A/N: Okay, so this is the first fic I have ever tried writing. This isn't actually the complete first chapter, just the opening scene. Sorry that it starts with so much smut right off the bat! I just had this idea, and I had to get it out. Let me know if I should continue on with this story :)

Chapter One

She hates it when this happens. Times when she can't properly hold onto the vibrator anymore and her hands start slipping and sliding because it's too wet- she's too wet- but goddamn, that's just what thinking about Chloe does to her.

It's becoming hard to keep her pace up when every other thrust she loses proper grip on the only thing that is tethering her to sanity right now.

She needs release. She needs all of this to be faster. Harder. And what she really needs is a certain redhead between her legs right now reciting all of Shakespeare's Sonnets with her goddamn tongue.

"Fuck." The obscenity escapes from Beca's lips without her even really noticing. It's second nature to her these days; All of this is really. But after long, grueling Bella's rehearsals where she is forced to watch Chloe's perfect body run through the choreography over and over again, can you really blame her?

The vibrator slips again, making Beca grunt and thrust her hips forward, chasing after it, trying to get it to hit that spot inside of her that will make her unravel.

It's fitting really that even when Beca is fantasizing about Chloe, she still can't obtain her like she really wants to. She's sure that if she wasn't so close to exploding all over her hand she'd find the irony in this better.

But right now all she can think about is the one thing she hasn't been able to get off her mind since the night it happened. The night when Chloe, showing no reservations, intruded into Beca's shower stall to get her to sing Titanium with her.

Titanium- fucking Titanium. Fucking Chloe Beale's goddamn "lady jam." Beca wonders briefly if Chloe, just singing anything really, could be her lady jam.

She imagines Chloe belting her solo as she swipes a thumb over her clit, and she realizes that, yes, that is definitely her "lady jam."

For a moment, Beca wonders how it escalated to this point. When to even fall asleep at night anymore, she had to watch a slideshow of Chloe-centric aca-porn.

But when her vibrator finally hits that spot where Beca needs it most, she's not really wondering why or how anymore. Instead, her lips are mouthing a shape that looks suspiciously like Chloe's name.

One more swipe over her clit, and she's coming undone. An orgasm- no the orgasm- she's been needing all day is ripping through her body. The moan that escapes from her throat is impressive, even if it is slightly embarrassing that just the thought of her blue-eyed friend could reduce her to such a shaking, trembling mess.

Beca rides out the waves of her release imagining things she will never admit to wanting. Like images of Chloe drawing the orgasm out of her with two fingers inside her. Her other hand intertwined with Beca's somewhere lost above their heads. A tongue at her ear coaxing her to "let herself go." Blue eyes meeting hers in the last few moments of her orgasm, and then lips whispering three perfect words softly before they capture her own lips in a kiss that's so tender it makes her melt in the warmth of it all.

Nope.

Beca doesn't want any of that.

She forces the images out her head at the same time she forces her hand to pull the vibrator out of her, whimpering softly at the loss of fullness, but she's worried if she keeps it down there any longer she'll start imagining date-nights that end with passionate kisses outside of dorm rooms or text messages that say "I miss you," and that's just fucking crazy.

She can't afford to think things like that. So instead she just shudders one last time, before pulling her underwear back up her legs.

Sleep will come soon. It usually does after days like today. Days that had been so frustrating, as soon as she kicks her dorm room door closed her hand is already down her pants.

Beca doesn't see it as a problem, so much as a solution. Whether she fucks herself to sleep at night or not, the next morning she'll still have that aching feeling when red hair catches her eye as soon as she walks into the auditorium. And surprisingly it's not an ache that shoots directly between her legs.

It starts a little higher. In her lungs almost. Yeah, that seems fitting because when she looks at Chloe her struggle for air is imminent.

Beca doesn't know if there is such a thing as a "good panic attack," but the way in which her breath escapes her lungs when she meets those piercing blue eyes feels so delicious she can't help but think that is what happens. Maybe. She doesn't know.

Maybe she's just a masochistic little fucker.

Beca throws an arm over her face in an effort to shut her brain off.

This can't be the normal train of thought for nineteen year old girls, can it? Nineteen year old girls that previously would have described their sexual interest as being somewhere between "nonexistent" and "dangerously vanilla." Nineteen year old girls that had no interest in being at this college in the first place. Nineteen year old girls that swore not to get too attached to anyone because in a years time would be moving to LA.

And, oh yeah, nineteen year old girls who previously identified as straight.

Beca notes that this last one actually didn't seem to affect her as much as most people would probably imagine it would. It's not like one day she woke up and realized, "You know what, I'm gay today."

She accepts the fact that she's probably been this way for a very, very long time. It's just that growing up, she never really had the opportunity to explore that side of her. In high school, she had a few flings with boys that always ended up with her in a compromising position in the front seat of their car or the old, worn out couch in her basement.

And saying she hadn't enjoyed some of the encounters would be a lie. It was fun on certain occasions. But she never really found herself craving for more when she was back in her room, lying in her bed at night, staring at the ceiling. Not like she did now, at least.

The first time Beca ever kissed a girl was about a month after she started her first semester at Barden. It happened at some random party Jesse had dragged her to.

She wasn't aware this actually happened anywhere outside of the movies she dreaded watching, but evidently a friendly stranger really will kiss you, mid-sentence, with no warning at all.

But then again they will also unceremoniously burst into your shower stall unannounced, so-

Beca squeezes her eyes shut tighter at this thought in an attempt to stop it from progressing any further. She knows what will happen if she lets that image play out, and it doesn't involve sleeping.

She tries remembering the girl from the party. The amount of alcohol she had consumed that night on Jesse's suggestion that she should "loosen up" keeps her from remembering what the girl's face had looked like, if she's being honest. She does remember her tongue though.

It was slow at first, as if testing the waters, which Beca remembers thinking was absolutely ridiculous because this girl is the one that crashed her lips into Beca's in the first place.

The kiss only stayed this way for a matter of seconds. The girl seemed to rediscover her confidence and pressed her tongue further into Beca's mouth. She tasted like alcohol. Or maybe it was Beca that tasted like alcohol. Either way, she couldn't bring herself to care that much. This was a new thing that was happening to her.

Beca remembers that heat shot through her body and pooled in between her legs the first time the girl let a moan out into her mouth. For her, it was like in that instant she knew. Beca knew this is what she had been missing. Without even touching her, this girl had elicited more want out of her than any boy before.

Beca needed to know what noises this girl would make if she touched her here. Or there.

She needed to know what her moan would sound like when she pressed a thigh between her leg.

Or how her breath would catch when she slipped a second finger inside of her.

She needed to know what she tasted like.

But most of all, she needed to know what this girl looked like when reduced to a beautiful, shaking mess.

Beca spent most of that night discovering those things.

Most people probably wouldn't want their first time to be in an alcohol induced haze, but for Beca it softened the self consciousness she felt at first. She'd never been with a girl, never even kissed a girl, until that night. So yes, the alcohol helped her open up at first. Eventually, they both ended up sober and still exploring each other's bodies without the fog the alcohol created lurking over their senses.

With the initial awkwardness gone, Beca was free to touch- to feel- without any hesitation. It was an experience she'll always be thankful for. She'd call it an awakening, or whatever, but God, she hates shit like that.

Regardless, she smiles at the memory while flipping over onto her left side.

She can feel sleep start to slowly tug her further into her mattress. In 7 hours she'll be bombarded by a million emotions she doesn't know how to handle about a certain redhead, but for now Beca lets sleep lead her into a dream that is sure to have her smiling when she awakes.

But that may not be a good thing.