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It was hot. Like, really hot. And humid, due to all the sweaty bodies gyrating against each other. Acapella sure knew how to party, and they had picked a perfect club for it, reserved for an after-World’s get-together where all the groups could congratulate each other and shake off the stress of competing. Ideally, rivals would also come together in a polite manner, but that didn’t happen as often. Or so Beca heard – this was her first win at Worlds, and unfortunately, her last. Maybe Legacy would keep the tradition of calling back old Bellas, but it was likely that she’d never see the acapella stage again. And, really, as much as she would miss her nerds… she wanted to produce music. If the opportunity arose, maybe she’d join another group, but after three years, it would almost feel like a betrayal to the Bellas.
Sighing, Beca spun her stool around to observe the dimly-lit horde of singers. The great majority of them had incredible dance skills as well, and with alcohol added in… well. There were definitely going to be some hook ups tonight.
In fact, she was pretty sure she saw a few of the Bellas. Chloe’s red hair stuck out like a sore thumb, and while she could definitely hold her liquor, she tended to get a lot more sexual.
… Was that the German chick from the riff-off that she was dancing with? The one who sang she that “A Thousand Miles” mash-up with? Beca smirked. To be honest, she wasn’t surprised. The tension between them was thick enough that she could’ve sliced it with a knife. And Chloe did say she wanted to experiment. As long as the German chick didn’t hurt her, Beca wasn’t going to bother them.
Speaking of Germans…
Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a particular blonde head of hair. She shouldn’t have been looking. Jesse had gone back to the hotel early, but Beca had stayed to make sure her aca-nerds didn’t get in too much trouble. She didn’t need to go looking for hot, tall German women at this time of night.
Especially not ones who made her knees weak and her brain short circuit.
Nope. Definitely not.
She chugged the last of her beer before sliding the bottle across the counter and hopping off the barstool. If nothing else, she could at least go do some dancing. Pretty soon the buzz would kick in and she’d have to return to the hotel… or risk doing something she would regret. Chloe had video evidence from that one time and the brunette was in no mood to give her more ammo.
She didn’t bother to seek a dance partner, letting the music take her wherever it wanted.
“Tag dine beskidte hænder fra mig, idiot.”
How she could hear anyone’s voice over this music was a mystery, but Beca knew that voice, and it sounded angry. And despite not understanding a lick of Danish, she caught “idiot” and that seemed like cause enough to investigate. Curious, she broke from the crowd, elbowing her way through the drunken herd.
It took her eyes a second to adjust, squinting in the dark to make out any shapes. There were several people who had paired off, lazing against the wall, leaning against it, catching their breath or making out with someone else. She scanned the lineup of humans twice before she found what she was looking for.
And, by the expression on her face, she was not happy. Brow furrowed, lip curled, jaw tightened. She looked as if she would be happy to punch the man hovering above her. He leaned down, palms flat against the wall, trapping the blonde there while he whispered something to her. The Kommissar looked incredibly uncomfortable and it was pissing Beca off. She decided to hang around for another minute and if he didn’t back off on his own, she’d intervene. At least she had mace and the ability to kick his knees out.
And, sure enough, the jerk didn’t back off. Instead, he said something else that Beca couldn’t hear, leaned down, and started to kiss the German’s neck, tugging her into him, obviously without consent. Her palms shoved against his chest in an effort to move him, but he hardly budged – and considering she wasn’t a weak woman by any stretch, she must have been very drunk. Beca heard her panic, shouting, screaming in German – she caught at least three “Nein!” in the time it took for her to move behind the man and kick his knees out from under him.
He crumpled to the floor and began to get up, hissing insults at the tiny brunette who had interrupted, before Beca grasped the front of his shirt and slammed him back into the ground. Small, but mighty, as the Bellas had said.
Her voice was a growl. “Listen, Fuckwad. She’s not interested and you’re being a creep, no wait, a rapist. Get the fuck out of here before I mace you so badly that you’ll never see the light of day again.”
From behind her, she heard a confused, “… Maus?” but ignored it for now. When threatened with mace, the guy’s resolve shattered, and he scrambled away from her, out of the club and into the city, before she had the chance to actually use the mace. By the time she capped it and put it back in her pocket, Kommissar seemed to have regained her composure slightly, and asked, “… Beca?”
“Heard you the first time,” the brunette murmured, turning to face her. Worried blue eyes scanned the taller woman. Kommissar looked shaken and disheveled, but otherwise unhurt. “God, what an asshole… You okay?”
A hesitant nod returned to her as the German pushed away from the wall and wobbled unsteadily. “Ja… I think… Hotel? Bringst du mich bitte dorthin?” The alcohol was obviously making it harder for her to translate –hell, the woman knew eight languages– and she tried after a moment’s thought, “Take me to it? I am not… my legs are not steady.”
Whatever Beca expected, this wasn’t it. “Where’s Pieter? He could take you, right?”
“Nein, he left. Last night, family business. I came alone.”
“For fuck’s sake, Kommissar. You didn’t even bring a friend? I saw DSM here, you didn’t have anyone watching your back?”
Defiance sparked in the woman’s ocean-blue eyes. “I do not need it.”
“Right. That’s absolutely why I just saved your–”
She growled. “One time, kleine Maus, this is different. Und mein Name ist Luisa.”
The brunette rolled her eyes. “It’s a damn good thing I understand some German, at least. Hi, Luisa. Nice to meet you. Let’s get you back to the hotel.” She tucked her shoulder under the taller woman’s arm, looping her own around Luisa’s waist for support, and started to walk. For the amount of alcohol she must have consumed, the blonde walked quite well. She leaned on Beca a few times, but they managed to return to the hotel without falls.
“Alright, German goddess, what floor’s your room on?”
Luisa fell silent. “I… I do not recall.”
Of course, the hotel staff chose this particular night to be completely absent. Beca wanted to scream in frustration. She had a drunk woman who probably really needed to sleep off the alcohol, and who apparently had no idea where she was sleeping. “Right, uh… I guess you’re coming to my room then.”
“Vat? Nein, you do not—”
“I’m not just leaving you in the lobby. Come on. Take off the heels first, though, you can barely even stand in them.”
“Ja.”
It was strange seeing her so… complacent. Beca was used to seeing the Kommissar as the defiant, proud, confident leader of DSM, rather than as this meek, easily commanded person.
Then again, this was Luisa, not Kommissar. The Kommissar was just her stage presence. And yes, maybe this was drunk Luisa, but Luisa nonetheless.
The blonde approached her with heels in hand, chewing her lower lip timidly. “Tiny Maus… Danke schön.”
The gratitude caught her off guard as they loaded into the elevator and Luisa caught her about the waist. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Of course. He was a prick who clearly had no idea what no means.” She had dealt with guys like that before. This was also a huge reason for why she had taken self-defense as a teenager.
“Nein, I am serious. Danke schön. I do not…” The shudder against her side told Beca that there was more to it that Luisa let on.
“Easy,” she murmured. “You’re okay.”
The instant they stumbled through the door, Luisa began to undress. Modesty to the wind, she glanced over her shoulder at Beca. “I sleep… how do you say… in the naked?”
“Nude, but uh. Wow. Damn.”
Never in her life had she seen such sculpted, perfect muscles on someone’s back. And such a toned stomach. Or such incredible thighs and arms.
“Should I go?”
“N-no, no, that’s fine. I’ll just—um… floor. I gotta… floor.”
The pleading eyes Luisa set on her melted her resolve, and the German asked quietly, “Sleep with me?”
“You’re drunk. And got harassed. I’m not sleeping with you.”
Confusion. “… Just sleep?” she asked, and Beca wanted to smack herself. Right. Actual sleep. Not innuendo-sleep.
“Oh. Right. Yeah, sure, I guess?” She clicked the light off and climbed in on the opposite side from the German, but didn’t stay there very long before the blonde tugged her close, Beca’s back pressed against her, arms wrapped around her torso.
“Is this okay?” she asked, prepared to leave if Beca protested. The smaller woman only nodded and she rested her chin atop brunette curls, smirking into the darkness. “You truly are a tiny Maus.”
Beca groaned and smacked her hip lightly. “Shut up and go to sleep, you moose.”
A chuckle rumbled against her back and it took every bit of restraint she possessed not to turn over and kiss the German. “Ja. Good night, Maus.”
There was something comforting about Luisa holding her. She was too tired to think through the implications of that thought process, and decided it would be better for her sanity if she just slept.
The fact that Luisa was completely naked and pressed up against her did not help matters. At all.
She probably wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight.
“’Night, Moose.”