A/N: Inspired by All Time Low's Backseat Serenade. p.s. reviews are well accepted, feel free to come over to my tumblr too ahahaha
Words: 1082
When Beca feels her best friend's lips crash against her, the taste of another one of Fat Amy's concoctions staining the tongue that invades her mouth, she doesn't pull back. She knows it's wrong, but she can't bring her palm to push the ginger away. Instead it cups the other girl's jawline and angles it so the kiss can be further executed. It's wrong, she tells herself as she struggles to remember her boyfriend's existence. But all Beca sees are her ginger locks and bright blue eyes before their lips meet again. She feels the fabric of Chloe's shirt under her fingertips as she traces the outline of the Bella's figure clumsily. It's wrong, so wrong. But the sound of Chloe moaning into her lips when she digs into the redhead's hips make it seem so right. So Beca blames it on the alcohol.
She doesn't remember leaving the party, but she remembers her skin flaming with heat at all the spots Chloe's fingers met, the length of her arms, her thighs and especially now the spaces between her fingers as she feels Chloe twine their digits together. Cold air slaps her hair out of her face as she is slammed against an unsteady surface. She was so close to complaining about how uncomfortable she felt, but her words come out as a cry of pleasure, lost in the lips on the redhead that is now pressing against her, sandwiching her between the surface and her body. She feels the taller girl's hands fumbling at the side of her waists but not even remotely close to be touching her. Beca starts to wonder if they were too drunk to even carry out any of this infidelity.
She lowers the line of sight to see Chloe trying to unlock the car door. Only then had she realized she was pressed against the door of a vehicle, just as the door swings open. Chloe pulls her by the waist, the midget's head barely missing the frame of the door as she tumbles in, pulling the door shut with the heel of her boots. It's wrong, she knows. But it's hard to remember you're actually dating someone else when Chloe Beale is looking at you with those light blue eyes, pupils dilated with lust and her hair flaming with passion. So she doesn't bother, letting herself indulge in the situation she had gotten into. Because best friends don't make out and touch each other in inappropriate places in the backseat of someone else's car, not even when said best friend had sung with you naked before you were even acquainted.
They toss around the leather seat, a heated mess, as they fight more dominance, their clothes now sticking to them with sweat, restricting their movements as it sticks them on to the leather seat of the car, holding them back for a few more seconds. Neither of the pair move to take the other's apparel off. Because they both know it's wrong. It's wrong and it's disastrous. It's the beginning of something they didn't need in their well establish friendship. They are platonic, they are best friends, they are sisters, even if what they are doing at the moment, savoring the taste of each other, suggests otherwise.
But a platonic relationship is not what Chloe Beale wants, and so she does what the brunette had been hoping for the past hour of making out. She claims dominance and pulls Beca's shirt off, with much compliance from the receiving end.. She takes in the collarbones of display, every inch of skin now uncovered. Toned stomach from cardio in the days of Aubrey's reign covered in sweat underappreciated as Beca's fingers tangle in red mane, pulling her closer till their lips meet again. Chloe's hands move as her confidence grows. She feels her nails chip under the tough material of the button, but it doesn't stop her mission. What does though is a croak from the brunette under her.
"Stop, Chloe. God." Beca repeats through pants and it stuns Chloe out of her zone. Beca locks her by the waist before placing a smirk in place, one she uses as a defense mechanism. "It's just experimenting, right?" she questions, as the redhead's lips hang apart, the hue in her irises dimming as she nods in assurance.
Beca tries to ignore the tightness of her throat when Chloe climbs out of the car, away after their little 'experiment'. She swallows it because it's wrong and this label is what's keeping their friendship and her relationship safe. It's just college experimenting, it's normal, except it's not and Beca feels heat build underneath her eyelids when she rests her head against the seat, her body limp as her lips quiver. She forces herself to climb out of the vehicle that doesn't belong to her as she stalks back to the still ongoing party, drowning herself in whatever alcohol she could get her hands on.
It's wrong to feel sad after what should have been the best sex she had in her life. It's wrong that it was with her best friend. It's wrong that she couldn't seem to remember Jesse's face in the haze. But one thing that went right was the music playing in the background, pop punk agony giving her a reason to shout. Even though Beca Mitchell makes it a point to criticize pop punk bands, saying that their pop element made them "phonies" and that they weren't "the real deal". But right now Beca Mitchell doesn't care about whether there was a pop element to this song or in any song for that matter, as she shouts the lyrics to mend her heartbreak.
It's wrong, when she deliberately joins the dance floor to get away from her boyfriend and proceed to avoid him throughout the night. It's wrong when she stumbles through the Bellas' house the last, rapping against one Chloe Beale's room door and running up the stairs, hiding in a corner as she watches the ginger open the door in confusion. It's wrong when she falls asleep to the sight of the redhead, but it's dark and it's in her head, so she figures it won't matter when she forgets it in the morning.
But she doesn't. And it's wrong when this carries on over countless party nights. Both girls know, but both don't mention anything as they try to forget the roles they play outside of the backseats of other college kids' cars.