"You're my sun, y'know," Chloe tells Beca solemnly, warming her fingers on each of Beca's cheeks and squinting one eye shut to focus on the tiny DJ through her doubling, drunken vision.

They're sprawled across the living room floor, and Kylar and Claire are looking on amusedly from the sofa, and Chloe just thinks it'd be way too strange for her if her sisters weren't giggling at them like everything they do is just the cutest thing since the aca-gods cooked up puppies. But she's pretty sure that Beca will probably smack one of them soon, and that would totally kill Chloe's buzz.

"I'm your what, now?" Beca frowns confusedly, eyebrows bunching together as her gaze slowly shifts from the music program on her computer to find Chloe's.

She's been utterly failing to choose a playlist for them to listen to since they'd come home nearly an hour ago, because she keeps getting distracted – and Chloe can't really blame Beca for that, because she's the one pressing fluttery kisses to the back of Beca's neck and against her wrists and any other part of her that Chloe can reach, to be honest, so it probably isn't fair to make it all Beca's fault.

"My sun," Chloe decides, with a serious nod. "We were supposed to talk about it, and I just remembered."

Beca sighs. "You remember the strangest things when you're drinking."

"No," Chloe whines dramatically, and flops down until she can spread her body across Beca's lap. "It's not strange."

Beca's folded knees feel mildly uncomfortable, digging into Chloe's back this way, but Chloe's drunk and only cares long enough to release another whine of disapproval, before she forces her eyelids apart again and stares up at Beca.

"You're my sun. Like, my world feels all- dead, and dark, and- and broken when you're not there," Chloe huffs, and curls her fingers around Beca's thigh for want of more contact (although, Chloe isn't sure that she can get much closer to Beca with their clothes still on – but she's still going to try). "You know?"

Beca frowns. "Oh. We're talking about this?"

"We don't have to," Chloe sighs, rubbing her cheek softly against the scratchy surface of Beca's jeans.

"No, we can," Beca says, shifting one arm behind her to hold the brunette's small frame as she leans backward a bit, and sifts the fingers of her opposite hand through Chloe's hair.

Chloe releases a soft mewl of satisfaction, and rolls her head into Beca's palm like a kitten pleading for more pressure.

"Jesus, is that what her 'O' face looks like?" Kylar snickers.

"Oh, gross," Claire scrunches her face upward in disgust. "Definitely put that on the list of things I don't need to know about my older sister."

Chloe chuckles when Beca's face heats up with a glowing blush.

"Well?" Chloe demands, squeezing Beca's thigh beneath her palm and arching her neck just enough to kiss the pads of Beca's fingers before encouraging Beca to continue petting her with another insistent push of her red locks into Beca's hand.

Beca rolls her eyes. "Well, what?" She inquires, obediently spreading her fingers apart to card through Chloe's hair again.

"Am I your sun, too?" Chloe grins up at her lazily.

Beca squints her eyes. Her fingers pause, and, for a moment – a moment during which Beca's eyes remain narrowed, and she sits up straight, jostling Chloe in her lap a bit to perform an odd dance with her fingers that makes Chloe pout, because she doesn't understand it – Chloe is almost afraid that Beca will say no.

"That's stupid," Beca offers instead, her words blurry around the edges, courtesy of one too many margaritas from Jeeter's.

"Is not!" Chloe exclaims defensively, with a small ache spreading out from her chest that makes her want to whimper.

Chloe can't actually believe that Beca doesn't understand.

Beca always understands Chloe.

"Is too," Beca retorts. "Look," she says, elevating her fingers in the air and turning them around one another as best as she can (which isn't very well), before she drops them to her lap again. "See? It doesn't work. We can't both revolve around each other, Chloe," Beca explains slowly, with a tone in her voice that Chloe imagines Beca would use if she were speaking to a child. "It's scientifically impossible, I'm pretty sure. Maybe. Or I'm drunk. But either way, if we're both suns, there's nothing I can give you, anyway. You're like- the planet next to mine in the solar system," Beca grins, quick and unhindered, and it makes Chloe's breath catch. Because, even this drunk – this far wasted and gone – Beca Mitchell does things to Chloe's respiratory system that make her wonder if she'll ever function properly, ever again.

"Huh?" Chloe returns, scrunching her nose with a bemused little smile on her face.

Beca's teasing, and the muddled notions in Chloe's mind can appreciate that, but she hasn't quite connected the dots to reach the punch line.

Beca laughs. "Well, I need you, or whatever," she shrugs, like it's an accepted fragment of her life that just doesn't concern Beca at all, right now. "But I still have shit to do at Barden, so I can't actually orbit around you," she puffs, like she thinks that part is unbearably frustrating, and Chloe can wholeheartedly sympathize.

Because wouldn't she be so much happier if all she had to worry about was loving Beca Mitchell with the entirety of her being? Chloe would totes be acing at life.

"But, like, my orbit's all fucked up if you're not there, you know? Like, the gravitational pull that keeps me in line isn't there anymore, so I warble off and on the track, and sometimes I float around with no direction or whatever. If you think about it, if I was your sun, you'd still be in Barden; and if you were mine, I'd move to Philly – but that's not how life works, and it sucks, but we both have shit to do in different places. So you're my neighbor planet, and I pull toward you, even when you're far away, and we find each other again eventually, but all that time in the middle, you're still far away, and I still can't keep myself on track, you know?"

Chloe sighs contently.

Beca does understand. Chloe shouldn't have doubted her, she knows, but there had been just that brief moment of panic that had made her want nothing more than to retreat beneath the blankets of her bed upstairs. But Beca understands.

Beca always understands Chloe.

But Chloe doesn't say any of that, because she's heard all that she needs to hear; she's heard the verbal expression of how Chloe's absence affects Beca the same way that Beca's absence affects Chloe.

That's all Chloe needs.

"Love you, Becs," Chloe murmurs into the fabric covering Beca's knee, before she drops a sporadic kiss over it.

Chloe smiles softly up at Beca, who tugs a little against the lock of Chloe's hair, curled between her fingers, and smiles tenderly back down at her.

"Love you too, Chlo," Beca whispers softly.

And, to be fair, Chloe didn't actually need to hear that part, because she already knows it and has heard it before, but- it still makes her feel warm in places that alcohol just can't touch. And it's an incredible feeling – being loved by Beca Mitchell. It makes Chloe's heart swell and practically burst from within her chest, so she hums in substitute for all the things that words can't ever say and drops another kiss onto Beca's knee.

"You guys kind of make me nauseous," Claire grimaces.

"Then leave," Beca retorts with a huff. "God, I don't even- Chloe," Beca insists pointedly.

Chloe giggles. "Go away, Claire. Or at least pretend like you can't hear Beca pouring her heart out in metaphors about the solar system, okay?"

"Dude," Beca frowns. "I hate you."

"Do not," Chloe returns, frowning. "I'm your neighbor planet!" She exclaims, with mock offense. "You can't hate me."

"And yet…" Beca quips dryly.

Chloe pokes her tongue out at her and burrows her face into Beca's leg, curling on her side and coiling both arms around Beca's thigh.

Chloe shouldn't laugh. She's pretty positive that she should. not. laugh. But it's actually really hard not to, because Beca's face is contorted in deep, miserable confusion and distaste, and it's all that Chloe can do not to pinch her DJ's cheeks between her fingers, so laughing is really the lesser of two evils.

Chloe's pretty sure that Beca would agree with her, if she were aware of her options.

"Why?" Beca demands.

"Becs," Chloe giggles, "Christmas is only two days away. That's why."

"So?" Beca folds her arms across her chest. "Chloe, this is ridiculous. I'm not wearing that."

"Beca," Chloe sighs softly, moving forward to hold Beca's biceps beneath her palms and absently stroking the smooth flesh there with soothing thumbs, "Mama makes sweaters for the whole family. You have to wear it. At least for the pictures!" She insists enthusiastically.

"There are so many things wrong with that statement," Beca returns, shifting – unintentionally, Chloe suspects – a little closer into Chloe's embrace, without unfurling from her defiant stance. "First, I'm not part of the family, Red," Beca says, raising her brows expectantly. Oddly enough, though, she doesn't wait for a response before pressing onward. "Second, I don't even like pictures."

"Well, you don't have to like them, silly," Chloe chuckles, squeezing Beca's arms beneath her grasp. "It'll be really quick, Becs, I promise. And then you can have your pick of plaid button-ups to change into right after we're done. Please?" Chloe pouts theatrically, knowing she's being unfair, but so very determined to see the adorableness that would be Beca Mitchell decked out in a scratchy green Christmas sweater with a red-nosed reindeer knitted to the front.

"Don't do that, with your face," Beca scowls. "It won't work. No, seriously, Beale, it won't – Stop it," Beca hisses finally. "No. This is stupid, Chloe. Can you really even picture me wearing that in your head?"

"Of course not," Chloe leans forward and presses a sweet kiss to Beca's temple. She plants another on Beca's cheek, and yet another against the stubborn set of her jawline, and one more to the shell of Beca's ear, dragging her lips against it as she softly whispers, "which is why I need you to put it on for me."

"Okay, no. See, you're making it sound all hot and sexy, but there is nothing sexy about that," Beca huffs, finally surrendering one arm free in order to point it in the direction of the offending layer of clothing draped across the bed.

"Beca," Chloe sighs sadly, tucking her cheek against Beca's shoulder and allowing her arms to slide down and around to curl around Beca's waist, "why are you so difficult?"

"Because, I- Jesus, Chloe, this holiday crap is weird for me. I mean, I'm super happy that I'm here with you, but I'm normally holed up in my room with my computer and praying for school to start back up, by now. And you want me to wear that?"

Chloe frowns and pulls away enough to warm her forehead against Beca's. "I know this is new for you," she says softly, almost whispering the words, but only because her voice doesn't quite feel strong enough to carry much more than only the breaths of air strictly necessary to relay a message. "That's why I want you to wear it, baby. It's just a silly little thing that my family does at Christmastime, but it's part of what we do, and I want- I want you to have that, too. I know you don't feel like part of the family, but Mama thinks you are, and – at least until we have to go back – I want you to feel like part of it, too.

"We may not be your mom and dad, and I know it's not the same, but I want you to have a real Christmas, Becs. At least this once," Chloe says, lifting her right hand to gently stroke her fingers along Beca's cheekbone, "I want you to know what Christmas should feel like. I want to be there with you when you get it. I want to give that to you. I wanna give you Christmas, Becs. Why won't you let me?" She shakes her head with furrowed brows, bemusement leaking across her features.

Beca shifts her eyes over Chloe's shoulder and clears her throat. "Fine," she concedes, reluctantly returning Chloe's affection by raising tiny hands to the redhead's hips. "I'll wear the stupid sweater."

"Becs – " Chloe tries, sensing Beca's sincere reluctance and searching desperately for some way to relieve her.

"No," Beca shakes her head with a sad, sweet smile. "I'm sorry. It's awesome that you're trying to do this for me, and I'm being ungrateful. I just – " Beca breaks off and rests her eyes closed for a moment too long – a heartbreaking moment, for Chloe, who can see (in the brewing storm of emotion that built in Beca's eyes before she shielded them away) exactly where this conversation is heading. "I haven't even heard from her, you know? I don't even think she's noticed that I'm not there."

"Oh, Becs," Chloe breathes, tears pooling in her bright blue eyes as she twines her arms around Beca's waist again, twisting the back of the brunette's shirt between her fingers in an effort to hold her closer, tighter, more safely in her hold.

Chloe doesn't say anything else, because she knows better. Her instincts tell her to coo; to mutter reassurances about how she's sure that's not the case, and Beca's mother would have to be an idiot not to miss the blinding presence that Beca offers.

But Chloe does know better.

Despite her instincts, Chloe knows that if she were to murmur any of that into Beca's ear, it would be a lie. Because Chloe isn't sure that that's not the case, and Beca's mother – while a relatively cold woman (or so Chloe's heard) with a substance abuse problem – actually isn't stupid. She was a professor, too, like Beca's father, once upon a time. She's actually very smart.

But Chloe thinks she's also the stupidest woman on the face of the Earth.

Beca is a prize. She is a magnificent, hidden trove of treasure that – through years and years of neglect and abandonment – had eventually been locked and stowed away, and Chloe somehow ended up breaking through with pickaxe and a hammer and a happy shimmer in her eyes.

Beca is a prize, to Chloe; unearned and undeserved, but a prize that had fallen into Chloe's lap, nevertheless, and Chloe would do all that she could to preserve her.

So Chloe holds on tight, and, instead of whispering comforts about Beca's family, she whispers promises. Promises to love her, and to be there, and to show her what affection can be; how it has the potential to be so much more than what Beca's ever been given.

It doesn't feel like enough, but Beca sighs and nods along, anyway, tendering the sweetest, most thankful kisses Chloe's ever known against the top of her red hair.

"It wasn't that bad," Chloe bites her lip, still smothering her laughter as well as she can.

Beca levels Chloe with a deadpan stare, before it's interrupted by the hasty, near violent tug of an itchy green sweater pulling over the brunette's face.

"I won't even dignify that with a comment," Beca determines, voice muffling through the fabric as she struggles to remove it.

Giggling in spite of her best efforts not to, Chloe pads closer and helps Beca fit the tight neck of the sweater over her ears. Beca releases an aggravated huff, then folds her arms across her bra-clad chest.

"I hate you," she frowns

"I wish you'd stop saying that," Chloe sighs theatrically. "Because I just love you so much I could probably suffocate on all my feelings for you," she grins playfully.

"Cute," Beca drawls wryly.

"I'm glad you think so," Chloe laughs, softly brushing a gentle, consolatory kiss across Beca's pouting lips.

Chloe won't tell Beca (because it would probably just make her angry), but her pout is, quite possibly, the most adorable thing Chloe could imagine. And Chloe's imagination has quite the tendency to run amok.

"Where are you going?" Chloe frowns as Beca tosses the sweater to the floor and pulls away.

"My pick of plaid button-ups, right?" Beca says from the closet, tilting her chin across her shoulder and raising her brows expectantly.

"Mhmm," Chloe hums ponderingly. "Or…"

"'Or?'" Beca scoffs abruptly. "There is no 'or,' Chloe," she insists incredulously. "There is no way in hell I'm putting that thing on again," the DJ grimaces, eyeing the discarded sweater with vehement disgust. "Especially not after the crap I just went through with your brothers."

"They only tease you because they like you so much," Chloe smiles comfortingly, moving toward her lover to curl her arms around her waist.

"They hate me," Beca frowns. "Like, really hate me. They have to. People who like you don't put you through torture like that, Chloe."

"They don't hate you," Chloe chuckles. "They were just teasing you. It's what they do to all of us, you know," she says sweetly. "But that's irrelevant, because what I was going to say," she pauses for dramatic effect, watching Beca's right brow twitch upward in anticipation, "is that instead of putting a shirt on, we could probably just go ahead and take the rest of your clothes off," Chloe purrs, lips dancing across the rim of Beca's ear.

"Ah," Beca hisses inward, delighting Chloe with her automatic response. "We have to – "

"Dinner won't be for an hour," Chloe whispers seductively.

She's persuading, again, but, dear God, Chloe can't get enough of Beca. She can't get enough of her pale, luminescent skin or the way that her muscles quiver beneath Chloe's touch. She can't get enough of the rough, low scrape of Beca's voice, deepening with every brush of Chloe's lips across her sensitive flesh. She can't get enough of Beca's mouth on her, or the way it makes her tummy thrive with trembles and warmth and pleasure.

Chloe just can't get enough of Beca, and – while the last two weeks have been more wonderful than Chloe could say – she still knows that they have limited time together, even if they'd decided during Beca's first days in Maryland not to discuss it before it was time to leave.

Plus, Chloe justifies privately, Aubrey will be there in another week, too, and their together-time will be seriously cut for a few days. It's not Chloe's fault if she wants to appreciate Beca while she still has the opportunity available to her.

And, with Beca's shoulders shaking and her breaths panting like they are now, beneath the onslaught of Chloe lips and teeth and tongue against her neck, Chloe's pretty sure that she definitely has the opportunity available to her.

Beca's hands rise quickly, two fingers on each one slipping through the loops on Chloe's jeans and pulling her impossibly closer. Chloe groans softly when their chests touch, Beca's covered only by a black bra that almost might be too small, because her breasts are spilling deliciously overtop of it and Chloe needs her.

"Chlo," Beca raggedly whispers into Chloe's ear, "take off your clothes."

Chloe blinks twice and manages to forcibly remove her face from Beca's neck to regard the DJ with a speculative look. It's just that, Beca's usually pretty eager to tear Chloe's clothes off herself. But if Beca wants her to take them off, Chloe thinks, then she can certainly work with that, too.

She lifts both of her hands to Beca's hair and grips it, using her hold to tilt the brunette's head backward enough for Chloe to lean down and kiss her. Beca's distracted (Chloe's ridiculously flattered by how easily she can distract Beca), so Chloe slowly guides her to the bed and, with a gentle shove, she urges Beca to sit at the edge of the mattress.

Disoriented, Beca frowns.

Chloe giggles. "I wanna give you Christmas, Becs," she says, bending at the waist to bring her face level with Beca's. Once there, she whispers her mouth across Beca's and tries her hardest not to moan when Beca responds to Chloe's show of tenderness with an equally soft touch of her own. "But what's Christmas without presents?" She murmurs coquettishly as she slides her mouth to the corner of Beca's mouth, then her jaw.

"Presents?" Beca breathes wonderingly, slipping her hand under the back of Chloe's shirt to trail searing fingertips along the line of Chloe's spine.

"Mm," Chloe sighs, trembling slightly, before pulling back up and gently reaching behind her to tug Beca's coasting hand away and into her own.

Beca frowns again, but Chloe smiles comfortingly and meets the steel of Beca's beautiful, burning blue eyes with her own, lowering a kiss into her palm before closing it with her own.

Beca's eyes water as she looks down on her closed fist, like if that was all that Chloe had ever given her, it would still be the most precious gift to Beca.

Chloe knows Beca's been starved for attention (and affection) for almost her whole life, but it shatters her heart that such a simple gesture amazes the little DJ this much. So Chloe dots an entire row of kisses across each of Beca's knuckles and sweetly lowers it back into her lap.

Chloe takes a single step backward, and then another, before she lowers her hands to her own sweater (red, with a grinning Frosty sewn onto the front). She lifts it slowly, dragging out the process as much as she can, but she knows it isn't really necessary. Chloe has Beca's undivided attention.

The DJ's pupils are blown wide with arousal by the time the holiday garment finally slips over Chloe's head and slinks off her wrists, but when Beca moves to stand, Chloe shakes her head and keeps the brunette pinned to the bed with a single finger prodding against her chest.

Chloe's jeans fall next, with soft sways of her hips to a beat that Chloe hasn't actually determined, but Beca groans and drags her eyes down Chloe's figure like the concept of not being able to touch her is almost as sinful as the body she wants to touch.

It's not like Chloe hasn't had her fair share of sex, but, God, she's never in her life felt as wanted and loved and desired as Beca makes her feel. Beca's chest is flushed pink, and she's sitting on top of her twitchy, desperate hands in a valiant effort to abide by Chloe's wishes. Chloe is thoroughly amazed by how difficult it seems for Beca to do that, because she just wants Chloe that badly.

Blessed, Chloe thinks as her eyes briefly flutter shut. Chloe feels so blessed to have Beca; to have Beca here with her, and to have Beca wanting her.

Chloe feels blessed just to have Beca Mitchell at all.

She doesn't think she'll ever get over this feeling.

Still, Beca's been so good for her, posing for silly Christmas photos with her family and keeping her hands to herself while Chloe offers her a (slightly inexperienced, but no less erotic) strip tease. So Chloe swallows her reverence and rewards her.

Clad in nothing but black scraps of underwear and a matching lace bra, Chloe straddles the brunette's lap, knees dipping into the mattress on either side of her. Hooking her thumbs beneath Beca's ears, Chloe pulls her face up and leans down, finding Beca's already parted lips just waiting for her. The redhead wastes no time licking into Beca's mouth, and the DJ releases a moan that spawns from somewhere deep, deep inside. Chloe knows, because the sound is composed of half a sob and half a growl, and it drives Chloe wild with want.

"Touch me, Becs," Chloe pleads, voice full of emotion, as she stretches an arm behind her back to ease the clasp of her bra apart, forgetting about seductiveness and all but tearing the fabric away from her arms.

Beca moans again, but obediently lowers her mouth to Chloe's flesh, a hot palm tripping up to Chloe's ribs as her mouth descends over the redhead's left nipple.

Chloe's head falls back with a gasp as the brunette's hot tongue coats her breast with affection and need and a fierce desire to please.

She has no idea how this happened. Chloe knows, obviously, that sex with Beca had been her goal – but, God, she has no idea how it became so emotion-filled and passion-fused so damn quickly. But she doesn't care. She loves it. Chloe adores how everything they do together, every brush of skin and heated word is always blanketed by all the intensity that she feels for Beca, and that Beca feels for her.

"Beca," she chokes out as teeth scrape gently across her nipple. "Please," she whimpers. "I need to feel you. I need to feel you everywhere, Becs. Please, I – oh," Chloe squeals out quietly as Beca's free hand glides beneath her flimsy thong and three fingers dive straight into Chloe's heat without even a brush of warning against her clit first. But it's more than okay, because Chloe's dripping and she needs it and, God, Beca's so good.

"Yes," Chloe breathes out shakily, hips flexing forward as far as she can conceivably manage.

"Ride me," Beca instructs hoarsely, but it's more of a request, because she looks up and her dark eyes meet Chloe's, like she's pleading, begging for Chloe to use her; like she needs and wants nothing more in life than for Chloe to take her pleasure from Beca's offered fingers in any way that Chloe needs.

In answer, Chloe lifts her hips, then drops them swiftly, feeling Beca's opposite arm twine around her lower back to give her the support she needs.

"God, you're so sexy," Beca puffs darkly into Chloe's neck as she licks a gentle trail to her ear.

Chloe emits a soft cry when Beca's wrist curls and her fingers thrust up just as Chloe's hips collapse down.

Beca's everywhere, all at once, just like Chloe asked her for; she's swiping her palm up Chloe's back and fisting her fingers around Chloe's hair to gain better access to her neck, and she's inside her, and pressed up all against her, and Chloe's only felt so close to her once before – the night before she left Barden – and it doesn't even matter that Beca's still largely clothed.

There's something in this moment that Chloe can't touch. There always is, but here – here Chloe can feel it. She can almost see it, manifesting into all of Chloe's favorite colors and things and ideas all bundled up into a gift that only Beca knows how to give her.

Her eyes feel wet and her throat feels raw, but Chloe continues to mewl – in an aching crescendo of noise – and rocks her hips against Beca's furiously thrusting palm until the world burns around her.

"You're incredible," Beca husks in her ear. "I don't know how you're mine," she whispers, awed.

And Chloe breaks.

Even as her heart thunders and a whimper of shattering release hits her, Chloe breaks and breaks and doesn't stop. Even as she tremors and relies on Beca's deceptive strength to hold her steady, Chloe keeps breaking.

Because she is Beca's. Beca has laid claim to her. And that means that Chloe has claim on Beca, too.

That means that Beca is hers, too, and it makes her weep tears of joy.

"Mine," Chloe coos into the top of Beca's head, winded and breathless and so, so happy.

"Well, yeah," Beca pulls lightly at Chloe's hair until she sits back on Beca's quivering knees, so that Beca can look at her. "I've always been yours, Chlo," she promises ardently, darting her eyes between both of Chloe's shining blue with a layer of uncertainty coating her words that Chloe can taste in the air around them.

Chloe shakes her red curls softly from side to side and tenders a watery smile, gliding a hand through the curve of Beca's elbow and down her wrist until the brunette's hand is gently clasped within her own.

The redhead can feel Beca's hand trembling, but she raises it to her chest, anyway, and weaves her fingers through Beca's as she closes their pair of hands over her heart.

"Yours, Becs," Chloe swears, not daring to reach her voice above a whisper. "Always, I am yours."

Beca smiles, hesitant and blindingly sweet, and lowers her mouth to kiss the hollow of Chloe's throat. "Mine," she echoes throatily, lips buzzing against Chloe's flesh as her arms hug Chloe hard against her and she falls back on the bed with a little breathless laugh.

"Best Christmas ever," Beca mutters tenderly, softly cradling Chloe's head against her chest.

Chloe giggles, and knows – in her heart and her mind and her soul – that she will never get over this feeling.

Chloe will never get over loving Beca Mitchell.

Author's Note: I'm still not totally sure about my internet situation, at the moment, but I had half of this typed up and managed to recover it and expand. I know it's been a while since you've seen an update for this one, but let me know what you think, please!