He almost chokes a little at all this stuff suddenly coming out of Puck's mouth. Yeah, they're dating. And - you know I love you. Sam opens his mouth to say something, but nothing really comes out, so he ends up looking like a fish out of water. But. I love you. Puck hasn't said it out loud before. There have been times when Sam suspected, or at least hoped. It's hard not to hope when he spends the better part of the night wrapped up in Puck's arms for weeks on end. Sam swallows, letting Quinn slide out of his mind, along with the ache of knowing he can't have Puck all to himself, and his lips tingle where Puck's just touched them. "I love you, too," he says, his voice breaking embarrassingly. "For a long time now."
He slides a hand down Puck's arm, his brow creased. He remembers how terrible McKinley can be, how that shithole can suck every ounce of determination and happiness out of a guy until he feels like he's nothing. It happened to him, and - Puck suffered, too. Alone. And Sam hates how Puck's tone is seeping dangerously close to self-deprecation. It's something he's always worried about, mostly kept in the back of his mind because before all this happened between them, bringing up feelings of any sort was usually drowned away in booze or just flat-out denial. ("I'm fine, Sam, quit acting like a vagina." Or a variation of this phrase.)
But he worries. He worries that Puck just doesn't... like himself. Or he's perpetually pissed at himself for some reason or another, probably something that was totally out of his control, like Beth. It's a different kind of self-hatred than what Sam struggled with during high school (and still does from time to time if he's stressed) - his body image, and the fat on on his face that just won't go away no matter what he does in the gym, and his giant fucking mouth. Sam knows how dangerous that kind of thinking can be, how empty it can make you feel. He doesn't want Puck to feel like that, ever. "Someone should have been there to look after you. Just - fuck high school, okay? Fuck those assholes. You deserve better than people who're gonna lie to you and treat you like shit and disregard everything great about you. You're the only person I've ever really loved in my whole life, and that's because you're fucking incredible, okay? You're incredible, and when I'm with you is the only time I feel good about, just, myself, and life, and everything. You do that for me. You let me feel happy for the first time since I was a kid. You did that. Don't forget how much you matter to me. Ever."
He places a hand firmly at the base of Puck's skull, parting his lips as he feels Puck's tongue trying to get in. Puck pulls their bodies together, his muscled thigh pressing against his hip, and Sam groans at the contact, desperate to feel Puck against him after a night apart. One night, and he already feels like he's been deprived for a lot longer. God forbid Quinn ever decides she and Puck need to get away for a few days and relax on a beach or a cruise ship or a summer cottage in the woods. Sam could cry himself to sleep just at the sheer horror of the idea. He kisses Puck harder, raking his fingers through his mohawk, soft and slightly damp from his shower. "Need you so badly," he whines, partially in a get your hand on my dick immediately kind of way, but also in the crazy, can't live without you, don't want to live without you way.
no subject
He slides a hand down Puck's arm, his brow creased. He remembers how terrible McKinley can be, how that shithole can suck every ounce of determination and happiness out of a guy until he feels like he's nothing. It happened to him, and - Puck suffered, too. Alone. And Sam hates how Puck's tone is seeping dangerously close to self-deprecation. It's something he's always worried about, mostly kept in the back of his mind because before all this happened between them, bringing up feelings of any sort was usually drowned away in booze or just flat-out denial. ("I'm fine, Sam, quit acting like a vagina." Or a variation of this phrase.)
But he worries. He worries that Puck just doesn't... like himself. Or he's perpetually pissed at himself for some reason or another, probably something that was totally out of his control, like Beth. It's a different kind of self-hatred than what Sam struggled with during high school (and still does from time to time if he's stressed) - his body image, and the fat on on his face that just won't go away no matter what he does in the gym, and his giant fucking mouth. Sam knows how dangerous that kind of thinking can be, how empty it can make you feel. He doesn't want Puck to feel like that, ever. "Someone should have been there to look after you. Just - fuck high school, okay? Fuck those assholes. You deserve better than people who're gonna lie to you and treat you like shit and disregard everything great about you. You're the only person I've ever really loved in my whole life, and that's because you're fucking incredible, okay? You're incredible, and when I'm with you is the only time I feel good about, just, myself, and life, and everything. You do that for me. You let me feel happy for the first time since I was a kid. You did that. Don't forget how much you matter to me. Ever."
He places a hand firmly at the base of Puck's skull, parting his lips as he feels Puck's tongue trying to get in. Puck pulls their bodies together, his muscled thigh pressing against his hip, and Sam groans at the contact, desperate to feel Puck against him after a night apart. One night, and he already feels like he's been deprived for a lot longer. God forbid Quinn ever decides she and Puck need to get away for a few days and relax on a beach or a cruise ship or a summer cottage in the woods. Sam could cry himself to sleep just at the sheer horror of the idea. He kisses Puck harder, raking his fingers through his mohawk, soft and slightly damp from his shower. "Need you so badly," he whines, partially in a get your hand on my dick immediately kind of way, but also in the crazy, can't live without you, don't want to live without you way.