Loud, overdramatic grunts elicited themselves from Sam’s inebriated tongue as you had to literally drag his drunk ass back to the motel room.

But, after he had realized (slowly of course) that that wasn’t getting your attention, he looks down at you with a lopsided smirk and starts to roam his hands around your body, excusing it with, “Can’t- gotta get a good… good grip…”

He was also, at this point, attached at the hip with you. If you moved even the slightest bit, he’d do the same.