#becomissar

Ilona

Daughter of Beca and Kommisar

Have I also found a stockpile of relic request from when I obsessively did Becomissar fanfiction?

Adelaide

Daughter of Beca and Kommissar

A/N: This is longer than I expected it to be. Sorry it’s a little off; still struggling with that writer’s block.Words: ~1,000

Bass. Bodies. Booze.

Even though the Bellas lost the riff-off, Beca didn’t really care. They did a decent job singing, and it had been Emily’s first performance. Even though Chloe had been really upset, the brunette assured the young girl that she was fine, and that for being picked so spontaneously she did a decent job for at least coming up with something.

Beca swayed from side to side, beer in hand and a smile on her face. She could feel the eyes of the Kommissar on her every now and again, and it made her almost stop dancing. She didn’t relent. 

That was until long fingers grazed across her arm and then across the small of her back. Don’t look Mitchell, you know who it is and you’ll just embarrass yourself again, she told herself. The Hills by The Weeknd had started playing. Things were slowing down. Aca-chicks and aca-guys were off making out, and pressing each others bodies against dark walls. Bodies pressed up against her.

She leaned back, hips grinding into the ones behind her. Hands running up her sides. An arm wrapping around her waist. The brunette took a swig of her beer finishing it off, and felt herself becoming increasingly intoxicated. She should go home, but should she leave this beautiful creature that was dancing behind her?

Turning around to face her dancing partner, she felt her stomach drop and her knees get weak. I shouldn’t have looked, dammit Beca what did I tell you, she scolded herself. Beca parted her lips with intent on saying she should leave, but instead she blurted out, “Take me home.” The corners of those red painted lips twitched upwards, and a glint of something flickered through the Kommissar’s eyes. 

“My, my, little maus,” she smiled, resting her hands on the smaller woman’s hips. Beca was getting impatient though; standing on her toes she leaned forward, unaware of how drunk she actually was, and lost her balance, falling onto the blonde’s chest. The taller woman popped her brows, slightly surprised. Her infatuation with the American girl subsided slightly as concern started to grow. The tiny woman was fairly intoxicated and needed an escort home. 

The brunette only groaned at herself as she pushed off of the Kommissar, looking up into those dangerously blue eyes. Her insides twisted and knotted as firm, but soft hands steadied her. “It’sh like a two minute walk,” she slurred, feeling desperate. Hooded eyes looking up Kommissar’s body until they reached her eyes.

The blonde’s mouth felt dry and she involuntarily swallowed. “Ja, alright,” she mumbled, wrapping and arm around the brunette’s waist. The German carefully looked around and spotted all the other Bella’s around the room, too entangled up in their own affairs to be bothered with noticing her and Beca leaving the mansion.

The walk back to the Barden Bella’s house was an adventure in itself. Beca stumbled, and giggled the whole way back. “But- just imagine this,” she would always start, leaving Kommissar to bite her lip. Whether they were unintentional or intentional, the way Beca’s fingers slid over her exposed abdomen made goosebumps rise. 

Composure, she kept telling herself, while Beca linked hands with her own. They made their way up the few steps to the door and Beca turned around, pressing her back to the door, a drunken smile on her face. “Come here,” she demanded, and Kommissar did nothing but oblige. The fronts of the bodies were pressed together, Beca’s fingers hooking themselves onto the top of her leather pants. 

The German tightened her jaw, tried to control herself, tried so very hard not to break and make a move on this very small, very attractive opponent. Luckily she didn’t have too. Beca’s lips came crashing up to her own, and a quiet moan escaped the brunette’s lips. Cherry, Beca whispered in her head. Kommissar’s hands made their way to Beca’s hips, pulling them closer to her own. 

Tongues were grazing lips, begging for entrance. Hot kisses on her neck, silky fingers on her skin. Blonde hair between her own fingers. The brunette was panting, but her head was also spinning. The heat in her core was growing and that very special place between her thighs was beginning to throb. “Keys, pants, pocket, door,” she breathed between sloppy kisses.

A grunt came from the blonde as her hands slid into the brunette’s pant’s pockets. Beca’s fingers tightened in blonde hair, earning her a bite on her neck. Pushing the key into the lock she twisted it, and they both went tumbling in, trying not to lose the contact between their bodies. Kommissar reached down, lifting Beca’s legs, and the girl wrapped them around her waist. “Bed?” the German murmured in her ear, and Beca shook her head. “Couch,” she panted, nipping at the blonde’s pale skin. 

The German groaned at the bites, her core throbbing more than she thought it ever could. Beca was pulling at her own shirt, trying to free herself; she wanted more contact, she wanted to feel skin on skin. The blonde laid her down on the couch and started unbuttoning her pants, pulling the jeans down to her ankles, and taking a moment to look Beca up and down. 

Hot kisses. Nimble fingers. Rapid breathing. Beca was overstimulated, and overwhelmed. Both of them naked on the couch, Kommissar’s face between her legs. Her moans were loud, and she was glad that none of the Bella’s had come home yet. “Alright, alright, you win, please, just-” Beca whined, not getting to finish her sentence. Kommissar hummed and sped her fingers up, curling them in just the right spot.