Summary: Intoxicating a character with copious quantities of alcohol gives me an excuse to write Sam groping everyone without sacrificing my author integrity.

Rating: T

Genre(s): Humor

Sam, after several shots, was no longer a lethal samurai to be feared in battle. Droopy-eyed and rosy red in the cheeks, Sam looked drunk as hell in a way that could possibly be construed as adorable—although in this particular case, 'adorable' was the last thing that Raiden wanted to call the Brazilian right now.

The temptation to shut the front door on Sam's face had never been so strong. The urge was suppressed, luckily, in favor of being a good Samaritan like the bible instructed.

"You went way past your limit, Sam," Raiden said crossly, stepping aside to give the inebriated samurai room to stumble in. "You better not throw up on the couch or anything. I'm not cleaning up your sick."

Sam mumbled some Portuguese in response to Raiden's nagging as he was wont to do in those rare moments of weakness. Grabbing onto the doorframe for support, Sam heaved himself into the house with great difficulty, stumbled forward, and unceremoniously fell flat on his face.

Raiden stared at the pile of Sam.

After a few moments, another string of Portuguese weakly wafted up from the floor, indicating Sam was…alive at least.

"… …" Thank god John was already in bed.

Scowling, Raiden turned away from the murder hobo with the intentions of getting him some ice from the freezer. Raiden was stopped in his tracks when Sam parked his hand squarely in the center of one of the blonde's butt-cheeks like a helicopter on a landing pad.

"Booty…" Sam cooed, patting Raiden's butt through his jeans. "Booty~"

The cyborg's spine immediately turned board stiff. "…the hell?" he growled, shooting ocular death beams at the Brazilian.

Said death beams were all but ineffective for Sam's gaze remained glued on the set of perfectly-shaped derrière.

"Booty no be angry, okay? No more angry booty…" Sam burbled to Raiden's butt as he rubbed the gluts in a consolatory manner.

Raiden whipped around, effectively making it so that Sam couldn't get to his butt. Sam blinked.

"Booty still angry…" the Brazilian pouted with a slight shake of his head.

Raiden's fuming rage went so far over Sam's head he didn't realize there was even a drift to be caught. The anger receded in intensity when Rosemary pussy-footed down the stairs to see what the ruckus was about.

"Jack, what's going on—oh…"

Espying the Brazilian capsized at their front door, Rose treaded on over. She dropped to a knee and placed a worried hand on Sam's shoulder, tilting him back to get a better view of his face.

"You're drunk, Sam…" Rose murmured, "Still, you look alright. I'm surprised you didn't get into any—"

Her brain blue-screened when a hand suddenly shot out and grabbed one of her girls.

"Booby~" Sam cooed happily, giving Rose's breast a hearty squeeze. "Pretty booby…"

His other hand stealthily hooked around Raiden's backside and reattached itself onto the blonde's butt.

Raiden's artificial jaw dropped. A muscle under Rose's eye twitched.

Sam, for all his perceptiveness in combat and other people's sword styles, was vastly oblivious to the bloodthirsty red aura flaring up around Raiden's body or the repressed trembling that suddenly took hold of Rosemary's slender frame.

Sam continued cuddling his friends of equally squishy and firm variety, all the while wearing a happy ahegao face.

"Booty~"

Pat. Pat.

"Booby~"

Squeeze. Squeeze.

Sam's face was abruptly met with a synchronized smackdown from hell with the open palm of Rose's hand and Raiden's curled up fist simultaneously hitting him on either side—instantly knocking him out.

…

Afterwards, Sam sported bruises for a week. The incident was never spoken of again.