"I've been there, you know." Sam doesn't think she's drunk, really. But she must be, to be saying stuff like this to Vala. "Tied-up, locked-down, shut in my own head and screaming for release." She burps. Definitely drunk. But not falling under the table drunk. Maybe she can only think about this without some vague pain when she is drunk.
This is stupid.
"You have?"
Vala doesn't even sound interested. Sam scowls into the nearly-empty glass and considers wandering over to the wet bar the Air Force provided them with for this little black tie shindig. She's probably a disgrace to the uniform she's wearing, but right now, she doesn't care. She's saved the planet far too many damned times. And all the thanks she gets is a smile and a fucking medal, and a wet bar.
"Forget it." She downs the last of the drink and climbs off her stool. Habit makes her straighten the regulation-length blue skirt, and she notices a run in one of her stockings. Dammit.
"Already packing it in, Colonel?"
"Yeah." Leaving Vala to chat up every male in her vicinity, as well as those all the way across the dance floor, Sam makes her way from the room. She stops twice to give her regards to General Hammond and Major Davis.
The hotel that the Air Force had contracted for the gathering has nice rooms. Sam makes her way down the hall to the elevator--the room she was assigned was ten floors up and even she's not that much of a health freak that she'll take the stairs--not caring if anyone else notices as she begins unbuttoning her jacket. The prim little colonel routine is getting damned old, at this point. And if she didn't know she had to do it to play politics, she wouldn't do it at all.
Riding the elevator is a little like sobering up, and Sam steps out feeling less lost in her own head.
"You're difficult to keep up with." Vala is actually panting a little, from where she's leaning against the wall.
Sam stares at her for a moment, then decides she doesn't care why the other woman followed her.
"Look, Sam--" Vala catches her at her door. "--you obviously needs some relaxing."
Shoving her keycard into the lock, Sam bumps the door open, still ignoring Vala. Her goal is the chair, and her jacket lands on it, followed by her blouse. "I do?"
"Yes. Should I put this on the other side--oh, they serve breakfast. Can we get a Continental breakfast in the morning?" Earth minutiae endlessly distracts Vala, sometimes. "I do rather feel the Air Force could spring for that, given all I've done for them." Vala wanders towards Sam, reading the menu on doorknob hanger.
"Sure." Tiredly, Sam unzips and steps out of her skirt. Standing there in her slip and underwear, she thinks she should feel odd, with Vala there.
"Good. I'll need it." Vala disappears again.
Rummaging in the suitcase, Sam pulls out blue pyjamas. It's easy to slip out of the rest of her clothes, and she's stepping into the bottoms when Vala returns.
"Now that's a nice sight," Vala says, tone approving. She comes close enough to wrap her arms around Sam from behind, hands just under her ribs, flat against her skin. "Still angry with me?"
"I wasn't angry with you." For a moment, Sam leans back against her, closing her eyes and wondering if she's still drunk or simply tired.
"Could have fooled me."
"You can be fooled?" It's an attempt at a joke, but Sam pulls away to finish dressing.
"Of course I can. Though, I'll admit, it doesn't happen often."
"Of course it doesn't." With a snort, Sam climbs into bed, cuddling up to the pillow. A sigh escapes her.
Vala asks, voice odd, "Shall I go, then?"
Admitting that she needs comfort is something Sam doesn't do often. She holds up the edge of the blanket, sleepily looking at Vala. If she doesn't ask, she won't sound weak, and Carters are never weak.
"Oh, good." Vala strips without bothering to hang or drape her clothes over a chair, then moves, naked and beautiful, to climb in next to Sam.
Sam turns, and her hands skim over Vala before she kisses her gently. Vala makes an approving noise, wriggling closer.
Unfortunately, the contact relaxes Sam enough so that the alcohol in her system has free reign. "Night."
Bar Scene, SG-1 Sam/Vala, Possession, PG13
This is stupid.
"You have?"
Vala doesn't even sound interested. Sam scowls into the nearly-empty glass and considers wandering over to the wet bar the Air Force provided them with for this little black tie shindig. She's probably a disgrace to the uniform she's wearing, but right now, she doesn't care. She's saved the planet far too many damned times. And all the thanks she gets is a smile and a fucking medal, and a wet bar.
"Forget it." She downs the last of the drink and climbs off her stool. Habit makes her straighten the regulation-length blue skirt, and she notices a run in one of her stockings. Dammit.
"Already packing it in, Colonel?"
"Yeah." Leaving Vala to chat up every male in her vicinity, as well as those all the way across the dance floor, Sam makes her way from the room. She stops twice to give her regards to General Hammond and Major Davis.
The hotel that the Air Force had contracted for the gathering has nice rooms. Sam makes her way down the hall to the elevator--the room she was assigned was ten floors up and even she's not that much of a health freak that she'll take the stairs--not caring if anyone else notices as she begins unbuttoning her jacket. The prim little colonel routine is getting damned old, at this point. And if she didn't know she had to do it to play politics, she wouldn't do it at all.
Riding the elevator is a little like sobering up, and Sam steps out feeling less lost in her own head.
"You're difficult to keep up with." Vala is actually panting a little, from where she's leaning against the wall.
Sam stares at her for a moment, then decides she doesn't care why the other woman followed her.
"Look, Sam--" Vala catches her at her door. "--you obviously needs some relaxing."
Shoving her keycard into the lock, Sam bumps the door open, still ignoring Vala. Her goal is the chair, and her jacket lands on it, followed by her blouse. "I do?"
"Yes. Should I put this on the other side--oh, they serve breakfast. Can we get a Continental breakfast in the morning?" Earth minutiae endlessly distracts Vala, sometimes. "I do rather feel the Air Force could spring for that, given all I've done for them." Vala wanders towards Sam, reading the menu on doorknob hanger.
"Sure." Tiredly, Sam unzips and steps out of her skirt. Standing there in her slip and underwear, she thinks she should feel odd, with Vala there.
"Good. I'll need it." Vala disappears again.
Rummaging in the suitcase, Sam pulls out blue pyjamas. It's easy to slip out of the rest of her clothes, and she's stepping into the bottoms when Vala returns.
"Now that's a nice sight," Vala says, tone approving. She comes close enough to wrap her arms around Sam from behind, hands just under her ribs, flat against her skin. "Still angry with me?"
"I wasn't angry with you." For a moment, Sam leans back against her, closing her eyes and wondering if she's still drunk or simply tired.
"Could have fooled me."
"You can be fooled?" It's an attempt at a joke, but Sam pulls away to finish dressing.
"Of course I can. Though, I'll admit, it doesn't happen often."
"Of course it doesn't." With a snort, Sam climbs into bed, cuddling up to the pillow. A sigh escapes her.
Vala asks, voice odd, "Shall I go, then?"
Admitting that she needs comfort is something Sam doesn't do often. She holds up the edge of the blanket, sleepily looking at Vala. If she doesn't ask, she won't sound weak, and Carters are never weak.
"Oh, good." Vala strips without bothering to hang or drape her clothes over a chair, then moves, naked and beautiful, to climb in next to Sam.
Sam turns, and her hands skim over Vala before she kisses her gently. Vala makes an approving noise, wriggling closer.
Unfortunately, the contact relaxes Sam enough so that the alcohol in her system has free reign. "Night."