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The Sexual Implications of Teleportation

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The first time is a complete freak accident. For god's sake, Beca's drunk. It's the weekend before fall semester finals, and she has one night before she has to buckle down for reading days. Jesse takes her out, buys the first round, and she's small as shit, so. It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to deduce what happens. She can barely walk without tripping over her own two feet, much less teleport.

Still. One second she's wrapping herself around a lamppost, howling out the chorus to Super Bass (the song is objectively amazing) and wishing that she was at the beach, and the next she finds herself on the fucking beach. Wet sand, seawater, shells. Everything.

She thinks she's hallucinating. Blinks up at the dark band of sky and takes a deep breath. Nope, still at the beach. She wiggles her toes inside her Converses. A seagull calls out high above her.

Dude, she must be drunker than she thought, and her head's spinning. Vertigo suddenly hits her and she ends up puking up most of the contents of her stomach into the shallow waves. She rinses out her mouth -- the salty water stinging -- and gets to her feet.

It turns out you get cold fast in damp jeans. She's shivering by the time she gets up to the parking lot. Her phone buzzes in the pocket of her hoodie.

dude where r u?, Jesse's text says.

Beca glances around the parking lot, washed in cool orange by the nearby streetlights. She walks down towards what looks like a sign at the end, tilts her head up to read it. There are still speckles of sand stuck to her palm, grainy and shimmering when she turns her hand towards the light.


Fuck fuck fuck.

florida, she texts back to Jesse, because, well, there isn't anything else to say.




She's got two dollars and sixty-one cents in her pockets, all in change.

Turns out it's enough for an order of small fries from Burger King.




It's hours before Jesse shows up. Beca's practically asleep, sitting at the edge of the Burger King parking lot, her head pressed against a lamppost. The rattling of his car wakes her.

"So. Florida," he says, rolling down his window.

She squints up at him, groggy and hungover. "Yeah," she croaks out, struggling to her feet.

"What the fuck," he says.

Beca throws open the passenger side door, rolls herself in. "Yeah."




It takes her all of next semester to figure it out, the teleportation thing. Thank god she has a single, you know? Between classes and Bellas rehearsals, Beca stands in the middle of her room, thinks about places in her past -- her mom's house in Portland, the summer camp she went to when she was 9, Chloe's apartment downtown (that one makes her wince). She only successfully manages to get where she intends to twice. The rest of the time it's a crapshoot.

(Once she ends up in the middle of Times Square, the sudden swell of people and rush of noise overwhelming. She teleports herself out to the beach again, panicked, her hands damp with sweat.)

"Maybe you should see a doctor," Jesse suggests.

"To get committed to a psych ward? No thanks," Beca replies, picking the crust off her PB&J.

"But can't you just teleport yourself out of there?" he asks, smirking. Like he's just asking to be punched on the shoulder. So she does.




Sometimes the teleportation thing is actually really nice. There's the time it takes her to Madrid, drops her in the middle of Retiro Park. She walks around for ages, through the rose garden, and meanders her way up to the Palacio de Cristal. The sunlight's blinding, and she teleports back before she has to scrounge for Euros (like she ends up doing other times).

She tells Jesse this, expecting him to say something about how she should try for other awesome places -- Rome, Paris, Istanbul.

"You could go see Chloe," he says instead, after a minute, serious.

She shrugs and stares down at her textbook. "It's probably for the best," she says quietly, twirling a highlighter around between her fingers.





That's a story.




What's the short version? That's the one Beca tells now. It's succinct and involves no emotions, no tears. It says nothing about how Chloe smiles and how her skin smells, the way she'd play with Beca's hair and the thick drawl of her voice when she was drunk. Beca's spent months pushing the long version back into the recesses of her mind, bit by bit, until she can almost not think about it.

Fine, fine, the short version. Just -- there's not much to the story.

They date. Chloe moves. They break up. (What's the point? Plane tickets are expensive, and they're both still in school.)

Beca's fine now. Really. It's been months. She's completely, one-hundred percent over it.

(She thinks about it sometimes. Right before she falls asleep. Like she's still in Chloe's bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark constellations Chloe stuck on the ceiling. When Beca thinks about that, she sleeps dreamless and deep.)



No, she's not going to tell the long version.

There's not enough alcohol in the world for that.




As soon as the teleportation starts getting easy -- like Beca's finally gaining some semblance of control over it -- she finds herself doing it in her sleep.

Camping in the woods? Boom, she's in the woods.

Running down the corridors of her old school? Boom. Right there.

The one time she has a dream about white-water rafting and then ends up somehow in a spaceship, and there's a bear, and also her fourth-grade PE teacher -- okay, well, that one time she wakes up in her own bed.

(Her heart's pounding, and her mouth's all dry; she's so grateful to be twisted up in her sheets that she almost falls out of bed on shaky legs.)

Sooner or later though, Beca thinks -- stumbling half-asleep and buzzing with caffeine through her day -- she's going to end up at Chloe's. Inevitably.




It takes longer than she would have expected. It's mid-summer before it happens. She's got this internship with a mid-level music producer, and she's staying with her Aunt Judy in New York on the Upper West Side. The air-conditioner keeps her closet-sized bedroom freezing, the sheets shockingly cold against her bare arms. Beca burrows deep beneath the comforter and sleeps curled together like a puppy. She's been too exhausted recently to teleport anywhere.

She wakes up because of the familiar tug in her stomach, as if the floor's dropping out beneath her. She knows where she is even before she opens her eyes -- which she doesn't get a chance to right away, because she's being slammed into a wall, her arm twisted up behind her.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Chloe's snarling, unfamiliar, strange, and the pressure of her body against Beca's makes Beca go limp.

"It's me," she manages to squeak out. "Fuck, Chloe, it's me. Jesus. My arm."

Chloe withdraws as if she's been burned, but Beca can still feel the bruising hold on her wrist. She rubs it absently as she turns around, her face hot. She thinks she might throw up, which is definitely unfair. She hasn't even had anything to drink.

"Um," Chloe says. She's in pajamas, a ratty Barden t-shirt over tiny shorts, and her hair's loose around her shoulders. She's staring at Beca like she's never seen her before. Beca feels the tug again -- like she's teleporting -- but she doesn't go anywhere. "How…?"

"I -- erm."

"You're in my room," Chloe says, her voice uncertain. "My room in Minnesota. You're in Minnesota."

"It's hard to explain," Beca says, all in a rush. "I -- can I sit down?" She does anyway, without waiting for Chloe. She basically collapses onto the edge of the bed. "Were you going to bed?"

"About to."

Great. Beca takes a deep breath. "Sorry."

"Why are you here, Beca?" Chloe asks again, all tentative and soft this time.

"I -- I teleported."

Chloe doesn't laugh. Surprisingly. She just looks confused, her brows knitting together, biting on her lower lip.

"In my sleep. It happens, sometimes. I'm sorry. Um, I know it sounds insane -- believe me, I know. It's fucking crazy."

Chloe folds her arms, doesn't say anything.

There's something closing around Beca's throat. She swallows. "I'll go. Sorry. Again."

"Wait." Chloe takes a step forward and freezes. "Is your -- arm…?"

Beca touches it with her other hand. "It's fine. Don't worry."

"No, let me -- " Chloe closes the space between them. Her fingers slide around Beca's wrist, warm, and Beca feels the touch go all the way down to her toes. Chloe lightly prods the slightly red skin. "Let me get you some ice."

Which is how Beca ends up holding a pack of frozen corn to her wrist, trying not to drip on Chloe's polka-dotted sheets. She's so tired suddenly -- it slams into her in a wave, and all the adrenaline of teleporting and seeing Chloe vanishes.

"Thanks," Beca murmurs, not quite looking at Chloe.

Chloe sits down next to her, close enough that their shoulders brush. "You can stay, if you want. The couch is comfortable."

God, the couch. Beca doesn't remember the last time she slept there that was intentional, not just nodding off against Chloe during a movie. It's been years, she's pretty sure, and she thinks there's a knot in her chest, caught in her ribcage.

"I can, um, teleport back," she says.

Chloe opens her mouth as if to say something, but seems to think better of it. "Okay," she replies, pushing herself off the bed. "I'm just going to get a glass of water. I'll be right back."

And -- maybe -- because Beca's a coward (and maybe because it hurts to even be there, to look at Chloe, to talk to her) -- she leaves then, when Chloe's in the kitchen. Maybe she leaves the corn, wrapped in its dishcloth, on the nightstand and doesn't say goodbye. Maybe she does all of that.






Chloe calls. A few times. Beca doesn't pick up. She doesn't listen to the voicemail either, just deletes it.

i just want to know if you're okay, Chloe texts, and Beca doesn't even know how to begin to answer that.




There's the possibility of meds.

But the first, and only time Beca takes something, she sleeps through her alarm and doesn't make it into work until noon.

So no. She nixes that idea.




Chloe's prepared the second time. Not really prepared, but not shocked. At least she doesn't slam Beca into the wall again. She gives a little yelp though, and rolls over and off the couch. Her hair's matted to one side; she's been sleeping on it. There's a textbook and a pile of index cards scattered across the floor. Beca drops to her knees to pick them up even though she's still half-asleep. Her processing ability's at half-speed.

"Hey," Chloe says carefully, thickly, exactly the way Beca remembers her saying it whenever she's just woken up. Which. Fuck.

"Hi," Beca says, and hands her the stack of index cards. She looks down at Chloe's fingers, curling around the paper.

"Teleport again?"

Beca stiffens, the line of her spine going rigid. "Yeah."

Chloe leans against the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest. She's got this v-neck shirt on, her collarbones exposed, and Beca feels a little dizzy. Her brain temporarily short-circuits. "You… This didn't happen when we were together, did it?"

"No, of course not." Beca runs a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her eyes. "I -- you would've known. It's kind of noticeable."


"It's not all the time. I mean. I can control it when I'm awake."

Chloe nods, her eyes half-closed, and Beca feels that twist again inside her, hot and strangely violent. She sucks in a sharp breath. It's been a year since -- she stops herself. She's played that game with herself before. The it's-been-a-week, been-a-month, been-half-a-year game. She loses every time, and Beca's never enjoyed losing much.

"You know," Chloe says, after such a long pause that Beca wonders if she's fallen back asleep. "If you can control it, you should come back. On purpose."

There's a moment where everything's so still. Beca can only hear her breathing, fast and shallow, like the way a panicked animal breathes. "O-okay," she says. She pushes herself to her feet with the palms of her hands (she's shocked to find them steady; she's sure they'd be trembling).

Chloe looks up at her, unmoving. "Okay," she repeats.




next saturday. lunch? Chloe sends a few days later.

Beca replies almost immediately, not stopping to think about it: yeah.




"Are you guys going on a date?" Jesse asks, leaning over in the middle of lecture.

Beca is mostly preoccupied with fixing the setlist for their next a cappella jam, and she accidentally smudges the ink with the side of her hand. "What?" she says, unnecessarily loud. A few heads turn in their direction. She lowers her voice. "No. Why?"

"Well. You can teleport now. The long-distance thing isn't really a problem anymore, is it?"

"Shut up," Beca says, gruff. "I'm trying to pay attention."




It's not like she hasn't thought about it. It was pretty much the first thing that came to mind after she realized she could control the damn thing. She teleports herself to her bedroom in Portland, the bed made with clean sheets, and her books carefully shelved. She picks up the ratty teddy bear on her pillow and sits down, considering the possibiltiies.

Chloe is her first thought. LA is her second.

She obviously doesn't follow through on option one. But.

Well, at least LA is fun.




It probably ranks in the top five of most horrible things to happen the night before you meet your ex-girlfriend for lunch, but Beca wouldn't know because it's not like Buzzfeed has done a weirdly-numbered list about it. Still, she's pretty sure that having an explicit sex dream about said ex counts as something fairly terrible.

The details, when she wakes up, are fuzzy, but she can still feel the pressure between her legs, and the memory of Chloe's mouth. She bolts upright and has to take a long drink of water before her heartrate goes back to normal.

She's mostly just relieved she doesn't teleport during the middle of that dream.




Beca can't stop thinking about it. All through the lunch -- at one of Chloe's favorite neighborhood cafes -- she picks through her bowl of soup and tries not to stare at Chloe's lips (and hands, wrists, throat, boobs). Instead she asks questions about Chloe's doctorate program and listens to anecdotes and talks about what the Bellas are singing this year.

They're almost at the end, the two of them huddled over their coffees, when Chloe neatly averts her eyes (Beca remembers this noncommittal gesture) and asks: "Seeing anyone?"

"Um." Beca concentrates on stirring her coffee. "No."

"Really? No one?"

"Always the tone of surprise," Beca says, dry.

Chloe laughs. "Bec." It comes out all soft, like she's still fond of Beca. "Why not?"

"Busy, I guess." She pauses. "Also, the, um, teleportation thing. It's hard to explain."

"I almost forgot that's how you're here right now," Chloe says.

"It's easy to forget," Beca lies.




She takes the initiative and texts Chloe first. It takes her fifteen minutes, typing and erasing and typing again.

thanks for lunch. we should do it again.

Her phone buzzes a few hours later -- come over wednesday night if you're not busy. we can get takeout.




"I want you to show me."

Beca takes a sip of her beer. "Show you what?"

Chloe leans her elbows on the table. "Teleporting."

"Uh -- what's there to show? I've already disappeared in front of you."

"Can you take someone with you?"

She's never -- she's never done it. Beca considers the question as she peels the label off her beer bottle, stripping the layers of sticky paper away bit by bit, leaving behind a pile on Chloe's coffee table. "I'm not sure. I've never tried it."

Chloe's eyes widen. "I thought you would've taken Jesse or someone."

"No. But now that you mention it, I don't really know why we haven't."

"So let's try it."

Beca looks up. Chloe's grinning in a way Beca hasn't seen for months. It makes the decision for her. "Sure. Okay. Let's do it." She reaches across the table, offering her open hand.

Chloe's threads their fingers together; Beca tries not to react. Instead she closes her eyes, tries to concentrate on being back at Barden, in her dorm room with the narrow twin bed and her stuff all over the desk. She pictures her clean, unfolded laundry hanging off the back of her chair, and her senior thesis books -- the ones she ostensibly checked out for research, but have ended up stacked, being used as a makeshift table.

There's the familiar tug, and Chloe's hand tightens around Beca's. Beca hears the rush of her breath.

"Oh my god," Chloe whispers.

Beca opens her eyes

"Holy shit." Chloe drops their linked hands. She takes a step away from Beca, staring at their surroundings. Beca's room, just like how she left it earlier, with just the desk light on.

"I can't believe that worked," Beca admits. She plops herself down on the bed. "That's pretty cool."

Chloe opens the shades and looks out the window. "Oh my god, we're at Barden," she says, spinning around. Beca can't read her shadowed expression.

"Yeah. Sorry my room's so messy, I wasn't really expecting -- "

Chloe's hug knocks the wind out of her.

"This is awesome, Beca. This is so fucking cool," Chloe says, her mouth against Beca's temple, sending hot and cold waves coursing through Beca's body.

And Beca can't help it. She can't, because it's Chloe, and she's only human and --

"If you think that's cool," she hears herself say, "let me show you something else."




No one can resist New York City at night, and Beca does it to see Chloe's amazed grin, joyful and wide. It's a only little bit showing off -- and Beca figures after all the trouble the teleporting's put her through, she might as well use it for this.




The next week Beca takes her to London. It's mid-morning there, and drizzling, so they get cups of tea and watch the rain come down.

"I'm never going to get over this," Chloe says, adding milk to her cup until the tea turns a pale brown. "You basically have the coolest superpower."

Beca can feel her face going red. She takes a quick gulp to distract herself. "No way. What about invisibility?"

Chloe wrinkles her nose. "Ugh, no. It's teleporting. I'm the only vote that counts."

It'd be funny if it weren't so true, Beca thinks.




It's easy to sink back into it, the familiar pattern of being with Chloe (even if it's not being with Chloe). Beca teleports herself after Bellas rehearsals, laden down with textbooks and homework, and Chloe will put something on the TV and they'll work together on the living room floor. Sometimes, for a break, they'll shove the work aside and put on music and dance -- which is mostly Chloe dancing and Beca laughing and watching. Chloe closes her eyes, sways to the beat, and Beca is lost in her.

Beca gets it though. No one should be spending this much time with their ex, mooning after her like a puppy, taking her to places like Rio, San Francisco, Tokyo, Istanbul. It's pathetic. Not even borderline, because it's way past the border. Like, she's several hundred miles into Mexico by now.

But whenever Beca thinks about stopping, about making an excuse, Chloe will say something like, "I fucking love this," and Beca would have to be some kind of heartless monster to want to take that away.

Plus, she doesn't have any self-control, so.

"I could do this for the rest of my life," Chloe tells her on a beach in Penang. They're eating these weird little things Chloe got at a hawker stand -- these rice rolls with shrimp paste -- which normally Beca would find seriously off-putting, but it turns out they're incredible.

Beca lies down on the sand, the warm night air almost as thick as soup. Her hair sticks to her skin. She's not sure why she had the idea to go somewhere so humid, but Chloe doesn't even seem affected. Her heart stutters, this half-skip that makes Beca stop breathing for a second. Chloe says stuff all the time that seem to mean things but don't. It's an itchy reminder of how things were before they dated, and Beca couldn't have predicted she'd be back in the same place.

Chloe licks sauce off her thumb, sucking it clean, and Beca feels the sudden achiness in herself, the ever-present want.

"I am going to be doing this for the rest of my life, so…" Beca says.

Chloe doesn't look at her for a long minute, but when she turns she's smiling. "Guess I'm keeping you," she says, and leaves Beca hope in the spaces between the words.




"So this is called not dating now," Jesse says.

Beca doesn't dignify that with an answer.




It's weird that she forgets about it, but Beca does. It's not until it happens for a third time that she even remembers that it could -- and that's how she got to Chloe the first two times.

She wakes up in the middle of the teleportation, her head fuzzy when it drops her into bed on top of Chloe. Beca doesn't have a chance to recover -- Chloe wraps a leg around her waist and flips them, pinning Beca to the mattress beneath her, her forearm pressed to Beca's throat.

"Fuck, are you actually an Israeli soldier?" Beca chokes out.

Chloe drops the arm, pushes herself off a little. "Shit, Beca. You scared the crap out of me."

She's still looming over Beca though, her hair falling forward. She smells like sleep, her eyes hooded with it, and Beca is suddenly very aware of all the places their bodies are touching. Chloe settles a hand against the side of Beca's head. She drags her thumb across Beca's jawline, her mouth set. Their faces are so close together. If Beca just leaned up a little --

"I -- " Beca squeaks out, her pulse thundering in her ears. "Chlo -- "

Kissing Chloe is so familiar. It feels like Beca's been waiting for it since they broke up, for the last year and a half she's been carrying around inside her, missing it. She arches up into Chloe's mouth, her whole body shaking. Chloe presses back, deep and thorough, her fingers twisting into Beca's hair. She runs her tongue along Beca's bottom lip and sucks, scraping her teeth against it. Beca exhales, shuddering, suddenly desperate for more.

"Shit," she gasps, when Chloe breaks the kiss.

Chloe leans her forehead against Beca's, her eyes closed, their noses brushing. "Beca."

"We don't -- " Beca starts saying, feeling panicky, hoping her voice doesn't sound as high as she thinks it does. "It doesn't have to be anything. It's just one kiss."

"Shut up," Chloe says, kissing her again, sliding a knee between Beca's legs and pressing.

Beca makes a choking sound that gets lost in Chloe's mouth. She slips her hands beneath Chloe's shirt, runs her fingers up the sides of Chloe's ribcage. Chloe does the thing with her knee again and again, until Beca is grinding down against it, feeling like she's going to jump out of her skin.

"I've missed this," Chloe says, her eyes dark, and Beca thinks she might be wet just from that look.

"Shirt off," Beca says, hoarse. She runs the pad of her thumb along the side of one of Chloe's breasts, flicks the pebbling nipple.

Chloe makes the smallest of whimpers, and bites her bottom lip. It's pretty much the hottest thing Beca's ever seen. She helps Chloe pull the shirt over her head and they take Beca's off too, leaving them puddled on the floor next to the bed. Chloe bites Beca's earlobe, the shock of it making Beca jump, and she blows a stream of air into Beca's ear. Beca can feel the hot feeling coiling tighter in her, tilting her hips upwards.

She pushes Chloe back so she can sit up, kissing her way down Chloe's neck and shoulder. Her skin smells the same, beneath the fall of Chloe's hair. Beca takes one of Chloe's nipples into her mouth, laving over the hard peak with her tongue.

"Fuck," Chloe says, quiet. She twists her fingers in Beca's hair, pulling a little, and Beca shivers.

Beca slips two of her fingers beneath the waistline of Chloe's cotton shorts, finds her soaked and hot beneath Beca's touch. Chloe drops her head against Beca's shoulder, her moan soft. Beca pulls aside damp fabric and slides her fingers into Chloe, her eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of Chloe wet and tight around her. Chloe jerks her hips, panting against Beca's ear.

"I've missed this too," Beca tells her, working her fingers slowly, curving them inside Chloe until Chloe's breath hitches.

Chloe shifts, dislodging Beca's hand. She pushes her shorts down and throws them onto the floor. Beca crawls over her, laying Chloe down, until they're face to face.

"You're still dressed." Chloe says, settling her palms on Beca's waist, just at her hipbones.

"I'm topless," Beca says, trying for indignant, but it comes out at the end of a laugh.

Chloe grins. "Come on." She starts sliding Beca's pajama bottoms down, and Beca moves to help her, until they're off too.

She settles herself between Chloe's legs, kissing her way down. She finds Chloe's clit, rubs the pad of her thumb across it as Chloe cries out. Beca slips her fingers back into Chloe, stroking carefully. She presses another kiss against the inside of Chloe's thigh, licks a long stripe upwards.

"Oh my god," Chloe says, her voice muffled. "Stop fucking teasing me, Beca."

Beca closes her mouth around Chloe's clit, sucking, and Chloe almost arches off the bed, yelling. Beca gathers herself in closer, goes back to licking small and circular patterns, trying to a find a rhythm with the movement of her hand. She moves faster -- a sweet ache spreading in her jaw -- and flicks her tongue. She can feel Chloe trembling, tightening around her fingers. Beca pulls back.

"Shit, Beca -- " Chloe starts.

Beca slides her tongue up and into Chloe, tasting her, and Chloe falls apart against her mouth with a sobbing cry. She's still shaking when Beca wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, scoots back up to kiss Chloe.

"Um," is all Chloe says.

"That good?" Beca says, half-joking, half-smug.

Chloe presses a kiss to Beca's throat. "Yes."

She finds Beca's mouth again, kissing soft at first, and then hungrily -- licking into it. Beca pulls her in close, her hand against the back of Chloe's neck, right at the base. She lets herself get pushed down, Chloe straddling her waist. She feels good there, solid. Chloe leans down, running her tongue over space between Beca's breasts. Beca shivers -- the wet heat of Chloe's mouth, the cool quiet of her room. She pushes her hips up, hinting. Chloe slides a hand between her thighs.

"You're so wet," Chloe says.

Beca can't reply -- she doesn't have a chance to -- because Chloe finds her clit and Beca bucks into her touch, groaning. Chloe's slides two fingers into her, making Beca scrabble back against the headboard. She hisses, the aching feeling of being filled, and Chloe turns her wrist slightly, starting to move. She fucks Beca slow, crooking her fingers, the push and pull of it steady.

"Faster?" Beca asks, trying to sit up.

Chloe puts her free hand on Beca's shoulder, settles her back. "No," she says, like she means it, and Beca whimpers.

She keeps going, until Beca's body is shaking -- until she feels like she could splinter. Like every muscle in her body is knotting up. Chloe thumbs at her clit and it happens then, the rush of it whiting out everything in Beca's mind, until all she can do is come around Chloe's fingers, shuddering and gasping.

"Oh," Beca says, staring up at the ceiling, unable to move.

"Good," Chloe replies, kissing her temple.




It's early afternoon by the time Beca gets back to campus, extricating herself from Chloe's warm bed and her mouth, the tangle of sheets. It's so much colder up in Minnesota, the bite of winter already in the air, but campus is gloriously sunny at Barden. She stuffs her hands in her pockets and cuts through the quad to the student center, humming beneath her breath. She's missed her morning seminar and a lunch date with Fat Amy, but Beca can't quite bring herself to care.

She pulls out her phone when she's waiting in line to pay for her turkey sandwich and Vitamin Water. Amy's texted, and Jesse too, but Beca only reads Chloe's.

come back tonight?.

The memory of it makes Beca shiver and blush, just standing there.

yup, she texts back.

"You're holding up the line," the bored cashier tells her, and Beca nearly drops her phone digging through her pockets for her student ID.




Beca supposes, that if you have to make peace with your mutant superpower, sex is a pretty good way of doing it.




Chloe kisses her as soon as Beca's inside, pressing her up against the wall, her hands settling on Beca's waist.

"Wait -- " Beca says. "Chloe, wait."

"What? Do I need to buy you dinner first?"

Beca takes a breath and leans her head against the wall. "I don't...understand."

"I love you," Chloe says, her lips still practically touching Beca's. She says it the way she's always said it -- self-assured and knowing. She says it the way it's meant to be said, a statement and not a question.

It still takes Beca long minutes to answer, her breath caught in her throat, her pulse jumping. Chloe pushes herself back, twisting her mouth.

"If you feel differently -- " she says.

"No," Beca says. She reaches out to catch the hem of Chloe's shirt between her thumb and forefinger. "I love you too. I just, um." She swallows, offers the last part up meekly, hesitant and uncertain of what she's even trying to convey. "I can...teleport?"

Chloe laughs, sweet and ringing, and draws Beca close. "I know. I especially love that." She kisses Beca again, lingering. "So what do you want to do now?"

And Beca grins, and shows her.