around the peak of Beca’s breast and swirls her tongue around it at the same time she rubs a delicate circle onto Beca.

“Chloe – I – shit –”

Chloe glances up, only lifting her eyes so that her lips and tongue never leave Beca’s skin. Beca’s head is pressed back into the pillow, her eyes squeezed tight, the tendons in her neck drawn taut; sensing victory, Chloe drops her hand down, circles Beca’s entrance with one finger, and pushes just the tip of it inside, then stops.

And waits.

Waits.

Holds.

Then –

Beca’s body tenses under her at the same time a huge gust of air escapes from her lungs and she’s shifting her legs and squirming against the bed and panting, “Fucking fine, Chlo, please, baby, please, I need you to –”

Chloe sucks on the skin in her mouth at the same time she presses two fingers forward, gliding into Beca easily.

Beca’s short nails dig into her back as Chloe strokes her, curling her fingers and pulling back, only to press forward again. She revels in the texture she feels, the way her palm meets Beca with every forward movement. She sets a fast pace, ignoring the familiar tension in her forearm as she works.

She releases Beca’s breast, lifting her head to pepper kisses along Beca’s throat, cheeks, and lips as she continues her glide, curl, pull, push rhythm. She’d planned on teasing Beca more, but she can’t wait; Beca’s already twitching around her fingers and panting in her ear and clutching at her back and meeting her every thrust with a rise of her hips.

And then Beca’s breathing even more rapidly and begging, “Harder, go harder,” and Chloe uses her hips to drive her hand forward in sharp, fast strokes that push Beca up the bed, her entire body tensing under Chloe’s until she’s hooking a leg around Chloe and gasping and crying out Chloe’s name as she falls, her body shuddering through it as she tries to pull Chloe even closer.

Chloe watches in awe and continues delicately moving her fingers as Beca gradually relaxes into the mattress, her leg unhooking itself from around Chloe. After it’s passed, Chloe pulls her hand away, watching how Beca’s eyebrows draw together at the loss.

Now that she’s done teasing Beca, the need throbbing between her own legs is becoming unbearable. She debates reaching down to take care of herself; even as she’s licking her fingers clean, she’s already imagining what it’ll feel like to touch herself while Beca watches.

But then – “Come here,” Beca says, swallowing as she catches her breath, and Chloe (somewhat reluctantly) plants both hands on the mattress again to lean forward, expecting a kiss.

“No,” Beca shakes her head, huffing a laugh. “I meant – up here,” she emphasizes with a tug on Chloe’s hips.

Oh. Oh.

Chloe whimpers as need shoots through her – molten, desperate, and coiling low in her gut. She lifts herself from between Beca’s legs and moves off of her to the side, scooting up until she’s level with Beca’s face. They’ve never done this before, and a strange mix of excitement and nerves tingles through her limbs as she watches Beca carefully bunch up her hair, taking her time with pulling it behind her head and out of the way.

“Hurry up,” Chloe hears herself whine before she can stop it.

By the way Beca looks at her, she knows she’s going to regret that moment of weakness, but then Beca’s reaching out and touching her hip with one hand, urging, guiding, until Chloe finds herself hovering over Beca, one knee planted on either side of her head.

“Ready?” Beca asks, her mouth hidden from Chloe’s view. Without waiting for an answer, she blows a stream of air over Chloe’s center.

It makes Chloe’s entire body jolt; choking down a gasp, she glares down at Beca, and almost immediately forgets her indignation at the sight of Beca enveloped between her legs, eyes bright and excited. Mind scrambled, Chloe barely manages to get both hands on the headboard before Beca’s hands land at the tops of her thighs, guiding her down.

Though Chloe had expected it, Beca doesn’t tease; her tongue takes a broad sweep through Chloe, making her cry out and grip the headboard even more firmly, her knuckles turning white. Beca repeats the motion, licking through everything that’s been drenched and on fire for what feels like hours.

Chloe shifts, desperate to somehow spread herself wider, open herself further to Beca; her skin is pulled between lips, licked, sucked on, stroked, Beca’s tongue delving within, Beca’s hands roving over her thighs, over her backside, and sometimes dipping around her hips to drag through her while Beca’s tongue is otherwise occupied. The sound of it – Beca’s moans and hums and the distinct noises from between Chloe’s legs – sends hot spikes shooting through Chloe’s entire body, tightening a knot in her stomach, left tense and waiting for Beca to unravel.

A particularly forceful press of Beca’s tongue drags a slew of sounds from Chloe’s throat and she claps a hand over her own mouth, horrified at the prospect of the Bellas hearing them. She bites down hard on her lower lip, squeezing her eyes closed in effort to restrain the noises she’s making. As soon as she does, the pressure between her legs eases, ebbs, as Beca pauses and drops away.

Bewildered, and more than a little disappointed, Chloe lifts herself slightly and looks down over the panes of her body and between her legs to where Beca lies, her skin flushed, cheeks wet, and lips swollen. Chloe’s hips twitch on instinct, but she blocks the urge to grind down into Beca’s face.

“Why –”

Beca licks her lips and clears her throat. “I want to hear you.”

Chloe’s fingers tighten still further on the headboard.

“The Bellas…” she manages, hearing the rasp in her own voice.

“So?” Beca smirks wickedly.

Just like that, Chloe’s already thin resolve evaporates and a shudder runs down her spine. She groans, and Beca, maybe sensing her weakness, tugs her down and reconnects her mouth, tongue immediately inside. This time, Chloe doesn’t hold back her moan, instead letting it rip free from her chest to fill the room and bounce off the walls. Beca echoes it, pressing her tongue deep and dragging it out slowly.

Chloe’s hips twitch and she folds forward, resting her forehead on her crossing arms on the headboard so that she can look down and watch Beca, whose eyes are closed, lost in what she’s doing. The sight makes Chloe’s chest thrum and she whimpers, pressing down with a hint of pressure.

The hands on Chloe’s ass tighten and Beca shifts forward, wrapping her lips around Chloe’s bud to suck, and this time, Chloe can’t stop her hips from rocking against Beca’s face once. She halts her movements almost immediately, scared to hurt Beca, but Beca only hums and tugs on her backside and thighs, encouraging her grinding.

With a shaky laugh, Chloe leans even more heavily into the headboard and allows her hips to move in time with Beca’s mouth, following Beca’s fast, driving pace until her thighs tremble and shivers run up her spine. She knows she has to be soaking Beca’s mouth and she’s so, so close, straining, ready to snap as Beca’s hands move around her waist and rise to cover her breasts.

Half-delirious, some of the words thrown during their earlier fight rise in Chloe’s mind. Without thinking, she gasps, “God, Bec – how’s this for flaunting it, huh?”

From between her legs, Beca makes a strangled, almost angry noise; before Chloe can climax, before she even really registers what’s happening, Beca drops her mouth away and pushes at her side, shoving her gracelessly off her face. Chloe moves instantly, scared she’d hurt Beca, scared something had gone wrong, and then Beca’s sitting up and pushing Chloe down, backward, until she’s flat on her back, her head at the foot of the bed with Beca’s body on top of hers, settled between her open legs and pressing her into the mattress.

“Jesus, Bec –”

Chloe’s hands fly to Beca’s back, but Beca shakes them off and grabs at her wrists to pin them above her head with one hand, holding them down, restraining her, and Chloe somehow feels herself becoming even more turned on.

Before she can so much as gasp, Beca’s lips crash onto hers, hungry and insistent and tasting of her; Chloe groans, her body rolling under Beca’s as Beca drives her hips forward with purpose. Beca breaks the kiss and moves to Chloe’s neck, sucking at her sensitive skin, nipping it, until Chloe knows it’s going to leave a huge mark.

“You’re mine,” Beca growls against her neck right before sucking harder on the same spot. Chloe whimpers at being possessed so openly by Beca, and her hips lift helplessly in search of friction. The hand around her wrists disappears, and Beca reaches down between them to grab Chloe’s hip, shoving it back down to the mattress.

“God, Chloe, earlier –” Beca pushes into her again “– how you could ever think – ever –” Beca’s lips reach her sternum, leaving marks across her chest “– that I was embarrassed –” Beca’s mouth drops to enclose the peak of Chloe’s breast, teeth flashing against skin.

“Ah – Bec – Christ, I’m –”

“There’s nothing that could make me ashamed of this. Nothing.”

Beca’s hand slides over Chloe’s hip and two fingers are suddenly inside, pumping hard and fast as she drives into Chloe. Chloe cries out and her back arches; no longer restrained, her hands fly up, clinging to Beca, scratching down her back as every thrust from Beca’s hips and hand pushes her closer, closer until she tightens and tenses and pulls at Beca, trying to get her deeper until – with one last grind down – she snaps, crying out Beca’s name and shuddering up into her.

Beca eases her down slowly, drawing out the aftershocks, stroking her from within. Chloe’s exhausted, her mind and heart flooded with emotion, but as soon as Beca pulls out, triumph in her eyes, Chloe’s fingers ghost around Beca, between her legs to find her entrance, and slide in.

Beca’s eyes fly wide and her mouth falls open; it would be comical if Chloe wasn’t so focused – push, pull, push, pull, curl, rub, push, pull – on giving as good as she got, reminding Beca that they belong to each other. She adds a third finger and then Beca’s crying out and arching her back and Chloe continues her punishing rhythm until Beca gasps and shudders and her arms give out, so that she half-collapses on top of Chloe, her hips jerking erratically until it passes.

Chloe reclaims her hand as they lie still, panting into each other’s ears. Beca rests on top of her, and Chloe notices she’s trembling. With a little frown, Chloe wraps her arms around Beca, pulling her close in effort to warm and calm her. Beca sighs and sags further into her, tangling their legs as they catch their breath.

After a moment, Chloe clears her throat. “What was that?” she manages hoarsely.

She hears Beca swallow before shifting above her, lifting some of her weight from Chloe’s body so she can meet her eyes.

Chloe had been wrong earlier; Beca has never looked more perfect than she does now, her face still flushed and slightly sweaty, hair wild.

“You shouldn’t have brought up earlier,” Beca grins crookedly down at her. “It made me all… was it too much?”

Chloe shakes her head, running a hand through her own hair. “No, it was – that was so hot.”

“Good,” Beca huffs, leaning in for a brief kiss. “In that case –”

The hand still between Chloe’s thighs cups her, making her gasp and jerk against it. “No, baby,” Chloe manages weakly. “I can’t, no more –”

“I bet you could,” Beca breathes, but pulls away and rolls off, flopping down beside Chloe.

“Mmm, maybe later,” Chloe mumbles, turning away from Beca and scooting backward. With a small noise of contentment, Beca slides close and arms wrap around Chloe from behind, holding her close.

“Love you,” Beca murmurs softly into Chloe’s ear.

Chloe’s lips lift even as her eyes slide closed tiredly. “Love you, too,” she says, leaning still farther back into Beca’s body.

She feels herself relaxing, the tendrils of sleep creeping into the edges of her mind, lulled even closer by Beca’s thrumming heartbeat against her back. Chloe sighs, preparing to give into her body and rest.

Her phone buzzes twice against the wood of the nightstand, startling her.

Beca grunts tiredly. “Ignore it.”

Her phone buzzes again. And again.

“Someone’s texting me, like, a million things.”

“Tell them to go away.”

Sighing, Chloe extracts herself from Beca’s arms and reaches over for her phone, glaring at the multiple notifications from Amy.

A: is bhloe back together

A: the whole neighborhood heard

A: seriously are you done fighting and make-up boning

A: Stacie’s losing her shit over it

A: i call dibs on being your roommate in NY

A: i picked out an apartment

A: image

A: image

A: image

Chloe squints at the torrent of images, not quite comprehending at first what she’s seeing. It’s not until an image of a small-looking kitchen comes through that it hits her and she gasps.

“What?”

“It’s, uh, Amy,” Chloe says, glancing over her shoulder to where Beca lies. “She says we were loud and also, um, she wants to be roomies in New York. She found an apartment already, I guess.”

Beca props herself up on an elbow. “Are you serious? Dude, that’s awesome! Pics?”

“Yeah, here,” Chloe replies, handing her phone to Beca so she can see the images still coming through on her phone. She watches Beca scroll through them, staring at the screen carefully. Chloe has to look away, her fingers worrying the sheets under her hand.

“Oh, so that looks nice,” Beca says eventually, passing her phone back. Her tone is too casual, and she’s staring at Chloe’s forehead rather than her eyes.

“Yeah, I… it looks small, but it’s furnished, and I think at least to start, maybe…”

“So are you sharing a bed with her, then?” Beca asks, relaxing back to the mattress. “I only saw the one.”

“I think the couch pulls out,” Chloe answers, checking Amy’s messages again.

“Gotcha.”

Chloe draws her lip between her teeth and nods, locking her phone and replacing it on the nightstand. She hesitates, not quite ready to move back to Beca’s side.

“Chlo?” Beca asks, her voice dangerously gentle.

“I’m okay,” Chloe answers automatically. “It’s just, it’s real now. I’m… moving to New York.”

“Yeah,” Beca smiles carefully. “That’s really exciting.”

“I… yeah,” Chloe exhales, a weight sliding into her chest. “I guess that’s settled.” Moving almost robotically, she lies back down, returning to her position in Beca’s arms. Beca squeezes her once, and lips press into the back of her shoulder.

“Good,” Beca mumbles. “I’m really happy for you, Chlo.”

The raw sincerity in Beca’s tone tugs at Chloe’s heart. She finds Beca’s hand and links their fingers together.

“Bec… it’ll… we’ll work it out.”

“I know,” Beca sighs tiredly. “I’m not worried. As long as I’m with you, I’m not worried.”

“Chloe! Chloe, holy shit!”

Chloe’s eyes fling open wide at Beca’s shriek; startled, she flails, jerks sideways, and crashes onto the floor with a painful thud.

“Ouch, motherfu –”

“Shit, are you okay?”

Chloe blinks at the ceiling groggily, disoriented, not sure how long she’d been asleep. A moment later, Beca’s concerned face appears in her line of view, looking down at her anxiously.

“Ouch.”

“You said that,” Beca laughs, reaching down to help Chloe up.

Chloe gingerly rises from the floor and perches herself on the edge of her bed, noting absently the watery, early-morning light breaking through the blinds of her bedroom. She also realizes that Beca had tugged on a tank and a pair of Chloe’s sweatpants, which were too long for her and had been bunched up at the ankles.

“Why are you dressed? What time is it?” Chloe yawns. “And why were you yelling?”

“I had to use the bathroom, but – Chlo, I got the job!”

“What are you –”

“I checked my phone, and I got an email, and I got the job! I’m moving to New York! We can live together!”

Chloe blinks. Beca’s staring at her, excitement etched into her face, and staring at Chloe as if waiting for her to say something.

“When did – how – what?”

Beca rolls her eyes, her hands flopping to her sides. “Chloe. I’m moving to New York. I got a job offer from –” Beca checks her phone “– BFD Records. We’ll be in New York together.”

“You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

“When did you – didn’t you need to interview?”

“Oh, right, that,” Beca says, suddenly looking guilty. “Uh, yeah. I did. I actually had the phone interview… like, two days ago? Uh, the same day I got the offer from Houston, so I could ask them to speed up the process.”

Chloe gapes in shock.

Beca lifts her eyebrows and smiles tightly, her lips pressed together. “Surprise?” she offers with a half-hearted shrug.

Chloe launches herself forward and tackles Beca into a bone-crushing hug. “That’s amazing!” she squeals directly into Beca’s ear. “Why didn’t you tell me you interviewed?! Beca! We’re gonna live together! We – it’s – ahhh!!”

She knows she’s being obnoxious, but she can’t help it; a weight has been lifted from her chest at the realization that it’s not all ending, that she and Beca aren’t going to be pulled apart by their own futures – instead, they can start building the future together.

“Woah, let me breathe!” Beca pulls back, laughing. “And I didn’t want to, you know, get our hopes up, so I didn’t say anything, just in case they didn’t want me.”

“Of course they want you!” Chloe says, tugging on Beca’s hands. “You’re amazing.”

“Oh, well, you know…” Beca says awkwardly, her ears tinging pink. “I wasn’t sure.”

Chloe smiles, but doesn’t say anything. She knows Beca doesn’t like compliments, even as much as she deserves them.

“Well, so now,” Beca starts, “I just need an apartment.”

“Oh, easy,” Chloe says, “Live with me. And, uh, Amy. We’ll just look for a two-bedroom apartment.”

Beca lifts an eyebrow questioningly. “Won’t we have to share a bed?”

Chloe hums and steps close to Beca, running her fingertips under the hem of Beca’s tank and smoothing her hands over Beca’s lower back. “Is that a problem?”

Beca grins and reaches down to pull her tank off completely.

August 14th

 Chloe knows Beca has to be about three seconds away from bursting into tears. At least, that’s how she feels; maybe Beca will just cry later, quietly, to her and her alone.

The entire house had been emotional the last few days. With plans finally falling into place for almost everyone, and the steady flow of parents in and out hauling away furniture and non-essentials, it’s no longer possible to deny the looming lease end date.

They all officially move out tomorrow, and Chloe knows there will be more tears then. Her chest aches at the thought of moving on from Barden and separating from some of the most important people in her life.

She can’t even imagine how Beca must feel. Outside of the Bellas, Chloe has her family. Beca’s family is the Bellas.

She’d already given them all their matching necklaces, with the promise to mail Aubrey’s to her. Chloe had expected her to make a bit more of a big deal of it, but instead, Beca had more or less pulled out the bag of jewelry over their last group dinner and told them to “each take one, and don’t make it weird.”

(They’d still made it weird; every single Bella had pulled Beca into a tight hug until her eyes had started to water.)

With that done, there was only one official act of business remaining.

Emily stands with her back to their wall of trophies, which now displays their World Championship win at the center. Chloe feels like a proud mom and can’t stop smiling at Emily; she glances over at Beca, who seems to be more focused on the candles behind her. As she watches, Beca reaches forward and tugs Emily closer to their group and away from the nearest flame.

“Right, the clumsy thing,” Emily says, glancing around her. “The fire.”

“Yep,” Beca says, reaching for the goblet of Boones Farm. “Don’t wanna knock that over. That’d be bad.”

Chloe shivers at the thought. Maybe the candles were a bit much.

“Anyway,” Beca says, lifting the goblet up to Emily. “Here. It’s ceremonial, and you should definitely not drink it because it is essentially poison.”

Chloe glares sideways at her, but Beca stubbornly refuses to meet her eyes, even though the corners of her mouth twitch up.

Emily raises the cup to her nose. “Oh, it smells like cherry and vanilla.”

Beca opens her mouth to reply, but before she can say anything too snarky, Chloe cuts her off.  “Repeat after me. ‘I, sing your name.’”

“I, Emily!”

“Okay. Then, ‘promise to Uphold the ideals of a Bella woman forever.’”

Chloe’s chest swells with happiness as Emily repeats the phrase. The Bella legacy will continue, and she can’t think of anyone better for the job than Emily.

Though, really, Emily is the only one for the job.

Before Chloe can add the part about wolves tearing out vocal cords, Beca jumps in. “That’s it, that’s the end of the speech, nothing weird happens after that,” she says, glancing at Chloe. She reaches into a pocket, pulling out her house keys. “Uh, these are for you. Also, don’t go in the basement. It’s haunted.”

Emily beams at them all happily, looking like an excited kid at Christmas.

“Okay!” Amy twists around, pulling forward a sled. “One last thing.”

“Yes, every Bella must christen the house by sliding down the staircase,” Chloe says.

“Seriously?”

“It’s tradition,” agrees Beca.

It’s not a tradition. They completely made it up this year.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll show you,” Amy says stepping forward confidently before taking a swig of the Boones Farm and making her way to the staircase. “I’ll crush it.”

When Amy does slide down the stairs, it looks more like she crushes all the bones in her body, but she pops up relatively unharmed, victorious.

And then it’s Emily’s turn, and Chloe’s stomach flips.

Wave after wave of nostalgia crashes over Chloe as Emily situates herself at the top of the stairs, crossing her legs on the sled. She’s lived in the Bella house for six years; the idea of leaving it – and leaving Barden – sends a lancet of pain through her and makes her eyes tear up.

As if sensing Chloe’s distress, Beca takes a step sideways and closer to her, looking at her questioningly.

“This is a lot,” Chloe whispers, wiping her eyes with one hand while wrapping her other around Beca’s.

***************

Chloe falls in love with Beca while singing “Just the Way You Are” at the bottom of an empty pool.

She doesn’t mean to – in fact, she actively tries not to – but she does.

Chloe falls in love with Beca while surrounded by other Bellas, the cool night wrapping around them. Their voices echo off the walls of the concrete pool, resonating perfectly in Chloe’s ears. Looking into Beca’s eyes, Chloe means every word of the song she sings. Looking into Beca’s eyes, Chloe knows Beca has just saved everything.

Chloe falls in love with Beca in perfect harmony.

She spends the next three years trying to shake those feelings, trying to find someone else, someone available, someone whose friendship she could potentially live without, should things go sour. She desperately tries not to love Beca.

She fails.

And she falls.

She spends the next three years falling further every day, hoping that somehow, Beca will catch her before she hits the ground.

***************