"All these walls do nothing but hold you back. Trap you in."
Beca downed the last of her champagne and fell back against the wall, pressing her hands against the cool bricks with a huff of frustration. Her jaw tingled where Kommissar's smooth palms had pressed against her skin, and Beca swore she could still feel every curve and ridge of the German's fingerprints seared into her temples, though her fingertips had rested there so lightly. A flush of heat spread down her neck, burning a path along her skin, until it felt as though even her bones ached with need.
"Oh god, what's wrong with me," Beca groaned, scrubbing at her face as though trying to wipe away the warmth left behind by Kommissar's hands. "And what the hell did she mean 'walls'? I don't have walls!"
The petite brunette, fortified by alcohol, pushed off from the wall behind her and marched back inside, determined to find her boyfriend and do something about this... confusion. But not before she'd had a couple more drinks.
The beat hit her hard as she left behind her fifth glass of whatever it was she'd ended up drinking (so maybe it took more than expected to shut up the horny voice in her head telling her to go find the German woman and... shut up, shut up!). She was swallowed whole by the crowd, until her world was only heat and bodies and music and flashes of light. Disoriented, Beca tried to elbow her way through the heaving mass, but her height left her at a serious disadvantage. Her head was spinning, her feet missing the ground more often than not, and she was being propped up by someone... tall. Someone who could carve a path for her through the bodies.
"Jesse," she squinted up at her saviour, frowning when she didn't recognise him.
"Shh," he murmured soothingly, half-dragging Beca away from the crowd.
The small girl tried to blink away the blackness, but it just kept coming, kept narrowing her field of vision until she couldn't keep her eyes open. The music was a blur of sound that started to fade as the air changed from hot, sweaty dance floor to... cool, air-conditioned corridor. "Wait, where are we going, I don't want to go with you," she managed to slur, though wrangling her tongue into forming the words took considerable effort.
"Just what is going on here," an authoritative voice broke through Beca's haze, and she managed to force her eyes open just enough to see blonde and black.
"She's had a bit too much to drink, I'm just taking her up to her room," a placating male voice came from near Beca's ear. She could feel the voice in her chest, and became aware of being held up by someone, of the smell of aftershave – not Jesse's – and the heat of an arm wrapped around her torso like a vice.
Beca made the herculean effort of opening her eyes fully for just a moment, and was greeted with the welcome sight of the Kommissar standing before her, eyebrows raised in patent disbelief. "Kommissar?"
"I will take her to her room," there was a pause, "Paul. You should return to the bar."
"Okay, I was just trying to help!"
Beca muttered 'cinnamon' as she was transferred from 'Paul' to the Kommissar, and she leaned gratefully into the blonde, squinting up at her with adoring eyes, "Your lips are really sexy."
Kommissar smirked slightly, "Thankyou."
Beca's eyes closed again, and all she knew was sensation (the secure strength of the arm around her back, the burning heat of the hand pressing against her waist to hold her up, serving only to turn her legs to jelly even more, the firm warmth of the body next to her) and sound (where is your room key?) and smell (cinnamon and vodka, and the faintest hint of perfume).