Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. I just like to actually use their chemistry for something rather than let it just sort of lie there. Useless.

A/N: Prompted by a post over at Brittany-snodes tumblr. Also, I try and catch all the mistakes but some inevitably slip through. My bad.

It's Rolling Stone.

Rolling. Stone. Magazine.

It's a front cover and a three page interview. It's a freaking photo shoot.

It's Beca Mitchell's first big interview and she's never been a fan of posing for pictures.

(Her mother has an entire album dedicated to Beca's scowls and half blurred images of the girl as she ducks out at the last second.)

She's been cruising right along on the highway of success, heading straight for stardom city and hitting all the right pit stops along the way. She's got a reputation for being cocky and sure of herself, and it isn't that her rep isn't well founded.

It just that it's Rolling Stone.

And she's in some chick's studio waiting for her to arrive with her camera and pose suggestions. The armchair she's in is too comfortable and she can't stop tapping her foot against the side of it. Her palms are sweating, wrists rubbing awkwardly at the cuffs of her leather jacket whenever she unconsciously curls her fingers into fists. Somewhere, there's a clock ticking and her foot taps in time with the steady beat. The melody of it tries to soothe her, but soon enough another sound joins it. Blends itself into the rhythm of time so smoothly it's impossible, but the clicking of heels compliment the tick in a way that makes dark blue eyes dart.

They snap to the door she'd entered through a quarter of an hour earlier and feels her heart rate spike, straining to reach the same tempo. The door is heavy and metal and it slides aside to make way for a tall blonde woman wearing a tight fitting dress suit. She sees Beca sitting in the too-comfy chair and cocks a brow, probably at the brunette's anxious posture.

"Miss Beale has arrived and will be with you shortly." Her tone is curt and overly polite and Beca releases a relieved breath the second she leaves. Because she isn't sure she would have made it if that woman had been the photographer. She doesn't need some long-legged tight-ass that reminds her of every girl she went to school with making her feel even more uneasy.

Of course when Miss Beale does arrive, Beca doesn't feel any more relaxed.

"I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting. There was an accident and traffic, and then there was this dog-" The photographer catches herself, presses a hand to her head and shakes it with a bemused smile. "Not important." She waves the rest of the explanation away and finally, Beca blinks.

Chloe Beale is all red hair and brilliant blue eyes and a smile that turns Beca's vision kind of blurry.

Well sure. Of course she is.

Because why not make this as awkward as possible?

Chloe has a strap slung over a shoulder and the base of the camera it's holding brushes against her leg as she walks over. Faded light blue jeans and a white V-neck tee; she's casual and calm and Beca is sure she's going to strain something.

"I'm Chloe and I'll be photographing you today." Humour laces the words, friendly and bold. A hand is being offered to her and all she does is stare because Chloe is still smiling and her heart is in her ears. She is not going to embarrass herself.

"Oh. Uh..." she stands suddenly and ends up forcing the redhead to take a step back, "nice to meet you." She wipes her palm against her jeans and her face twists into a grimace as she takes Chloe's hand. Because she's about to be super verbally awkward, she knows it. It's like her sixth sense. "I'm uh, here to be photographed. Which, you already know since you just said that and..." she gestures to the camera with a free hand before suddenly remembering she has hold of another hand that doesn't belong to her. She pulls it back too quickly and the zipper on the sleeve of her jacket makes a clicking sound as she lifts it to brush a few escaped strands of hair back out of her face. She isn't the biggest advocate of eye contact but has been told, repeatedly, that it's a necessary thing in her line of work and so she forces herself to regain it with the redhead.

Who is still grinning.

"First shoot?" She asks, taking a few steps backward and then making her way around a whitewashed wall that separates one half of the wide open space from the other. Reluctantly, Beca follows.

"How can you tell?" Chloe laughs and throws a smile over her shoulder as she flicks on one of the lamps standing in front of the wall. The glow from it catches red hair as it slips over a shoulder. Beca's insides roil.

"Just a hunch." Chloe busies herself for a moment, setting up a tripod and readjusting the lights. Everything is pointing to the wall they'd walked around and Beca shifts on the spot as she watches while simultaneous trying to make it look like she isn't doing just that.

Because that would be creepy. And she'd promised Jesse that she would stop being creepy, accidentally or otherwise.

(It's always by accident though. Beca never means to zone out and accidentally make serious, though totally unfocused eye contact with the guy sitting across from her and Jesse in the waiting room. She doesn't mean to get distracted by the secretary with the long legs and flirty smile and walk into the door instead of through it.)

"So..." Beca's brought back to earth to find Chloe eyes on her again, head tilted curiously to one side. She jumps to the first conclusion she can think of.

"Oh, that's," flustered, she shakes her head and drops it to look at the floor as she steps forward, "right. Sorry. I'm Beca." She holds out her hand and then quickly adds, "Mitchell" in case that wasn't clear. Bemused, the redhead lets out a chuckle but takes the offered hand, giving it a single shake.

"Oh, I know who you are." Awkward, Beca takes her hand back and rolls her eyes at herself. Of course she does. What with Beca having an appointment and everything. Chloe doesn't seem to be able to hear her inner monologue, thankfully, and she leans in close to whisper conspiratorially. "I'm actually kind of a fan." Beca's lips part to show teeth but her eyes narrow, her disbelief shining through before she can cap it.

"I bet you say that to all the girls." Chloe wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, reaching for a remote that's sitting on a stool next to one of the lamps. She aims it backwards over her shoulder and a sound system in the far corner of the room flickers to life. The opening beat of the mix that, arguably, "broke" Beca crackles through the speakers like electricity. It fills the room with energy and sure, maybe it's egotistical, but this song always has that effect on her. It had when she was mixing it and it hasn't diminished in the slightest. It makes her pulse race a little bit faster and reminds her that her skin is a living thing.

"Only the hot ones." Chloe winks at her and Beca feels her cheeks immediately redden. She looks away and this time Chloe throws her head back as she laughs. Beca's blush deepens. "First timers are always the easiest to rile up." She says, after she's turned the music down to an acceptable level but left it playing. Beca has no idea what she could possibly say that wouldn't cause her further embarrassment, so she keeps her mouth shut and tries not to pay too much attention as Chloe takes a seat on the stool. "So, how do you want to do this?" Beca glances around like she's looking for something and then raises her eyebrows at her photographer for the day.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Chloe's eyes, Beca is sure, actually twinkle.

"You want to do things my way?" Her tone makes Beca swallow involuntary. It's all sultry and sure, and the redhead slips off the stool in one fluid motion. And for one heart stopping second Beca thinks... well, she doesn't really think at all. There's just this weird blind panic that cements her to the spot that Chloe is rapidly approaching and then she's reaching for Beca. "Then first we take some with you out of this." Or more precisely, Beca's jacket. She steps right into the brunette's bubble and Beca's eyes widen as Chloe starts pushing the jacket off her shoulders. "It's funny, usually the undressing doesn't start until after I'm done taking pictures." Beca exhales, loudly.

"Dude." She doesn't think she's ever heard anyone laugh this much in a ten minute span before. She stands there dumbstruck as the other woman removes the jacket to leave her in a blue plaid button shirt and takes it with her, draping it over the top of the stool before spinning back around. Her curls bounce and sway around her face and she at least has the good grace to look a little sheepish this time.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. I'll stop." She absently reaches down with one hand and picks up the camera from where it's dangling against her hip. "Would you believe me if I said that I was kinda nervous about taking your picture today?" Beca's eyebrows grazed her hairline.

"No." She says easily and without missing a beat. Chloe's lips curve into a smile and she brings her other hand up to fiddle with the camera settings.

"Maybe I'm kind of a really big fan." She's still smiling, only now she's looking down at the camera and Beca's heart gives an overly exuberant thud when her brain notes how adorable the image is. "The kind that keeps a playlist and stalks your twitter account."

"Oh." Is all she can think of to say in the face of it and when Chloe looks back up she wishes she hadn't said anything at all. Because then maybe Chloe wouldn't have looked up at all and Beca could have snuck out while she was distracted.

And this is ridiculous. Actually, seriously ridiculous. Beca Mitchell is someone, she's made a name for herself, her songs get played on the radio, and she's been on a talk show! And yes, okay, so maybe she had been kind of awkward then too but this. This is ridiculous. She feels like she's fourteen years old again and that cannot be happening because she is a grown, adult person and doesn't get flustered by pretty girls with red hair. She's a professional.

"Um." Only her brain doesn't seem to have gotten the memo and it keeps firing all the old synapses. Her mouth hangs open for far, far too long and finally she gives herself a mental shake. "Wow," she can feel how strained her smile is, "I'm really sorry." She reaches up to tuck hair that hasn't moved back behind her ear. "I'm not usually this..."

"Talkative?" Chloe asks, raising one lone eyebrow. Beca's shoulders slump and she glowers.

"Frazzled." She amends, not one hundred percent sure that's the word she wants to use but it's what comes out regardless. "I'm not all that good with getting my picture taken." It's a weirdly personal confession. She shoves her hands as far as she can into the pockets of the skinny jeans she's wearing.

"Well if it's your appearance that has you worried, you really don't need to be." Chloe lifts the camera to her face. It hides her smirk. "You're totes photogenic." Beca flinches when she hears the click and when the redhead pulls the camera back to look at it, she's quiet for a long moment. "Maybe we won't use that one."

Eventually, Chloe explains to Beca what exactly is going to happen and ushers her over to stand in front of the whitewashed wall. They talk a bit in between shots. Chloe asks Beca what it's like to be famous and the brunette rolls her eyes, giving her the "totally clichéd spiel" about how she isn't in this for the money and what she really wants to be doing is producing music. Chloe finds that fascinating and forgets her job entirely for about fifteen minutes in which she fires off a hundred different questions. And it's weird, because Beca would usually blow off anyone's attempt to get to know her better with a glare and stern silence. She likes her privacy to stay, you know, private, but Chloe's eyes are just really, really blue and her smile is maybe the most sincere one she's seen since she landed at LAX.

So, she answers them. And tries to not think about how unsettled she should probably be by the ease with which the answers leave her.

Once Chloe remembers what they're supposed to be doing, her face disappears behind the camera again. They've taken what feels like a million photos but Beca is still all kinds of stiff and awkward in her poses, even though she's begging her body just to work with her for one afternoon. Chloe is being patient, kind, gently suggesting a tilt here and raise there, but it isn't working. Beca can feel it.

"This isn't you." Chloe murmurs after a few more shots. She's looking down at the camera, flicking through the images as Beca stands with one arm crossed over her chest in front of her and the other bent at the elbow so she can grip the skin of her thumb between her teeth. Chloe isn't wrong, Beca just doesn't know how to make it right. "Can you lean against the wall for me?" Chloe looks up at her and then takes a few steps closer. Beca does as she's asked and Chloe drops into a crouch, tilting the camera up. Beca tries not to notice the way the white V-neck pulls tight around the woman's body as she twists and bends and flexes. The camera clicks and she flinches again. Chloe stands and lets the camera swing to lie against her hip. Her expression is so soft and sympathetic, like she's trying to sooth Beca just by looking at her. "Beca, relax." Because that isn't what she's been trying to do since Chloe first walked through the door. She tries shaking her arms out and rolling her shoulders to ease the tension. "You need to loosen up." Then Chloe is walking towards her, like right towards her, and Beca's breath hitches.

Only that isn't possible because she's a professional and reactions like that are so juvenile it makes her sick.

Chloe stops about a foot from her and reaches around to where Beca has her hair gathered at the base of her skull in a messy bun. Fingertips trail over a few errant strands and Beca's eyes droop automatically. Having her hair played with is like a thing for her.

"Your hair always looks so soft in pictures." Chloe's voice floats somewhere nearby, but Beca's mind is fixed on her hands and the way they're working her hair free. Teasing it loose piece by piece. When she figures it out and Beca's hair pools messily at her neck, Chloe starts running her fingers through it, rearranging. She hums thoughtfully as she does and Beca would like to ask why or what but she's concentrating on trying to get her eyes to open. Fingertips brush the hollow of her neck and the static jolt is enough to do it. They pop open with an almost audible snap and immediately find Chloe's baby blues.

She's just messing with her hair. Beca tells herself this four times, each reminder more vehement than the last. Only she's pretty sure her hair is fine at the very least now and Chloe isn't backing away. She's just watching the way dark hair slips through her fingers in between glancing at Beca. Her lower lip is snared between her teeth like she's mulling something over. It's so totally inappropriate on so many levels. Is this how all professionals in the photography field behave? What is happening right now?

Her parents have always accused her of being impulsive, which she's fought them on since the first day they mentioned it. She doesn't randomly jump out of planes or buy overpriced items next to the checkout lines. Impulsive really isn't in her vocabulary. Except she'd packed her bags and hopped a plane to LA with nothing but her laptop and headphones for company when she was nineteen, though that had been in the works for years by then. But that's it, the one time in the relatively short and only recently entertaining history of her life and up until this second she'd been pretty sure it was going to stay that way for the rest of it. She doesn't DO impulsive, it makes her twitchy.

And she kind of twitches now. Sort of. She feels it before it happens, like a sudden surge of energy that comes from nowhere and erupts without warning. She can't stop it and so her head tips back, tilts up, and she presses her lips to Chloe's in a way that she's about ninety-six percent positive she won't be able to pass off as "a body spasm".

Okay, so many she can be impulsive.

She pulls back immediately, fast enough to give herself whiplash, and her head makes a dull thump sound as it hits the brick.

"Shit." She hisses, lifting a hand to rub the spot and brushing against Chloe's in the process. "Shit, shit! I'm so… god!" She presses her palm hard against the spot and keeps her gaze downcast. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that. That is so unprofessional. Jesus, I'm such a-" Fingers slide along the curve of her neck, then slip into her hair to tip her head again. She exhales through her nose, sharp and noisily, and lets herself be led.

Chloe's lips are soft, her mind is clear enough to register that this time, and they taste like cherry. She moves them gently against Beca's for a few heartbeats - Beca can feel the seconds pounding against her ribs - and then sweeps her tongue across the brunette's lower lip. She gasps, she's pretty sure that's her, and her hands find Chloe's waist as she parts her lips. Then she's being pressed into the wall at her back and she can feel every inch of Chloe against her, holding her there without an ounce of force. Fingers are in her hair and the other woman's lips and tongue are pulling fire from all ends of her body. Siphoning them away to settle low in her gut. And there's no air left in the room. Beca feels like her lungs are going to explode, if her head doesn't beat them to it. It's as she's preoccupied with keeping herself intact that her hands wander, unsupervised, and she only realises they've slipped under thin material and are pressing against warm skin when Chloe moans.

She moans. Uninhibited, into the kiss, and Beca's hands paw at the smooth expanse of Chloe's lower back in response. Just to grope or maybe pull her closer, she has no idea, but she isn't really thinking about it. She might be drunk, maybe high. She kinda feels like she might be both.

Then Chloe nips at her lip and drags a hand down Beca's side to brush along every inch of her, and she's pretty sure she's actually dreaming.

Which would explain why she pulls away. Because dreams don't make sense and neither does ending the kiss, but that's what Beca does. It's only when she can take a breath that she realises she probably needed to do that so she didn't die from oxygen deprivation.

Chloe's hum is low and pleased, Beca can feel it against her cheek.

"You're something." She finishes Beca's earlier thought for her and then laughs. Light and quiet.

Maybe Beca's dead. Maybe that's why she can't move or open her eyes or speak or do anything that even resembles normal human functioning. She manages to lick her lips. Chloe moves away without warning and Beca's arms fall uselessly to her sides. The cool air that washes over her makes her skin prickle. When she manages to open her eyes, Chloe is pointing the camera at her again.

Head tilted back against the wall, dark blue eyes gently hooded as they stare down the lens of the camera; Beca doesn't so much as blink now.

"Can I take you out when we're done here?" Chloe's voice drifts out from behind the camera and something inside Beca shifts. Grows until it presses at the corners of her mouth, pushing them up and apart in a smile she's helpless to control.

Chloe snaps the picture.

Three weeks later, they're looking at it on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine. It lies between them on a circular table that sits outside of a little cafe nearby Chloe's studio. Chloe insists they have the best pancakes in the world. Which Beca will get to find out, since she didn't give her a chance to order anything else.

"You look hot." Chloe's tone is smug and her self-satisfied smirk disappears behind a glass of orange juice. Beca raises both eyebrows.

"Pretty proud of that one, huh?" The redhead hums in the affirmative, gaze locked on Beca over the rim of her glass. The look makes her stomach roll pleasantly and she shifts in her seat before muttering, "You should be."