| Something In The Air |
| Summary: | Thorn and Sam finally manage to get on the same CAP shift, after which they share a bottle of scotch and a momentous(and slightly unexpected) discussion of their future. |
| Date: | PHD229 |
| Related Logs: | Kom + Sam logs |
| Players: |
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CAP was…boring as ever. But neither of them are on again for two shifts, their schedules FINALLY syncing up, and the ship is at condition three. You know what that means? Time to CELEBRATE! Sam's already walking back through the bare metal corridors with him, beginning to strip off her flight suit, letting it slump around her hips…"I swear you were falling asleep out there. I saw you swerving! You keep that up and I'll have to think of better ways to keep you awake next time!"
There's a chortle from Thorn as he walks in step beside her, his own flightsuit in a similar state of disarray. For once, he doesn't seem to notice the sorry state of the ship as they strut through the corridor. "Swerving?" he asks teasingly. "Frak. You Viper sticks flit around on CAP and y' call it messing around. A Raptor tries t' get in on th' fun and I'm swerving?" He snorts.
"That wasn't even a swerve! That was going off the whole damn road! You're lucky you didn't end up in a DITCH!" Sam teases warmly, laughter echoing down the hallways with him as she finally walks backwards into the red berthings. Home sweet home. She shimmies fully out of her flight suit, using her toes to pull off her boots to kick them in the direction of her locker, then kick off the suit from her legs. Just in a sports bra and shorts now.
"There are no ditches in space," Thorn replies primly, following her into the berthings. Home indeed, ever since the Cylons ventilated Black. "Besides, I only did it t' put a little fright into that poor rookie girl they've got backseating for me. Have t' entertain myself somehow, y' know." A wolfish grin, and Thorn also begins pulling off his flight suit. The locker that the two now share is opened, and he tosses his flightsuit and his tanktops into the laundry bag inside.
"Oo, I see… trying to make that new girl breathless. Should I be jealous?" Sam inquires with a wide smile, reaching her arms over to him as he fully bares his chest from that flight suit and those tanktops. "Mm…" She murmurs, almost hungrily, tugging him into a tight, deep kiss…
"Hmm." Thorn allows himself to be pulled in, returning her kiss with equal fervor. "Don't worry, quiet little ensigns aren't my type," he murmurs between kisses. "Just one of those bastard moves that lieutenants always pull with ensigns," he says with a conspiratorial smile as he pulls away, his hands lingering on her hips.
Samantha keeps that kiss there a heartbeat or two longer before pulling back, cheeks flushed again but for entirely different reasons than a stuffy flight suit. "Well, good… because other lieutenants tend to get jealous when cute little teeny bopper Ensigns are ogling their men." Sam winks to him and then, gently, slips away so she can fully change out of her clothing. Unless he keeps her there, which she won't complain about.
"I told you she wasn't my type." Thorn says this with a slightly raised brow, and as if to prove it, pulls her in again and lays another kiss on her lips, even more forceful than before. His hands start to roam, too… for just a moment, then he pulls away so she can change. "Besides, if I remember right, she's seeing Leda anyway."
A brief yelp catches Sam's lips as she's tugged in against his body and kissed…quite deeply. She teasingly resists at first, but then her body is melting in against his, knees almost going weak. Just in time for him to pull away. She breathes faintly, just a bit shakey, heart galloping. "…Mm… what… I… suddenly can't…think?" She teases, voice huskily thick.
Thorn grins archly at her reaction. But then, he's not exactly unaffected by their close contact himself, either. "Just hate for you t' be laboring under any uncertainty, is all," he replies. He looks into her eyes, his hand tenderly pushing away a stray lock of hair out of her face. Then he's stepping aside, pulling off his trousers and grabbing for a change of clothes himself.
Sam takes just a moment as she feels that surprisingly tender touch, it catching off guard the …rougher aspects of her personality and for a heartbeat or two she just stares up to him, quiet… Loving. Loyal. She loves the man… madly, deeply. Absolutely. She seems almost about to say something, but then just turns her head and kisses lightly into the heart of his palm before she does pull away to finally change. "…We should drink tonight. A real celebration."
His own tenderness comes as a slight surprise to Anton as well, and for a brief moment he's transfixed as his eyes meet hers. Then she's pulling away, mentioning something about alcohol. He snorts. "Good luck finding any. Gods, I haven't seen a bottle in a couple weeks. Never did see that still people were talking about making, either." There's a shrug. "Won't say no t' that, though, if you happen t' have a bottle stashed with all those… toys."
The woman grins widely, tugging her locker open so she can stuff her flight suit inside. There she beginst dig in The Bag. The toy bag, that is. And yes, it's still there, and terrifying…and hiding… A bottle of scotch. Good scotch. Damned nice, smooth, amber heaven. It's only about 1/4th empty. Plenty to get drunk on. She turns back to him and smiles…"I knew no one would touch it down there."
Thorn looks at the bottle with only slightly veiled astonishment, and he points a finger at her that would be accusing if not for the grin spreading across his feature. "You… are more devious than people give y' credit for." He looks at the bottle with restrained avarice, but doesn't go to take it from her. Only fair that she gets first crack at it, after all.
Sam just chuckles warmly, smooth as silk, proud and warm, "What, you think I kept those toys around to use? What do I need that for? I got you, handsome…" She screws the cork out of the bottle and takes a long, deep gulp of it before leaning over to kiss him again so he can taste the scotch off of her lips.
Thorn's answer is simply a short laugh and a shake of the head, as if that's not even a subject he wants to touch. Then she's there kissing him, and everything else is forgotten; as she pulls away, he finally takes the bottle and takes a long swig of his own. He smacks his lips appreciatively as the smooth liquid burns down his throat.
Sam lets him have his swig. oh yes, that bottle is going to be -gone- before the end of the night. She smiles warmly to him…"you approve, then? Of course…there will be a price…" And she smiles, hopping up smoothly onto her top bunk and letting her bare feet dangle down, toe nails crackled pink from an old paint job.
"I spent most of my life drinking shit that'd been cooked up in my uncle Vanya's basement. Now, th' man was a frakkin' pro, don't get me wrong, but it doesn't compare t' the real thing." Thorn smiles; obviously, that counts as a 'yes'. An eyebrow rises languidly. "A price, eh?" Smile turns into a salacious grin. "Well, you know how I hate t' be in debt…" And with that, he's joining her on the top bunk, an arm wrapping around her waist.
Sam turns her head, nosing into his throat for a moment before she chuckles there. "Now what is all this cuddling up? I was talking real payment. Like a massage. Or maybe a foot rub…Mm…" She wiggles her little pink dotted toes, probably not all that appealing after the CAP in boots, though!
Her teasing is met with a skeptical expression. "Now, how is that fun, eh?" There's a teasing lilt in his accented voice as he says that, though, and he grabs for the bottle. Hey, if she's not drinking it…'
Sam's hand darts out, snatching the bottle from him and slugging back another deep drag. "I think it's very fun. I share my booze, you use those magic hands. Or do you only know how to work a raptor's controls, hmm?" She accuses him, green eyes glimmering and happy.
Samantha's allowed her swig, but then Anton's hand snakes back in, relieving her of the bottle to take a long pull of his own. He snorts at her question. "That little sound you make when I find that spot…" His eyebrows wiggle suggestively. "…that would seem t' indicate I know a little more than just how t' fly with these hands, hm?" A slight crimson tinge is becoming apparent on his normally pale cheeks, as the scotch spreads feelings of warm happiness to his extremities.
"Hands where your mouth is, boyo. Pay up for the scotch. I want a ten minute back rub or I'm gonna find my relaxation elsewhere!" Sam teases, generally not the sort to beg for things like this but she is more than a bit tense as of late and it seems a fitting payment. She shares the scotch, though, happy to see that redness growing on his cheeks.
"Oh, you wouldn't dare." His voice sounds slightly perturbed, but playful. He takes one more pull off the bottle, then moves over on the bed. Long-fingered hands begin plying her shoulders, as Thorn does his best to counteract the tension resulting from hours spent sitting in a Viper cockpit. He only pauses for drinks of the scotch… naturally.
Sam sinks down onto her stomach, stretching out on the bed and reaching her free hand over to half tug the curtain. They might as well get a LITTLE bit of privacy. She keeps that hand mostly free to pass the scotch back and forth, but now just focuses on melting beneath his hands as the scotch works its way deeper into her veins. "Mm… I love you, you know that…"
Anton accepts the bottle, one hand falling away from Sam's shoulders to take a drink. "Course I do," he says absently from behind her. "I love you too." Nothing more to be said, in his estimation, and he continues his massage of her shoulders, punctuated by slugs of scotch. Thorn does pause long enough, though, to kiss lightly at the nape of her neck before resuming his work with his hands.
Sam's not certain how much time passes, laying drowsily on the bed there, feeling his hands and the scotch warm her from temples to toes… but suddenly she's just talking. "… Mm… I love you so much…" Oh gods. She's -drunk-. She skipped breakfast before CAP and has downed more than a fifth of scotch in the hour they've been talking…"I wanna marry you… wanna have little…blonde…curly haired babies…"
It's amazing how quickly a pair of adults can put away a bottle of scotch when they put their minds to it. Thorn's not quite to the level that Sam is, but he sure as hell isn't sober, either. At first, what she said doesn't quite register. After a moment, though, it does, and Anton blinks in befogged surprise. "Um. Y' want t'.. t'… get married?" His brow furrows. "Y' serious?" Instead of waiting for an answer, though, he drunkenly disentangles himself from her, hopping down from the bunk and going for the locker. Sliding it open, he begins to root through his stuff - what of it survived the destruction of his berthings, anyway.
What did she say? Sam's mind doesn't really catch up to her words. She just blinks drowsily in his direction as he gets off of her…"'eeey… I wasn't done with those hands…" She calls over, peeking out the curtain after him drunkenly, but she smiles warm and loving, watching him nice. "Nice ass, sailor."
The comment about his ass doesn't process, as Thorn looks a little distracted. Finally, though, he finds whatever it is he was looking for, and he steps back over to the rack with the mysterious object balled in his fist. He stares into her eyes for a moment, then opens his hand. There's a small ring there, made out of some coppery metal and hanging around a small chain, like the one colonial dog tags use. The workmanship is rough; it's obviously handmade, and probably not the correct size. "Sorry, I don't have a real ring t' give you," he says unevenly. "Melted down some old tags t' make this little thing. Ain't really fit t' wear, y' can see…" He shrugs helplessly. "so's I put it on this here chain. It ain't much, but it was th' best I could come up with. If I kin ever come up with a real one, though, I'll replace it." He pauses. "That is, if y' want t'…"
The presentation of the 'ring' just makes Sam…blink. He was…thinking about this? Already? Really? Part of her was ready for him to be running out the door when she let that slip and here he comes back with a prepared gift/ A proposal. Sam blinks, a part of her suddenly half sobering up… "…are… are you serious?" She breathes out, not the most romantic response, but it's all she can think of.
"Um." Not exactly how he'd intended for this to go, but that's life. "… wouldn't be frakkin' standin' here otherwise, yeah?" Blue eyes meet green, and Thorn tries to cut through the scotch-induced fog in his mind. "I love you, an' I'm not exactly planning t' spend whatever days I have left with anyone else, so… oi. Yeah, I'm serious." He manages a sardonic snort of laughter. "I know neither of us was exactly lookin' for this, but… can't think of anything I'd like better, what?" His hand remains open, offering her the makeshift ring to accept or decline.
Sam stares a few more moments, before her hand reaches down to scoop up the ring, "Yes!…Oh gods…yes!" She laughs warmly and then, suddenly, there's a Sam half jumping, half spilling out of the upper bunk towards him. She intended on that leaping hug to be rather more graceful, wanting to smother him with a deep kiss and hug… but it looks more like a full frontal attack of flailing, drunk arms and passion. If he doesn't think fast they're both going to end up on the floor with a concussion!
Thorn's reflexes are fairly quick, but he's also had a considerable amount to drink. Thus, the result of Sam's passionate leap isn't quite as expected. Komnenos manages to steel himself as he realizes what's about to happen, and he catches her in his arms… but her momentum pushes him over, and he falls on his ass with a thump and a grunt. He's smiling like a damn fool the whole way down, though, and it doesn't matter if they're lying unceremoniously on the floor; his lips meet hers hungrily.
Just a bit of a grunt from Sam as they topple backwards, but he's got her and she trusts his arms more than anything in the world, so she falls into kissing him as they sink back to the floor beneath the table there. Deep, long… and somehow just a bit more meaningful than it was five minutes ago. One hand clutches against his back, and her other hand is in a fist resting there, holding tight around that ragged metal ring… A few salty tears mingle on their pressing lips.
You paged Camille with 'Well, this would certainly be an interesting scene for anyone walking into berthings, but for once Thorn doesn't give a single, solitary damn. He's content to stay under the table, kissing his fiance for all he's worth. The taste of tears mingles with that of her lips, and Anton stops just long enough to wipe said tears away before offering her one final, tender kiss.
Case normally isn't this kind of girl. Not…girly. Not crying at weddings, or ooing over bouquets, or even thinking of babies. Life is strange. She laughs warmly, husky and touchable with the thickness in her throat, the happy tears not quite able to stop. She kisses him that last time before breathlessly looking up into his eyes…"Of course I'll marry you, you idiot…"
Thorn can't resist uttering a giddy-sounding laugh of his own. For the moment, he has eyes only for her… and all of a sudden, that feeling of happiness isn't just because of the liquor. "Samantha Komnenos, it'll be, then," he says with a wide grin. "I love th' sound of that."
Sam considers it a few moments, before teasingly wrinkling her nose…"Samantha Komnenos. damn….that's -waaaay- too many syllables. What about Anton Passi? Four Syllables. Nice and masculine." She nods curtly, trying to keep her face serious even if a grin is dancing through her eyes.
"My father would roll in th' proverbial grave if I gave up th' name," he replies, not altogether seriously as he sees the twinkle in her eye. "An' if it was good enough for my mother, graceful, queenly woman what she was, it ought t' be good enough for you, too." At that, though, his eyes mirror the playful glint in hers. A teasing wink accompanies his pronouncement. "She wore it well," he says, his voice sobering slightly. "So would you."
Sam sees that sobering in his face and her own turns a bit quieter, studying. Finally, she just nods…"If it's that important to you…I…I'll be proud to take your name. Samantha Komnenos. I…I think it grows on you." She whispers gently, leaning over to now just kiss very, very lightly at the corner of her husband-to-be's mouth.
A soft "It is" is Anton's only reply, and her easy acquiescence brings a small smile to his mouth. After they kiss, he takes her hand, holding it in silence for a moment; then, he's scurrying out from underneath the table and offering a helping hand to Sam. "And now, I'll escort th' future Mrs. Komnenos t' bed, if y' don't mind," he says mildly, his gait still uneven thanks to the scotch. "Whatever else happens, Mr. Komnenos is still on shift in th' morning." Frakking double CAP. Though, being on said double CAP directly led to this conversation, so… maybe he'll have to write Marek a thank-you note, or something.
"First." She hands the ring to him, slipping the necklace out of it, but she does put that around her neck. She then offers him her left hand. "Whichever finger you can get it on…I'm wearin' this baby. And then you can sleep, Mr. double CAP." She states warmly, unable to stop smiling, but even she is starting to yawn now.
Thorn grins as he takes the ring from her hand, and after a bit of experimentation, he's able to slide it relatively comfortably onto her pinky. "Well… not th' traditional choice, but if it fits, I sure won't bloody complain if y' want t' wear it." With the ring in place, he slips an arm around her waist and leads her back to their shared bunk. He shimmies up the ladder to the top, sliding all the way over and waiting for her to follow as he gets comfortable. His eyes flutter as he waits, though; he won't be awake much longer.
His lady love doesn't take much longer climbing up and in either. The scotch and happiness have melted into a total body warmth, drowsing and comfortable. His arms and the darkness of the drawn curtain, and she'll be asleep in no time. She settles in there by his side, nuzzling a touch closer and pressing the briefest of kisses to his temple. "Good night, Anton… love you…" She whispers, in a more traditional, far simpler close to the night… but it's comfortable. It's them. And within a few minutes, she'll be dead asleep.
It doesn't even take Anton that long. Between the warmth of the blankets and Sam's form beside him, he's quickly lulled to sleep himself. He's just able to make out a mumbled "love y' too" before his breathing takes on the slow, measured rhythm of unconsciousness.
