Kara/Sam Wedding Night ficlet
Rating: PG -13 (mild sexuality)
Prompt(s) Wedding Night, Tattoos
Notes: Not mine. This was supposed to be longer and angstier, but the week kind of got away from me, so, have some cotton candy. ;)



“I think we should get tattoos.”

Sam tipped forward in his chair with a lazy grin.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Hand snaking around his neck, Kara pulled him in for a lingering kiss. Gods, she had a freakishly long tongue. Suddenly feeling more urgent, he grabbed her around the waist and half pulled, half lifted her onto his lap. “Mmm, now that’s more like it,” she murmured.

“You don’t think rings might be a little more practical?”

“Who said anything about practical? And besides,” here she broke off for another kiss, so long and deep that it drove all thoughts of practicality clear away, “Where the frak are you gonna find us rings?”

“Well now, I thought I’d leave that to you, with all of your mysterious connections. Besides, you were the one who proposed.” His hands slipped underneath her shirts, teasing. “You even got down on one knee, all romantic.”

“’Cause you were passed out on the ground!” Kara yelped and laughed as he pinched her stomach. Which nearly made her fall off of the chair.

“Remind me not to drink with the Colonel again any time soon,” Sam groaned, grabbing her hips to steady her.

A shadow passed over her face, and Sam felt a dim sense of foreboding, which he quickly dismissed. After their escape from Caprica, this was probably the happiest night of his life, and he wasn’t about to let anything interfere with that.

The shadow was gone as quickly as it had appeared, her frown dissolving as she bent forward to whisper seductively in his ear. “Just don’t pass out on me tonight before I get a chance to make up for lost time.”

No danger of that. His hangover had faded by mid-afternoon, but Sam could still barely look at ambrosia without risking a relapse. Which was rather unfortunate, as this had turned out to be his wedding day. He’d spent most of the morning of it sleeping off the night before while Kara packed all of their worldly possessions into a small suitcase. Not that Sam’s contribution had been very substantial; he’d left Caprica with nothing more than the clothes on his back and hadn’t bothered to accumulate much since then. Kara had offered to stay for a few weeks while Helo settled in to his new CAG duties, but the Old Man had refused.

“I think you’d better get your ass off my ship ASAP, before I change my mind about letting you go.” He had watched the Admiral smooth the hair back from her face, beaming just as he had on the day she had fought her way back from what was left of Caprica, Sam and the rest of the resistance in tow. “I couldn’t be prouder of you Kara,” he’d said gruffly, pulling her into a fierce hug. Sam had been surprised to see that his wife – and how strange and exhilarating it was to call her that, even in his own mind – that his wife was crying too.

It had hit him then that Galactica was going to be re-entering orbit in another day, and Kara was about to leave behind the only home she’d known since the worlds ended - or even, he was starting to suspect, the only home she’d known, period - to be with him. They had talked about it for weeks, even picked out a cabin site, but now it was actually happening.

Thinking about that, Sam let go of his own doubts. “Baby, I don’t think I’m the one we need to worry about right now,” he murmured into her neck.

It was true. They had gone trolling thorough all the different parties still going strong down on the surface, and then come back to the stunned celebration of the few pilots left on Galactica. Someone had had to drink all the glasses of ambrosia everyone wanted to buy them, and Kara had not been about to let the night go to waste just because her new husband didn’t have the stomach for a party. She and Helo had polished off a full bottle between them, as Kara’s marriage had garnered him the first promotion he’d had since he came back from Caprica with his Cylon girlfriend. He’d been the last of the stragglers to leave the bunkroom, once Kara’s never very stringent sense of decorum had finally abandoned her. “Hey, congratulations to you both,” he’d told them, prompting Sam to tear himself away from Kara’s mouth long enough to return his handshake. He remembered grinning in amused apology as Helo finally gave up on getting her attention and settled for messing up her hair instead. And as he took his leave, he had given Sam that same half-admiring, have-amazed look he seemed to be getting from everyone ever since his marriage had become known.

Now Kara pulled away, teasing. “I’m doing just fine, honey,” she told him.

“Really? Prove it.”

Raising her eyebrows, she leaned in, looking like she intended to kiss him senseless. Sam grinned in anticipation, then suddenly tilted his head a little to the side. As he’d anticipated, Kara overbalanced, her head smacking into his chest as she squealed in surprise.

“Such a shame,” Sam informed his giggling wife. “Never thought I’d marry a woman who couldn’t keep up with me.” That turned her giggle into a howl of laugher that left her gasping for air.

“Tattoos, huh?” He mocked her, once she finally settled down.

“Mmm.”

“That’s kind of permanent.”

“You’re a genius,” she yawned.

He attempted reason. “Where would we get it done, anyway? Don’t tell me you have a tattoo artist among your many friends on the Prometheus.”

“I know a lady.”

So he decided to play along. “So, what sort of design should we have for our marriage tattoos? Hearts? Little birds? Little birds carrying hearts? Hey!” He broke off as Kara’s tongue darted out to lick his neck, more sloppy than seductive. “I know! We’ll cut our bird in half, see, so we’ll each get one wing, and the center will be shaped like a ring. And that way every time I hold you, our tattoos will make up one beautiful, winged ring.”

If she were sober, he figured Kara would either hit him or laugh. Instead she just blinked and gave him a hazy smile. “Sounds perfect.”

“You are so drunk.”

“Yeah.”

Sam laughed and kissed her forehead as her eyes drifted shut. “Guess this is married life. Here I am, not even getting laid on my own wedding night because the wife’s too drunk for sex.”

“Sam,” she said sharply, eyes snapping open, “I am never too drunk for sex.”

Laughing, Sam scooped her up and carried her over to the rack, where Kara, as usual, proved as good as her word.