Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they're Ryan Murphy's.

A/N: Out of everything that gets called lame in this, I think I am the only one who is lame. They are always drugged up when I write them. WTF is my problem.

Prompt: Drunken Scrabble

"Strip poker is so lame." Sam's voice sliced right through middle of the not-too-loud roar of her dorm room.

It was a small gathering- the old gang had stopped by for a night of catching up, and studying the bottoms of beer bottles. The event had become a monthly occurrence since Brooke decided a three hour drive was more than bearable if it meant seeing Sam. Harrison was practically on the way, and Lily had ended up in the same school as Sam, albeit in a slightly larger dorm room across campus. Carmen was following her passion in a small dance school a good 6 hours away, but occasionally managed to make it back for the reunions. The group, joined by Lily's roommates and several of Sam's college friends was at present trying to decide on a course of action.

"Sam, you're only saying that because you lose." Brooke's eyes squinted hazily as she smirked at the brunette only to be met with an obstinate glare. "Fine. What would you have us play, then?"

Sam was prepared, stretching out to grab the corner of a box from under her desk. She fumbled at first, but quickly recovered and emphatically slammed the box in front of her.

Harrison smiled at Sam's choice, making an enthusiastic remark. "Scrabble! The thinking drunk's game."

Brooke was moderately more skeptical of the game choice. "I am a drunk who thinks that Scrabble is lame."

"What's the matter Brooke? Intimidated by my preposterously impressive vocabulary?" Sam's smug level was off the charts. It experienced a crash however, when she flung the lid off the box only to find an incomplete set - the board was nowhere in sight. Her displeasure dribbled out of her mouth. "Well, fuuuuuuck."

"Strip poker it is!"

"No. We're still playing."

"Sammie…"

"We're playing, Brooke." Sam's verbal finality had grown since their high school arguments.

Sam kicked her desk, dislodging a fine black marker from its resting place. Two more kicks and it was on the ground right next to her. Sam couldn't resist the proud grin sneaking onto her face as she picked up the marker. She hadn't even stood up. She was a crafty one, inebriation and all. And she was about to get craftier.

In lieu of a board, Sam's master plan was to substitute her own skin. Her hand crawled up underneath her shirt, exposing her stomach. Harsh black lines cut across the soft, smooth curves of her torso. She furrowed her brow as she counted out the squares, nudging her shirt up ever so slightly with every movement.

If Brooke hadn't been thinking about jumping Sam before (she had), her sights were dead set on target now.

"Sam, how about we use paper, instead?" Brooke kind of wanted to slap Harrison. He was a nice guy. She liked him. But sometimes, he just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

"Oh." The marker dropped out of Sam's hands and rolled across the floor.

"See, we might as well be playing strip poker, you're so desperate to get naked."

Sam frowned a mighty frown and glared at Brooke. "So, maybe you and I are on the same page, finally."

Brooke's retort was a little bit halted. Of course Sam had intended it as an insult and nothing more, but there was some convoluted possibility of a double entendre in the statement, and Brooke's brain was more than occupied with finding it.

Her lack of response was thankfully cut off by Lily's assessment of the time.

"Actually, we should probably head back to my room. It's sleeping time for sure."

Sam stumbled to the door, hugging goodbye to all her friends. She was undoubtedly the most sloshed of them all. As she parted from Harrison, she stumbled back into the door frame. Brooke reached out a hand to steady the wobbling form.

"I'll take care of her." The group nodded and dispersed to Lily's room, finally crashing into the silent morning. Sam leaned against the wall, smiling heavily at Brooke's figure as it moved to dim the lights.

"You've got me al-lo-one." The words lifted from Sam's lips in a lilting sing song voice, the one where Brooke could never tell if Sam was trying to seduce her as much as Brooke ended up being seduced.

She considered briefly how ordinarily disappointing this visit would be. Habit had it all planned out- she would help Sam make it to the bed, rub some soothing circles out of her impending hangover, they would fall asleep and wake up the next day still trapped in their arguments. And most importantly, not each others' pants.

But Brooke's tongue had its own habit of moving before she could think, and it had had enough of habit's twisted masochism. So there it went, directing her lips onto Sam's, pulling the pads of her fingertips in tickling delicacy across the brunette's cheeks. Like they had done this every night for the rest of their lives, like it was the first time they had ever met. Caution was thrown to the wind as every fiber in her being that had shuddered in repressed want was released from its cage and dedicated to drawing moans from Sam's vocal cords.

And Sam was eagerly returning the favor pressing hot, open kisses down Brooke's neck, fingers trying to decide between unbuttoning Brooke's jeans and slipping past them altogether. Her haste decided on the latter, affirmed by a gasp and shudder as Brooke gripped the back of Sam's neck. Sam was blindly grinding ecstasy up into Brooke, and Brooke was letting her know through the slurred repetition of her name.

They slowed down, Sam's fingers clumsily brushing over the nerves around Brooke's hips. A few minutes of getting swept away in each others' heavy breathing and Sam gradually collapsed onto Brooke.

"Brooooooooke."

"Yes, Sammie?"

"I'm really drunk." Brooke took a shorter than usual breath- if Sam was going to brush that off as a drunken mistake, she was gonna flip shit. Fortunately, Sam shifted and pulled her head up to reveal a satisfied smirk, "We'll have to do this again tomorrow when I'm not."