lormenari

Puck comes almost violently, and Sam would guess harder than he's ever come before. For a moment Sam is just mesmerized by Puck's shaking body, then he slides forward, pressing his hands against his shoulders and kissing him roughly. Puck feels boneless and slack beneath him, shivering and breathing shallowly, unsteadily, and Sam reaches down and turns off the vibrations, the room growing silent. He gently eases Blue out, putting it aside and running a hand over Puck's thigh, letting his legs relax. He knows how Puck feels right now - weak, like jelly, and exhausted, but satisfied deep in his bones.

Sam takes a corner of the sheet and wipes his hand off, then Puck's stomach, making a mental note to put it in the laundry (and also buy a washing machine). He sinks down beside Puck, curling against his body as he strokes a gentle hand down Puck's cheek. I bet Quinn would never make you feel like that. He doesn't say it, though, because there's no use in trying to compare them. He wants this to be just them, but Quinn is always there in the back of his mind, always holding him back from being truly, unequivocally happy. He kisses Puck's shoulder, closing his eyes as he slips an arm over his waist. "You all right?" he asks, murmuring against Puck's skin. He might be sore tomorrow, and Sam can make a million jokes about his inability to sit down comfortably or walk straight, but for now he just relaxes and tries to forget everything else exists. It's just him and the guy he loves - the guy who loves him back, even if it's shared.