A/N: Another Becommissar story based on the following tumblr prompt (which I slightly adapted):
"i meant to text the contact one above you in my phone's contact list for a booty call but i didn't realize i hit your name until i sent it so now i'm just sitting here feeling those little three dots hardcore judging me" au
I'm also working on a (smutty) sequel to Tsunami, so stay tuned for that one.
I'm drunk and lonely and confused and you need to get here asap and have sex with me, thank you very much. Staying at the Radisson Blu, room 2008. Hurry!
It was about 4AM, Beca was finally back in her hotel room, and, also, still pretty drunk from the Worlds' afterparty, where she'd spent her time downing about four beers within fifteen minutes to distract herself from the gorgeous specimen that was Das Sound Machine's lead.
The other team had taken their defeat surprisingly well—Pieter had even congratulated them, before getting everyone a round of drinks, and Kommissar... well. The blonde had danced. First by herself, swinging her hips from right to left and running her hands all over her own body, and then together with Stacie, which had her grinding her ass against Stacie's crotch, all the while giving Beca what could only be described as a sultry look every now and then.
It had gotten worse, though, because, at some point—Beca had turned away a good thirty minutes earlier because seeing the woman she was definitely not crushing on basically making out with Stacie on the dance floor wasn't one of her favorite things to do—she'd felt a hand on each side of her hips, and a set of lips close to her ear.
"Congratulations, tiny Maus. You know what they say: the winner takes it all. So feel free to do so."
Chills had run down her spine upon hearing Kommissar's low voice whispering, and Beca had had to hold on to the bar to anchor herself in order not to completely lose her shit, because this had sounded so much like a come-on, her brain had had problems processing.
After that encounter, she had gulped down the already mentioned four beers (and then another two shots and some disgusting mixed drink) to forget about the feeling of the German's breath against the side of her neck. This, however, had not only left her drunk, but also horny (for reasons she didn't even want to think about), which was why she had just texted Jesse regarding an impromptu hook up.
Granted, things between them were a bit rocky at the moment (had been for a while, if she was quite honest), and he wasn't tall and blonde and German, but he would have to do.
She checked her phone again, because it was quite unusual for Jesse not to answer within a minute of receiving a message—especially from her—but stopped dead in her tracks when she realized that something was off. The whole conversation consisted of only a single message, there were no heart emoticons next to the recipient's name, and the contact picture wasn't that fat little Russell kid from Up. From one second to another she was completely sober again.
For whatever reason, she hadn't send the message to her boyfriend, but, instead, to what seemed to be her German nemesis, because on the top of the screen it said "Kommissar," and she was pretty sure she knew no one else with a name as weird as that.
Not able to remember how that number had even made into her contact list in the first place—the only thing she could remember was giving her phone to the girl from the Canadian team to get her info, taking some selfies with Fat Amy and Pieter (who were best buddies now, apparently), and having Cynthia hold on to it while she used the bathroom—she just stared at her iPhone in complete horror. This was bad. Real fucking bad (not least because she would actually prefer the blonde in her bed when given the choice between her and Jesse).
But maybe Kommissar was asleep already. Maybe her battery had died. Maybe she would never receive this message because Beca found her phone and destroyed it before the blonde could read the misguided text.
But of course the universe hated her, and what appeared were the three dots that indicated that the other woman was typing. She was so fucked (in the metaphorical sense, not the literal one, unfortunately). Because this was what the blonde was waiting for, wasn't it?
This was her chance to get back at the smaller woman for beating her at Worlds, the chance to crush her once and for all.
Eventually, the three dots disappeared, but instead of a message appearing in their place, nothing happened, which was a little weird, but maybe the blonde was thinking, or had to look up a word (or had died and this whole mess would be resolved, the Bella prayed). Beca waited another few seconds, but still no reply popped up on the screen. She contemplated sending a second text to clear up the situation—since Kommissar had obviously seen the message—when the phone started ringing with a call. Fuck.
As surprised as she was, she almost dropped the device to the floor. This couldn't be happening. Why would the blonde even do this, it made no sense? Except for it did, because Beca was a bumbling mess around the German, so she should—under no circumstances whatsoever—accept this call.
She should just put the phone to the side and ignore it. Sleep in Chloe's hotel room just in case Kommissar decided to humiliate her in person. Flee the country and never come back.
Eventually, though, in a moment of either complete bravery or total stupidity (maybe a bit of both), she pressed the answer button.
"Tiny Maus," sounded what was undoubtedly the voice of Das Sound Machine's lead through the speaker. Oh God, this just screamed disaster, because the brunette's track record when it came to confrontations with the German was anything but great. She had to resolve this misunderstanding (preferably without casualties). Asap.
"The text wasn't for you, it was for Jesse. I don't even know how I got your phone number, just forge—" Beca started to ramble, panic evident in her voice, before Kommissar cut her off.
"And here I thought you had finally gotten to a point where you're honest with yourself."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Beca demanded, because, at this point, she was basically too tired to function. And also still kind of drunk.
She hated Kommissar. She hated her, because one single person shouldn't have the capability to make her that confused. She was Beca fucking Mitchell, she didn't do confused. She was strong, and smart, and perfectly put together (and a complete mess and sucker for women in positions of power).
"I'm not blind. And you are not very subtle, Mäuschen," the woman on the other end of the line all but purred. Beca could almost see it in front of her: smug smirk, fiery eyes, gorgeous, long legs, perfect hair, amazing ab—okay, this really had to stop. Yes, the German was attractive—big deal. It wasn't like the Bella was into her, right? (Except she was. Big time.)
The brunette tsked.
"That is so not true. I have a boyfriend, and we're super happy, and I only thought about you under the shower once—twice, tops—and—I should just shut up, Jesus Christ!"
It was silent for a while, before the blonde replied.
"I could be there right away; I'm staying at the same hotel."
This gave the smaller woman a pause.
"Wait, you'd actually want to?" she exclaimed, because this was a turn of events she hadn't anticipated in her wildest dreams. Instantly, her heart rate sped up just thinking about the tall woman's hands exploring her body, golden curls tickling her face, and tangled legs and sheets.
But before Beca could indulge in her m-rated daydreams any further, there was a knock on the door, which was weird, because it was the middle of the night, and basically everyone else who had been at the party had been drunk to a point where she'd be surprised if they could still move.
For a second, she pondered if she should just pretend to be asleep and not answer (at this point, she had already kind of forgotten that she was actually still on the phone with the German's lead), but, in the end, she did get up.
Hoping that it wasn't Jesse or Chloe (because this situation had just turned from a complete mess into something quite promising) she went to open, and wasn't all that surprised about the person she found on the other side.
Before her stood Kommissar, phone in hand, and a coy smirk on her face.
"Looks like it, doesn't it?"
"I—holy shit," was all the brunette managed to utter once she took the other woman—who was wearing a bathrobe with what Beca guessed was (almost) nothing underneath—in in all her tall, German glory.
How was this even happening? She was probably passed out somewhere on the floor back at the bar because she'd had too much to drink, and was now hallucinating. Yes, that had to be it; there was no way she was actually lucid right now.
To be sure, she quickly lifted a hand to pinch the inside of her wrist hard (which hurt like a motherfucker). Apparently, she was, in fact, awake.
"So, that's a yes then, ja?" Kommissar inquired, taking a step closer while, simultaneously, letting go of the sides of her bathrobe, which lead to it opening up a bit to reveal more pale, smooth skin. The brunette could see a flat stomach, two perfect, round breasts, a triangle of neatly trimmed hair—and she could literally feel herself getting wet.
"Hell yes," Beca exclaimed as she surged forward to grip the taller woman's face and pull it down toward her.
The kiss was hurried, and sloppy, and so fucking hot, the Bella doubted she would ever be able to stop. This was raw desire. Passion. She wanted the other woman; she wanted her more than she had ever wanted Jesse (or Chloe in their freshman year, for that matter).
Quite quickly, their kissing evolved into hungrily exploring each other's bodies. Beca's right hand sneaked into the German's bathrobe, while the other one held on to its lapel, and Kommissar's were all over the brunette's back, chest, and neck.
"Bed," Beca managed to pant between kisses at some point, and, without missing a beat (or taking her lips from the Bella's), Kommissar put both hands on the smaller woman's ass and lifted her into the air. Taking the hint, she wrapped her legs around the tall blonde, and, a mess of limbs and lips, they stumbled toward the boxspring, collapsing onto the big mattress.
Somewhere along the way, Kommissar's bathrobe had fallen to the floor, disregarded, so she was completely naked already, and, consequently, Beca made short work of lifting her shirt over her head and opening the button of her jeans. Apparently just as eager as the Bella herself, her former enemy swiftly opened the clasp of the smaller woman's bra, carelessly throwing it to the side a mere second after.
For a few moments, Beca just stared at the woman who was—surprisingly—underneath her. Her skin was pale and incredibly smooth, there was a small birthmark just under her left breast, and her nipples were hard. She looked perfect.
"You are so fucking hot, it should be illegal," Beca murmured, while leaving a trail of openmouthed kisses down the blonde's torso. The German only gave a low chuckle in return, before she threaded her fingers into the Bella's hair and tugged slightly.
As if to give the brunette a hint, Commissar spread her legs apart, and, after a second of hesitation, the smaller woman settled between them.
She had never actually eaten a girl out, so she was a bit self-conscious about the whole thing—especially since it was Kommissar lying exposed in front of her, and she didn't want to make a fool out of herself (again)—but her desire to taste the other woman, to please her, was stronger, so she sent a quick prayer to the Gods (and whoever else was listening), and just went for it.