lormenari | ( puck/sam verse: back in lima )

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* noah puckerman (but_idontlie)

( puck/sam verse: back in lima )

Sam's mostly asleep, but awake enough to know he feels like shit. Puck's bed is firm and new, not broken in yet, and it feels too hard and way too empty. He'd piled up all their extra pillows to try to trick himself into believing he's not totally alone in their brand new (empty) house, in Puck's brand new (mostly empty) bed, but after sleeping curled up against Puck's warm body for the entire final leg of their tour, this is an unwelcome change. The house doesn't feel like home. And Sam doesn't feel like himself knowing Puck spent the entire night with Quinn. God, they probably fucked at least three times, and Quinn probably told Puck how much she loves him, and Puck held her all night and breathed against her neck and might have realized just how much he truly misses girls, with their dainty figures and silky hair and smooth skin, and fucking hell, Sam was so stupid to think he could ever compete with that. Like he could ever have Puck completely.

He buries his face further into his pillow, furrowing his brow miserably. Everything always comes back to Quinn. Groupies, he can handle. They're just temporary. But Quinn? She's permanent. It's different when Puck is with her. It means something. The way Puck looks at her isn't just an act to hide what's really going on. The way he kisses her, the excitement when he shamelessly touches her - it's real. When he fucks her, it's real. And it's the only thing he won't do with Sam. Because Sam's not a girl. Sam's not Quinn.

He hears a key turning in the front door, and he starts slightly, surprising himself. He thought he'd be ecstatic when Puck got home, but he just feels hurt. He pulls the sheets up to his shoulders and turns onto his side, his back to the door.

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The night with Quinn had gone the way he'd expected it to go. They hadn't really even paused to eat; they'd spent the time reacquainting themselves, exploring each other, inside each other. Puck didn't even bother comparing Quinn to Sam the way he'd always do with his groupies [Quinn sucks cock way better than this chick does.] because they're two different people and he loves them both [Shut up.] in different ways. Sam's his bro, and Sam's always gonna be his bro, and he's always gonna have Sam's back and Sam's always gonna have his. And Quinn - he doesn't even know. They'd gotten their shit together awhile after Beth was born and they'd given her up; he still hated himself for that, but he grew the fuck up afterward and Quinn was really his last tie to Beth. The relationship had started mostly for that reason, that and his naive hope that maybe they could get Beth back, but what was done was done. And they were together. And it worked for as long as they were in Lima, and he just fucked around when he was out of Lima and on tour with Sam. Quinn had been there for him when they'd gotten their big break, and he'd felt like an asshole the first couple of times he'd left her back in Lima while they'd performed or recorded, and after a fucking ton of alcohol and some drunk groupies, it stopped feeling so bad. He stopped feeling guilty. It just happened. She knew - she always knew - but they never discussed it.

It was weird now, admitting to her that there would be no more groupies, and witnessing her almost palpable joy. He'd made it pretty fucking clear, as clear as he could make it, that no groupies did not mean that there would be a wedding and kids at any point in the near future. No groupies just meant no groupies.

He hadn't slept much; she'd slept on and off, and he'd tried to focus on her, but he'd found himself thinking of Sam while she slumbered beside him. [Hoping that he was okay, wondering what he was doing, feeling so fucking guilty that he'd left for the night with Sam alone in the house, in the bed.]

The door opens to a silent house. It's neither trashed nor excessively clean, and he softly deposits his bag by the door and stashes his keys on the counter [his back hurting from last night; he seriously fucked her six ways from Sunday] before immediately heading for the bathroom. He doesn't check on Sam, doesn't call out his name, just locks the house door and stands naked under a scalding spray and scrubs at his skin with Sam's body wash. Only when he's clean does he step from the shower, towel himself dry, and walk naked to his bedroom. "Hey," he murmurs, standing in the doorway, watching Sam curled in his bed. "Can I?"

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Sam can hear Puck go straight to the bathroom and turn the shower on. After a night with Quinn, he probably needs it. He listens to the spray, imagining Puck washing himself, trying to spare Sam the mental trauma of having to touch anything that's come out of Quinn's vagina.

The water turns off, and after a moment Sam hears the bedroom door open. He opens his eyes, listening to Puck's murmured request. His chest tightens, and he doesn't turn around.

"It's your bed," Sam replies quietly. "How was Quinn?" He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice. He's had an entire night to mull over this - and it's been weeks and he still hasn't figured out exactly what this is, except that it makes him both deliriously happy and crushingly heartbroken at the same time. "How many times did you guys fuck? Twice in the shower, three times in bed?"

"But you're sleeping in it," he points out, his voice quiet, noticing that Sam isn't turning around, arms open, leaning up to kiss him the way he had when they'd been on tour. [Usually, though, their showers were shared and long.] He can hear the chill in Sam's voice; fuck the AC, he's pretty sure the temperature in the room just dropped a couple of degrees. "I don't wanna - I can't, Sam. You know I can't do that. You know why I can't do it. You knew this when - this happened. I need to sleep, so, if you don't wanna sleep with me, then I'm gonna grab the sleeping bag and crash in the other room." [The room they're planning on converting into an office or studio or whatever, a spare room.] "Your call." He's tired and he feels like shit and it's even worse because he feels like an ass for hurting Sam.

Sam nudges over eventually, leaving enough space for Puck to crawl in beside him. He rolls onto his back, glancing at Puck before he looks at the ceiling, waiting for him to get in. He knows all that, he knows he doesn't actually have room to complain because he's staying with Puck by choice. They talked about how whatever this is, it has to stay between them. He can have Puck all to himself here. But Quinn gets him to have him out in the world where it matters. What's he supposed to say to that? He loves Puck. He's not going to force him to do anything he's not ready to do. Get over it, Sam. His words come out hollow when he speaks. "You're right. Sorry. You must be tired. Just get in bed, okay?"

It's slow, but Sam finally pushes to the side, rolling onto his back; just as slowly, Puck walks naked to the bed and climbs in, lying on his back and crossing his arms behind his head. Even the things Sam says, meant to be reassuring, fall flat. "Dude, don't. Just - don't, okay? Fuck. I knew it was gonna be like this. I knew it." Rolling to his side, he faces Sam.

"Look. I want this. I want this, us, whatever the fuck this is. I want it. I like it. S'awesome. But I can't - you know why I can't. I don't even know what the fuck I am. I know I'm not gay 'cuz the only dude I'd ever do this with is you, and - dude. You know who you are. At least you have that, you know? I'm trying to figure out what the fuck this means for me. 'Cuz the second I break things off with Q and be with you, the second anybody finds out about this, this is it. You know that's it. We're not gonna be the guys we are. Everybody's just gonna see two gay dudes and that's all they're gonna care about. I know it's fucked up to care about what people think, but our lives - we're making money doing what we love, you know? I get to do it with you. I don't wanna lose any of that."

He pauses, exhaling, his gaze falling to an empty spot on the wall. "And if we come out and shit, if I say I wanna be with you, then we're gonna lose that. So, yeah, maybe that makes me a pansy-ass little bitch for being scared, but I don't wanna lose everything we have, you know? I don't wanna lose it for either of us."

Sam closes his eyes as Puck explains in a rush of words. It makes sense, at least for them. He knows all the innumerable reasons why they can't come out, why he can't tell anyone he's taken (he guesses). Puck pauses, then starts again, and Sam opens his eyes and finally rolls over to face Puck, putting a finger over Puck's lips to shut him up.

"I'm not asking for any of that. I wouldn't, okay? I'm not even out to anyone but you. Yeah, it sucks not being able to walk down the street and hold hands and kiss you like any regular couple would, but - I don't need that. We don't need that to be okay." Are they a couple? Sam doesn't even know. He's not going to dwell on it.

He swallows, lowering his hand as he looks at Puck, that painful tightness returning to his chest. "This isn't about any of that. This is about Quinn. She loves you, Puck, you know that? She fucking loves you more than anything. And you couldn't even wait until you were out of the driveway before you were all over her, and - I hear how to talk to her, it's all baby this and baby that, and when you're here, she's the only one for you. You give up things for her when you're around. You guys have history. And don't fucking look me in the eye and tell me you don't love her, too. Don't pretend she's only for appearances. A guy doesn't have to fuck his beard, you know." Sam lowers his eyes, sadness weighing down on him. His hand travels slowly beneath the sheets, settling on Puck's hip. He just needs to feel him.

"You have feelings for her. At least be honest with me. Because that's what's bothering me. That's what hurts. Knowing that you and her have each other in a way that... me and you don't. And it's not because I don't think you care about me. It's because, just. You said it yourself. You're not gay." He bites his lip, his brow pinching together. "I can't... compete with her. And I can't watch you with her. It just... I can't describe it. It hurts, it makes me feel like the fucking reject you left at home. Just knowing that you're doing stuff with her that comes so naturally and easily, stuff we haven't or can't do for whatever reason, I don't care, it just - god. It sucks." Sam wants to beg Puck not to see her anymore. He's never going to be okay with this, with her. If they need to keep up appearances, Puck can find any girl out there to pretend to date. It doesn't have to be Quinn.

He knows the reason it's her is because Puck loves her. Simple as that.

He sighs. "It's just gonna take some getting used to, okay? I knew things would be different here. I just wasn't ready. It was the first night. I'm sure it'll get better. Easier to deal with." He hopes.

Sam moves closer, finally, and presses his finger against Puck's lips to silence him until he finishes speaking. "I want that," he murmurs, his eyes flicking to a spot on the wall over Sam's shoulder as Sam's hand slips away. To walk somewhere, holding his hand, or just lean over and kiss him the way they do at home, or even the way they made scrambled eggs for breakfast their first morning in the house with a frying pan and eggs and plates and a spatula that they bought at a 24-hour Wal-Mart, the way Sam cooked the eggs and Puck just stood behind him with his arms around his waist and his chin on his shoulder, just standing together, just being together - he wants it. And he can't really explain why, just that he does. That Sam makes him feel safe, and happy, and honest, and like he can just be who he is, even if they're still figuring out boundaries, especially where Quinn is involved.

"I know she loves me," he says quietly. "I know she always did. Even with the groupies. She knew about them and she still loved me. And I - I mean, we have history, we have chemistry and shit. We have a fucking daughter together and I miss Beth so fucking much, you know? We don't talk about her. Ever. We have a kid and we never talk about her. I talk to her the way I always talked to her. It's been, like, six years, dude. I can't break that shit overnight. I - Yeah, I guess I love her. But it's different, dude. We're not gonna get married. Unless something happens that just happens, we're not having a kid. If I didn't act like that around her, you know? It would be pretty fucking obvious that something's up." Sam's hand moves to his hip; Puck exhales, a gusty expulsion of breath, and slides closer to Sam.

"You think I love her more than you 'cuz I fuck her and I can be, like, public with her?" He puts it in simple terms because it's easier, because it makes sense, because - just because. "I am being honest with you. If we didn't have to worry about that shit? If I wasn't, like, scared that this was gonna blow up and our lives would be fucked? Yeah. I'd be with you. But I'm fucking scared, dude, you know?" It takes a lot for him to admit that, even to his best friend. "Q and I have been doing the same thing since high school and it works for us. I fuck groupies on tour, she pretends she doesn't know. I come home and we're tight until I leave again. It's never been more than that. I want to live with you. I want to have this." He swallows. "I left last night 'cuz I knew and I didn't want you to be there. To see it, or 'cuz I felt so fucking guilty about it, leaving you, you know? I took a shower when I got home so I wouldn't smell like her, or taste like her. I could be doing a thousand other fucking things or living in a place with her and fucking her all the fucking time, but I'm here with you 'cuz I wanna be with you." He sighs softly. "We gotta work this out. I gotta stay with her, but I want us to get - better, you know?" Closer. More together.

The reason it's her is because she's put up with his shit for six years. If she'd dumped his ass, it would be another chick.

He reaches out a tentative hand, his callused thumb lightly stroking Sam's stubbly cheek. "You have me 'cuz this is where I wanna be," he admits, his voice quiet.

"I want it too," Sam mumbles. "Of course I do. But not having it? Doesn't make me think that what we do have is less than what other people have. I'm not ever gonna sit here and bitch at you about how we can't go out and do normal couple things. Being with you is enough, you know?" Sam is mostly okay with being confined to the house. Sort of. Obviously he'd prefer to be back on the road sooner rather than later, but - he can deal. He has Puck and he can deal.

He feels a little twinge when Puck mentions Beth. How much he misses her. That's a part he'll never understand. He's never seen Beth, he's never even seen Quinn pregnant; he missed all that. He missed Puck's grieving period because even though he was around, they were just getting to know each other, and Sam was so preoccupied with stupid high school things like girlfriends and being popular that he never really got to help Puck in any way. He wants to talk about Beth, because Puck never talks about her. He definitely doesn't talk about her with Quinn. Sam wonders if Puck's ever talked about her with anyone. He doesn't want to push the subject, but he doesn't want Puck to keep this to himself forever. It's personal, yeah, but he needs an outlet. Or at least Sam thinks he needs one. Sometimes he has no idea what Noah Puckerman really needs.

Sam tightens his grip on Puck's hip when he admits he's scared. He's almost surprised that Puck would even say that out loud, but they've grown closer than he could have ever imagined over the last month that they've been together, and sharing secrets (and even feelings on Puck's part) is starting to come a little more naturally now. "You and Quinn are just... complicated. You say it's nothing, but it feels like a lot more. And on some level, you guys are always gonna be something, no matter what. It's just hard having to share you. It's really fucking hard. And I'm not gonna get used to it. It is what it is, and it'll just always... suck. It's always gonna hurt, I guess, seeing you two together. I don't think this is something we can work out. I just have to deal. Sometimes you're gonna have to leave to be with her, and I'll... deal."

Sam closes his eyes when Puck stokes his cheek, and it's like all the stress of the past night comes crashing down on him at once, and he's pushing forward and wrapping his arm around Puck's waist, burying his face in his shoulder. There are so many things he wants to say like don't fucking leave me here alone again and can we please just take the car and go anywhere but here and I love you so fucking much, but what comes out is a choked and muffled, "I missed you."

Normal couple things. He and Quinn don't really do normal couple things, but all the groupies know that she's his girl, and she gets stopped by people sometimes either thinking she's famous by association, or wanting to throw it in her face that they fucked him, or wanting to know personal information about him, like if he's cut or not. [Hello, he's Jewish. What do you think?]

"You know it would make me feel like shit if you got somebody else," he admits further, and it almost startles him to put the thought into words. "So, I mean, I get it. I don't wanna make you go through that. So, I can... try to keep it out of here." He sighs, softly pressing his cheek to the pillow. "It's complicated, yeah. I don't do relationships and commitment and stuff and it's been, like, six years for us." We have a six-year-old. He's quiet, just watching Sam, carefully studying his expression.

"Hey," he soothes softly, his arms wrapping quickly around Sam's ribs, one hand moving up to cup his skull, fingers sliding through his blond hair. "I missed you, too. Even when I was with her, I missed you, you know? I couldn't sleep. I can sleep through anything," and it's true, he's fallen asleep slumped over a chair backstage, "and I couldn't sleep for shit without you. Missed you so fuckin' much." He turns his head, brushing his lips over Sam's hair; the hand on his back rubs gently, reassuringly. "I want one night a week that's ours, okay? So, pick a day. No matter what else we got the rest of the week, we always got that night free for us. Guys' Night. Nothing gets in the way of that." Only, he's pretty sure that it'll be a lot less drinking and playing Call of Duty and more a quiet and relaxing dinner, a long shower, and an early bedtime. [Not that they'll actually sleep or anything.]

"Six years is a long time," Sam murmurs, curling his hand against Puck's back. Will they last six years? Sam can't imagine living without Puck, but he remembers a time in high school when he thought he'd marry Quinn one day. In six years will they still be doing this back and forth thing with Quinn? He hopes not, god, he hopes not. He won't be able to take it for that long.

Guys' Night. "Friday nights," he says automatically. "That's when most couples have date nights, right?" Selfishly, a part of him is saying that so Puck can't go out on a Friday night date with Quinn. Ever. Of course, they'd just go out some other night, but Sam will take what he can get. Passive-aggressiveness? He can do that. He keeps his arm around Puck as he rests on Puck's pillow, enjoying the way Puck's breath tickles his skin. "I want you around more than just once a week." Quinn's gonna want him, too. He tries not to think about it. He knows it'll happen again, and he'll feel just as miserable and lonely and dejected as the first time. He'll deal. That's his only option.

"Listen. You said you were trying to figure out what all this means for you." Sam slides his hand up to gently stroke his fingers against the back of his neck. "Talk to me, okay? You know you can, right? Whenever you want, even if it sounds completely stupid. Just talk to me. When I was trying to figure out stuff about myself back in high school, I used to always wish I had someone to confide in. I want to be that person for you, all right? So let me. And... I want you to talk to me about everything. Even stuff you never talk about to anyone. Like..." Sam swallows, looking Puck directly in the eyes. "Like about Beth. If you need to. Just know I'm here. You're not gonna grow a vagina if you start having heart to hearts. I try and spill all my shit to you, so spill some on me if you want to."

Guys' Night is what it'll be; everyone will assume that they hole themselves up in their house and either work/play or get shitfaced, eat pizza, and play CoD. He's fine with everybody having that assumption, because it makes their lives easier. The only issue might be with dissuading any other guys from assuming that Guys' Night means all the guys. [He most definitely does not plan on sharing Guys' Night with anyone other than Sam. Seriously. He's not gay.] He offers a half smile, trying to hold back a full grin, and shrugs one shoulder. "You wanna have that as our date night? I'll be around more, dude. That's just gonna be the night we always hang out, you know? Like, nothing else fucks with that."

The problem is that he doesn't fucking know what's going on. He and Sam can do this, and it's okay, but he's never been into dick. He's never checked out another dude except to compare their junk and reassure himself that Puckasaurus Sex was still king of the McKinley jungle. It's not gay if he's into pussy and Sam, right? [...Right?] "You know you got me, dude, okay? I mean, I just don't know what to talk about or what to say." He shifts uncomfortably at the mention of Beth. "Beth..." His voice trails off, quiet but loud enough for whispered words between their lips. "I miss her. I mean, do you know the story? What happened? 'Cuz that whole thing was fucked-up, and if I think about it too much, it's like - I'm so fuckin' mad at her for all of it. For lying about it and not letting me step it up and then wanting to give her away. To Rachel's mom. Rachel's mom gave Rachel away. She shouldn't get my kid, too, you know? And I should hate her for that but, like, me and Quinn? It started out 'cuz I just missed Beth and I thought Q was the only person who was gonna understand that." He sighs softly, rubbing his cheek against Sam's. "I don't want to talk about that now, okay? I missed you last night. And this morning."

Sam manages a hopeful smile. "Yeah, date night. Are we... I mean, are we dating?" He shifts, nestling a hand to rest against Puck's chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. He swears the beat grows a little faster at his question. He blinks uncertainly. "We're together, right? Like, what you and Quinn had? Or have, I guess." Is what they have stronger than what Puck has with Quinn? Can he really compare their one month to the six years (and baby) Puck has with Quinn? He's also wondering if it's even possible for him to date a self-proclaimed straight boy. Sam is willing to wait as long as it takes, but it'll be a problem if Puck decides he's too straight to ever fuck him.

He sobers as Puck begins talking about Beth, almost whispering. Sam forgets about why he's so upset for a moment and just focuses on Puck. He can hear the emotion in his voice, the anger and the hurt, and it makes him ache. "Yeah, I know a little of the story... I got filled in before I tried to date her. I know that Quinn tried to pass Finn off as the dad. I know she hurt you." He slides a hand over the side of Puck's face, rubbing his cheekbone with his thumb. "I can't imagine how tough it must be to carry all this around by yourself." He hugs Puck gently, closing his eyes as Puck rubs his stubbled cheek against his. He doesn't press the issue; he knows it must have taken a lot just for Puck to say as much as he did. He lets him change the subject. "You know I missed you too. It's hard to sleep apart from you now. It's lonely." He tangles their legs together beneath the sheets. "I missed doing this." He leans in and kisses Puck, softly and gently, kind of an I'm here for you kiss.

Edited 2011-07-14 04:31 (UTC)

Sam's smile matches his own, and he draws one hand to the side, his thumb lightly tracing Sam's lips. He basically loves Sam's mouth, because it's fucking perfect, and it's like Angelina Jolie's mouth on Sam's body, and it's really fucking hot. [Nobody would call Angelina Trouty Mouth.] "Yeah," he murmurs quietly, because it's what Sam wants to hear, even though he doesn't like the thought of being with two people at the same time, even though he thinks that what he has with Sam is maybe more than dating or just different, coming from the easy relationship of two guys who are closer than brothers. "It's like what Q and I have, but it's totally different. I'm not lying with her like this, you know? I did groupies every fucking tour until us." Because he'd give them up for Sam. It's not just about having a warm body to lie beside, because - if that was the way it was - he would have brought Quinn on tour with him. But it's not, and he didn't. Sam was just more important than those things. "You know I love you, right?" he mutters, his gaze moving again to a point on the wall. Sam's his bro. It's okay to say those words aloud when you're more-than-bros.

"Whatever you wanna know," he says quietly, "just ask, you know? I'm... not good at talking about shit, but if you wanna ask, whatever. Just ask. I can answer questions." That's how he works, and he's more likely to open up if somebody asks questions. Unlike Rachel Berry, he's not an explosion of feelings. "I was the fuck-up for so long, you know? Everybody felt bad for Finn and they acted like Quinn was perfect and tried to make her feel like it was okay she got pregnant. Everybody was pissed at me 'cuz I slept with Q and ruined her life and she got kicked out of her house." Nobody cared about how I felt, having to sit there while some other guy said that my kid was his. Nobody asked me how I felt about having to give my kid away. It was just about Finn and Quinn. Even after seven years, he still can't think about it. He doesn't want to think about it; he kisses Sam, his tongue pressing against the seam of Sam's lips, sliding one thigh over Sam's hip and pressing naked against his body.

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.

Edited 2011-07-14 06:20 (UTC)

Sam loves him, too. He doesn't really know how to respond to that, because he's torn between thinking, Duh. That's been forever, or at least since they started the band and got good and spent most of their time together, working and writing and performing. But maybe he's undervaluing it. Maybe this is a bigger deal than he thinks it is.

He doesn't do compliments unless they're about being a BAMF or the way he's got the body of a god; he tries to keep his achievements to himself for that reason. He can handle the groupies because it's all about sex, but standing somewhere and being lauded isn't something he does well. Maybe it goes back to his mother always insulting him, or Lauren Zizes doing the same. Maybe that's all he expects from people, and anything else feels like lies or manipulation. Even though he should believe the words from Sam, he still shakes his head, hugging Sam tighter. An effective way to coerce Sam into silence is by kissing him, and he does it. Gotcha.

Sam groans; Puck's hand slides down Sam's hip, pushing urgently at the elastic waistband of his boxers. "Off," he mutters, rolling his hips, writhing to get closer. "Want you, wanna feel you." And maybe sometime when they have time to kill and it stops being so urgent, maybe then he'll lie between Sam's legs and kiss and lick in the places his hands have gone, the same as he's done to chicks before and how he'd woken Quinn in the morning, with his mouth between her thighs and his hands lightly gripping her hips. They're more than just getting off, though, and he's known that from the beginning. It's never just been about getting off for him. "Need you," he mutters against Sam's lips, pressing another burning kiss to his mouth before nipping at his bottom lip. "Wanna feel you all over me."

Puck kisses him, and Sam knows him well enough to recognize why, but he lets it happen anyway, because he was miserable last night and he wants to kiss his boyfriend. His boyfriend who loves him. He can work on Puck's mental health later - right now he just needs to get his boxers off so Puck's hands can be all over him. He wiggles out of them, kicking them somewhere beneath the sheets. He finds Puck's shoulder and gives him a hard shove so he's flat on his back, then straddles him, running his hands all the way down Puck's arms until he wraps his fingers around his wrists and draws them above Puck's head, pinning them there firmly. He brings his mouth down and kisses him roughly, all teeth and tongue and spit, grinding his hips down until he has Puck gasping out his name.

"I get frustrated when you leave," Sam growls between kisses, tightening his grip on Puck's wrists. "So forgive me if I'm a little rough with you." He transfers Puck's wrists to one hand, clamping them down firmly on the pillow, and brings his free hand down to grasp Puck's cock, sliding his hand up and down and feeling it harden in his grip. He knows Puck can throw him off anytime he wants, and he might eventually, but Sam's grip on Puck's cock is so tight that if he does? He might take Puck's most treasured asset with him. He presses his thumb against the head, leaning down to nip at Puck's lips again, exhaling as he watches Puck's face.

Distraction isn't the only reason why he pushes at Sam roughly, sealing their mouths together with a reckless moan and a twist of his hips. Sure, it might be one reason; a conveniently-timed kiss can stop Sam from praising him any more. But more than that, Puck missed him. He'd watched Quinn sleep, all honey-hair and smooth skin and curves, and it had been awesome lying next to her after so long - yeah.

But after sleeping next to Sam every night for the better part of a month, he's used to it. He knows the steady thud of Sam's heart, and the feeling of stubble scratchy against his neck, and of Sam's more muscular build and solidity. He can rest his head against Sam's chest, his arms wrapped around him, without feeling as though Sam will suffocate under his weight. He knows the little things Sam does in his sleep, and he's woken up more than once with his hand between Sam's thighs, fingers wrapped loosely around his cock. He's used to it. He loves it; it's the comfort of sleeping with someone with the safety of that someone being Sam without the drama of having to either leave or politely kick them out in the morning.

It would just be perfect if they could get a huge bed and the three of them could be together.

He moans beneath Sam as he takes charge, kissing and nipping at his mouth, pinning Puck's wrists above his head. He doesn't fight it, even when Sam slides his fist over his cock; it swells against his palm, and he moans Sam's name, his head turning to seek Sam's mouth. "Sorry," he whispers, his eyes opening to focus glassy on Sam's. "Missed you all fuckin' night."

"You should be sorry," Sam says before catching Puck's bottom lip between his teeth. He twists his fingers roughly around Puck's cock, closing his eyes as he thinks about how his cock was inside Quinn Fabray only hours ago (or maybe less; he doesn't know if they fucked in the morning, too). He takes a deep breath, pressing a kiss to Puck's jaw, and his hand trembles a little before he slowly lets Puck's wrists free. "I want all of you. Every single part of you." He lets go of his cock, bringing both hands up to cup Puck's face, his thumbs settling against his cheeks. Sam considers himself to be a nice guy, but - he doesn't want to fucking share the one bit of happiness that's fallen into his lap. He kisses Puck deeply, pressing his tongue into his mouth. He pulls away suddenly, climbing off the bed and smiling a little at Puck's expression. "I'll be right back."

He goes to his room and grabs his bag with his toiletries, rummaging through it until he finds what he's looking for. Blue. And lots of lube, of course. He has this intense, crazy desire to possess Puck completely, mostly because he's not down with this whole sharing business. He wants to know Puck in every single way that Quinn already does, and even beyond that. Sam puts fresh batteries into his dildo and grabs the lube, walking back into Puck's room and sliding onto the bed. He puts the dildo down beside him and gently strokes Puck's chest, leaning down to kiss his cheeks, his forehead, even his eyelids before he kisses his mouth.

Sam slowly opens his eyes, breathing on Puck's face. "Hey. Listen. I want to try something new with you, okay?" He sits back a little, picking up the dildo, trying to make it seem non-threatening because he doesn't want Puck to run for the hills before they've even begun. "I'm pretty sure you know what a dildo is. This is Blue. And I want to use it on you." He kisses Puck again before he can say anything. "This is gonna feel good, I promise. I've used it on myself plenty of times. I know what I'm doing. All you have to do is relax and tell me you're up for it."

Sam's rough with him, kissing and nipping, actually jerking at his cock like it's a fucking Slinky. [He fucked her again right before he left. Yeah. Sorry about that, too.] He kisses Puck gently, though, releasing him before leaving, promising that he'll return in a few minutes. And Puck trusts him because there's no reason not to trust him.

Sam returns, his hands full; he drops his cargo onto the mattress and stretches out at Puck's side, palms pressing gently to his muscular chest before he leans over and drops slow kisses over his face. "Hey," he murmurs, reaching to cup Sam's face in his hands, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs and raising a curious eyebrow. "S'okay. I'm right here." Sam's eyes open, and he stares into them for a few moments before Sam speaks, sitting back on his haunches and gingerly a curved toy in his hands. A - Sam confirms it's a dildo, and that it has a name [and, okay, he tries really fucking hard to look serious and not grin, because only Sam would have an Avatar-themed sex toy, so he thinks about the first morning they were together and how scared they'd been, and he doesn't smile or laugh]. He asks in a roundabout way, and Puck inhales, because - this? This is kind of a big fucking step. He doesn't even know how he feels about it, or how he'll even begin to process it. Maybe it's like jumping into the deep end of the pool at the JCC, where the cold water swallows you whole and you're fine once you break the surface again. Sometimes, it's the only way he'd get in the water. His father would throw him, claiming it would make him more like a man. He'd choke and sputter and swim to the shallow end and spend the rest of the time there with his feet barely brushing the bottom.

"Can I do something first?" he asks softly, swallowing as he blinks. He needs a little liquid courage for this, but it's not the same sort he'd usually pursue. "I'm gonna need help though, okay? Just, like... talk me through it."

Sam watches Puck's reaction carefully, taking in the inhale, and the soft request, and he puts Blue down and gently strokes the back of his fingers across Puck's cheek. "Of course I will. I'm gonna be here talking you through it the whole time. But trust me, once we get started, you're not gonna be able to do a whole lot of talking." He smiles, giving Puck a reassuring kiss. "I'm gonna make you feel good, okay? Better than you've ever felt." Better than your stupid girls. And Quinn. "I'm gonna use my fingers first, just like you always do on me." Sam clearly remembers his own first time and how careful he'd been with himself. He'll do the same for Puck. Puck's ending up with a sweet deal here - when Sam first did this, he'd had to worry about his parents hearing him, which was kind of a boner-killer.

"What'd you wanna do first?" Sam asks, planting lazy kisses along Puck's jaw. He runs his fingers gently down Puck's chest once again, then finds his hand and gives it a squeeze. Puck seems a little nervous, which he'd expected. This is a big step for him. He kisses his mouth softly, murmuring, "Relax, okay? I'm gonna take care of you. I promise. I'm awesome at this."

Edited 2011-07-15 19:00 (UTC)

Sam's so tender with him, stroking his face the way he'd stroke Quinn's. He might knock her hand away and tell her that she's being totally gay, that he's not a chick and doesn't need comfort or soft caresses, but - like most things - it's different with Sam. They're both bros, and he feels like a dude when he touches Sam gently or kisses him lightly, and he can see bro-love in Sam's eyes when he stares at him like he's the most fucking amazing person in the world and neither of them can actually believe that they're here, together. "I know," he murmurs, his eyes closing as Sam leans in to kiss him. "I know it feels good for you, and I know what's gonna happen. Same shit I do to you." He knows the way Sam lies motionless afterward, how he can barely move and barely breathe and how they just cuddle together in bed once Puck goes to the bathroom to wash his hands and grab a warm soapy towel for the puddle on Sam's stomach. They cuddle afterwards. [He really likes it.]

"Shhh," he murmurs, squeezing Sam's hand and gently pushing him with his shoulder, nudging him to lie on his back on the bed. "I never did this before, okay? So, like, don't laugh. Tell me if I'm doing it wrong." His only experience with this has been watching other chicks and Sam do it; he maneuvers to lie between Sam's thighs, lightly nipping at his bellybutton and dragging his lips over the ridges of his abdominal muscles. It's kind of clear where he's going, and he slides fluidly down on the bed, resting his cheek against Sam's inner thigh and gazing at him over the line of his body. "You want me to do it?" he murmurs, wanting final approval, the same way Sam is before he attempts anything new.

Sam lies on his back, watching Puck slide lower until he's settled between his legs and - oh. "Are you gonna give me a blowjob?" He kinda blurts it out and ruins the mood a little, but he's surprised. And happy that Puck actually wants to do this. One step closer to getting you to admit you like dick. He won't say that out loud, he just files it away among his other Puck-related thoughts. Puck rests his cheek against his thigh, and Sam winds one leg loosely around Puck's back. "Yeah," he breathes. "I mean, if you want to. Don't feel like you have to. I'm okay with what we've been doing so far."

His cheeks flush slightly; he's a total sex shark, and he's fucking awesome when it comes to sex and anything related to sex, but this is still a little out of his element - and it's painfully obvious. Sam shifts, resting his leg against Puck's back, all sleek muscle against sleek muscle and bone. "I want to," he murmurs lowly, realizing that it's basically what he'd said to Sam the first time Sam had ever done this to him [their first day together - this is kind of a long time coming, no pun intended]. "I wanna taste you." His expression is uncertain though, because - what? Does he just hold it like a banana and go to town? Or is it hands-off?

He carefully maneuvers onto his elbows, gently wrapping the fingers of one hand around his base and inhaling deeply. He feels himself calm, and he can almost taste Sam, slightly musky and warm in his palm. He exhales through his nose before gently kissing his head, the tip of his tongue trailing over his slit. Sam is slightly salty, slick, with a deep taste [like the way expensive beer has hidden flavors]; he can't stop his soft moan.

"Well, in that case, I gladly grant you the pleasure of blowing me." Sam grins, settling against the pillow. He brings a hand down and strokes Puck's hair gently, then moves away when Puck kisses him and presses his tongue against his slit. He exhales slowly, his eyes fluttering closed. This? This is nice. Blowjobs for him are usually in cheap hotel rooms or the back room of a club with an edge of urgency because what if someone sees him? He's never really been able to relax during sex until it was with Puck. It was always good (mostly), but it was stressful. With Puck, he's not afraid to lose himself, because he knows Puck'll take care of him. Puck's tongue is warm and wet against him; he can feel his hesitation and that almost just makes the whole thing hotter. "Your tongue feels good."

Puck can't stop his quick smirk, kissing the inside of Sam's thigh. "You don't think you're gonna get pleasure?" he asks with an eyebrow raised; for the moment, the nervousness melts away and leaves him relaxed and happy. Sam's hands always feel good, comforting, in his hair, and he settles down on his stomach to concentrate.

He doesn't watch Sam, because he's too busy concentrating on what he's doing and trying to neither drool nor bite nor choke, and he carefully slides Sam's length further into his mouth, taking him in a few inches and breathing steadily through his nose. Sam tastes clean, a little sweet and a little salty, bulging with want between his lips and against his palm. His free hand lightly kneads Sam's thigh, because he doesn't entirely know what to do with it; he gradually falls into a rhythm, coordinating his sucks and the movements of his hands, swirling his tongue around his tip with a vibrating moan.

Sam stops talking once Puck slides him into his mouth. It's hot and slick and wet, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut and groans deep in his throat. He can feel a comforting pressure on his thigh, and he grazes his fingertips over Puck's 'hawk, his back arching slightly. He tries to remember to keep his legs open so he doesn't squeeze Puck's head right off, and his foot digs into Puck's back automatically, his muscles tightening. Puck's tongue keeps doing this amazing swirly thing against his tip that makes it hard for him to breathe. "Uh, god. Feels so fucking... good." Based on technique alone, it's not the best blowjob he's ever gotten. But putting everything together, Puck's willingness to even try this for him, and his tongue, and his hot fucking mouth, and it's mindblowing how perfect it all is. Sam feels that familiar tickle of pleasure beginning at the base of his spine, and he whimpers, one hand clenching around the sheets as he bucks his hips involuntarily. "I'm gonna... fuck," he pants, shuddering. "God, you feel so good, I'm gonna-" A few more sucks and he'll be gone, and he scratches his fingers through Puck's hair in warning - even though Puck said he wanted to taste him, he might have changed his mouth about Sam coming in his mouth. Sam brings his other hand up and grasps his own bangs, gritting his teeth before he comes with a sharp cry, tremors zipping up and down his body.

The fact that Sam suddenly can't speak, body tensing and a sharp groan erupting from his lips as Puck takes him deeper and deeper into his mouth, is serious reassurance that he's not totally fucking this up. "Mmmmm," he moans softly, measuring his breathing and leaning closer until his fist is firm around Sam's cock, pinky finger steady around the base and Puck's lips seal around him tightly, brushing against the thumb and forefinger of his fist. It's far from the most comfortable thing in the world, but Sam actually tastes good, from what he can tell - better than most of the chicks he's gone down on - and the sharp groans and grunts, murmurs of god and good and the tightening of his heel against the small of his back encourage him to suck more fervently, pulling closer and bobbing his head in rhythm with his gentle squeezes. For his first time doing this, he thinks he's actually doing pretty well, and his cock agrees before he grinds it against the mattress, coercing it back into submission.

His grip on Sam's base prevents him from thrusting too heavily into his mouth, but he gets the jolt anyway, and moans at the sensation. [He can't really talk. Sam wasn't lying when they'd discussed this initially. He was pretty impressive.] He has the same tone of voice that Puck uses when he's about to come, desperate and cautioning all at the same time, but he doesn't pull away, feeling the jerk of Sam in his mouth and the accompanying gush, hot and unlike anything he's ever encountered before now. He swallows quickly, doing his utter best to keep from hurting Sam [sensitivity and all], carefully pulling away before his hand loosens and he lowers his length to rest, soft and rosy, against his abdomen.

Puck pillows his head gently against Sam's thigh, wiping at his mouth with the back of one hand and swallowing to make sure he still can.

Sam keeps his eyes closed for a moment, just lying back and trying to catch his breath. He shivers when Puck pulls his mouth away and cold air hits his wet cock, and Sam slowly struggles to push himself up with his elbows, looking at Puck with slightly dazed eyes and flushed cheeks. "That... was amazing. Get over here." Sam sits up and grasps Puck's arms, pulling him close and wrapping an arm around his neck. He kisses him, tasting the slightly salty aftertaste left in Puck's mouth (tasting himself). He bumps their noses together, breathing steadily again, resting a hand against Puck's cheek. "I love you so much," he whispers. He can't help saying it; he's sure Puck thinks he's a giant, well, vagina or something, but he likes the romance, and after holding his tongue and basically lying to Puck's face for years, it's refreshing to be able to tell the truth. He hugs Puck close, kissing his cheek softly. "I'm gonna make you feel good." He nudges Puck down to the bed, stretching out with him to exchange a few slow kisses. His hand travels low to Puck's cock, gently stroking it with his fingertips.

"Are you ready?" he asks, closing his eyes and murmuring into his mouth. Sam uncaps the lube with one hand and slicks his fingers up, all the while kissing Puck while his hand slips between Puck's legs, slowly circling the puckered rim of his hole.

Sam tugs him closer, and he's never really tasted himself [unless he counts going down on Quinn on one of the few times they've had unprotected sex when they've both been 100% clean and she's been sure], but Sam kisses him anyway; he moans softly into Sam's mouth. "Love you, too, dude," he whispers against Sam's lips, kissing him again. It's easier to say when Sam says it, when they've just shared something like this and the moment makes it - okay.

"Yeah - yeah," he murmurs, closing his eyes and shifting atop the bed; it's an awkward thing to do and the one thing that keeps him going, that makes him trust, is being the one to do this to Sam so many times. He can see how good it makes Sam feel, and how it makes him shiver, gasp, arch his back and moan Puck's name, coming in an almost endless deluge before dropping boneless [no pun intended] to the bed for far longer than he does if Puck simply wraps a hand around his cock and strokes him. "Just be gentle, okay? That's, like... new." He has no doubts that Sam will take care of him, soft and gentle and - loving - and he kisses Sam even harder, spreading his thighs. "Just... don't stop kissing me."

"I won't. I gotcha, don't worry," Sam whispers, covering Puck's mouth with his own. He presses one finger in slowly, until he's all the way in, and he licks at Puck's mouth, cracking his eyes open to make sure Puck's not freaking out or anything. Sam can't put into words how thrilling it is to him that no one's ever done this to Puck before. It's a first just between them, and it'll always be. It's hot, and so intimate, and Sam's never used the word erotic to describe anything in his life, but this feels erotic. He crooks his finger slightly, kissing him again as he gently presses in a second. He stops after that, letting Puck get used to the feeling as he presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. "How is it?"

"I know," he whispers into Sam's mouth, their foreheads pressed lightly together. He knows how to handle pain or relax his muscles, and he'd learned that long ago playing football; he deliberately exhales as Sam's finger slides inside him, moaning at the feeling - the fullness, and it's kind of like when he's onstage and he really has to drop a deuce and he has to seriously hold it in - and his body jerks, mouth urgently pressing to Sam's as he adds a second finger and kisses Puck again.

"Unh," he whines, sweat beading lightly on his chest; his hips shift and he grinds down on Sam's fingers, wanting more and twisting in a slow figure-eight, the way he does with Quinn, or when Sam's hands are wrapped around his length. He can't speak, can't get any words out. More.

He scissors his fingers inside Puck, stretching him while searching for his prostate. He doesn't find it right away, so he carefully presses in one more finger. Blue is only about three fingers thick; he knows Puck'll be able to take it. He sucks lazily at Puck's lips, crooking his fingers again, pushing as deep as he can. Sam rises slightly on one knee to get a better angle, his fingertips finally grazing against that spot, and he knows he's found it when he feels Puck's body clench. He smiles against Puck's mouth, watching him experience this for the first time.

It's the strangest fucking feeling, like there's an alien or something trying to claw its way up his ass, kind of like that parasite in the Amazon that swims up your dick when you take a piss in the water and has teeth and clamps on and grows -

Yeah. Anyway.

His back arches again, heels digging into the mattress as he moans and tries to push back against Sam's fingers. He slips a third one in, and it walks the fine line between pleasure and pain until his fingers curve and a white-hot something shoots through his body. That's gotta be it. He moans again, something that might sound like Sam's name against his lips, mouth falling open as he grinds harder against Sam's hand.

There you go. Sam grins, his cheeks flushing with lust as he feels Puck's muscles clench around his fingers. Puck moans, and Sam presses his fingers against that spot again, kissing Puck's slack jaw. He knows what Puck's feeling right now, and it's so fucking hot to watch him come apart from just one hand. He keeps his fingertip brushing Puck's prostate, knowing he should probably hurry up and use Blue already, but he doesn't want to move his hand from that tight heat, and he can't tear his eyes away from Puck's fucking gorgeous face all clenched up from the barrage of pleasure he's feeling. Sam kisses his neck, poking his tongue against the muscles working feverishly beneath Puck's skin. He only slows his fingers down once his hand starts cramping painfully, and he figures Puck might have a heart attack if he keeps going at this rate, so he gently slips his fingers out, planting little kisses along Puck's shivering chest. He runs his hand (not the gross one) from Puck's temple to his jaw, thumbing at the tiny beads of sweat gathering there. "You still with me?" Sam picks up Blue, slicking it down with lube. He leans down and kisses Puck sweetly, nuzzling his cheek. "You're so fucking hot, you know that? God, you should see yourself right now." Sam can feel his own dick twitching at the sight of Puck spread out and completely vulnerable before him.

The stroke of Sam's finger against his prostate, from the inside out, is almost unbearable. His back arches again and he silently moans, his hips rocking as he pushes harder against Sam's fingers. The counterpressure is good, and it thrusts Sam harder against his body, his heels digging into the bed as he tries to get closer to those fingers, but Sam pulls away and moves up his body to press soft kisses to his skin.

Want. He wants Blue, wants the fingers back, wants something, and Sam's not giving it to him. His cock twitches indignantly, bobbing against his abdomen. He doesn't want to see himself. He feels so stretched and open, and wants to be full again, because fuck, it was a good kind of different. He nods, distracted, his eyes following the movement of Sam's hands; his lips find Sam's, kissing him with closed eyes.

To say Puck is reacting well would be an understatement. He can't speak, and Sam's just going by his body to see what he wants. He wants more. He replaces his fingers with Blue, pressing it just at Puck's entrance as he kisses him. He pushes it in slowly, watching Puck's face carefully for signs of pain. He doesn't want to hurt him; he wants to make him go crazy with pleasure, because Puck gives so much to him. Sam keeps pushing, slowly, gently, until Blue is in all the way, and he kisses him, gliding his tongue over the roof of Puck's mouth. He sighs softly, moving his lips to Puck's cheek as he nudges Blue carefully, searching once again for his prostate, and he smiles when Puck's body jerks like electricity's running through him. He presses that spot again, then brings his mouth back to Puck's. "Get ready, okay?" Sam pushes himself closer against Puck's body, licking a stripe down his cheek to taste the saltiness of his dampening skin, and then flicks the vibrator on.

Puck's inability to speak may or may not be a rarity. Usually, he chooses his words carefully. He's a man of few words, and - when he speaks - he makes it count. ["How many balls can you fit in (your mouth)?" was a perfectly acceptable use of words, by the way.] He's the king of dirty talk in the bedroom, though, but now? Now, he's just quiet, because he can't speak, because he can't think, because everything Sam's doing is short-circuiting his brain.

He makes a high-pitched noise halfway between a whine and a scream when he feels the vibration; that's clearly the desired effect, and he arches his back, hips bucking against Sam's body as his cock jerks.

Sam makes a little noise himself when Puck's body jerks and arches, his muscles standing out against his skin like some kind of burnished golden god. He kisses his jaw, dragging his lips down his throat and to his chest, where he presses his tongue against one nipple, all the while ever so slightly nudging Blue against Puck's prostate. Sam kisses down Puck's stomach, the line of his abs, down to the cut of his hips and the coarse trail of hair leading to his hardened cock, which has to be aching with need right about now. Sam finally wraps his fingers around Puck's length, sliding up and down in slow, torturous strokes. Puck's hips rock against him, and Sam slips between Puck's legs, keeping them open as he eases Blue in and out, in and out, listening to the jagged roughness of Puck's breathing.

Sam kisses the inside of Puck's trembling thighs, mouthing and sucking gently at the soft skin before moving back to his cock. He takes him into his mouth quickly and sucks hard, his hand squeezed around the base of Puck's cock to keep him from coming. He can feel the tension in Puck's body, his need for release, but Sam doesn't budge his hand. He pops off his cock with a wet sound and pushes Blue in again, leaving it there as he climbs back up, his hand still wrapped around Puck's base. He leans down and kisses the edges of Puck's mouth (he still hasn't said a word; Sam hopes his brain isn't going to be scrambled permanently from this).

"I could do this forever," Sam murmurs, closing his eyes and feeling Puck's body move and tremble against his. "Just you and me." You and me. Just us. No Quinn. Please. Puck's hips keep bucking against his hand, and Sam finally loosens his grip and slides his fingers to the head of Puck's cock, pressing his thumb down over the slit just like he'd done the very time they'd fooled around drunk in Puck's hotel room. He remembers how Puck had reacted then, and he wants to see the same thing now. He slides his thumb slowly, adding pressure. He scrapes his teeth along the stubble on Puck's jaw and groans softly. "Come on. Let me feel you come."

There's too much sensation, too little time. Just you and me. That's exactly how they are now, in this moment. Just you and me. That's all there is. That's all there can be, when Sam's working his - Blue - between Puck's thighs, deep inside him. That's all there can be, when first his hands and then his mouth are wrapped tight around his cock, making him shiver and moan, arching his back and pushing his length harder against Sam.

Just you and me.

The callused pad of Sam's thumb slides over his slit; he inhales sharply, the sound slipping through his lips, and a shaky moan follows. "Sam," he breathes, his voice barely audible. His eyes open, glassy and disoriented. Just you and me. That's all it is right now. That's all it can be. And in their house, that's what it's all about. Sam does it again, the rough skin sliding over his taut dripping tip; his hips twist, Blue still deep inside him, deep and buzzing. He thrusts forward, cock jumping before he spurts in milky ribbons over Sam's hands, his abdomen, Sam's forearm, everything. With a few last feeble twitches, his eyes close, and he slumps against the mattress with shallow breaths.

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.

Without a doubt, it's harder than he's ever come before. It was almost predictable that it would be that way, because - even when Sam was deep in his throat - or his hands have been wrapped around Sam, or they've been stomach-to-stomach, drenched with lube and their own slickness, hips bumping as they thrust against each other before spurting wet between their bodies - even when these things have happened, Sam never came as hard as he did when Puck's fingers were deep inside him, sending electricity through his veins like he's never seen before.

Dimly, he realizes that Sam is pulling Blue away, discarding it to the side and stroking his side soothingly. It takes all of his strength and concentration to open his eyes, and he blinks, eyes slipping shut again as he struggles to open them. When Sam slides into bed next to him, he turns shakily; the sensations are too much for his body to handle, and he gasps softly, burying his face in the curve of Sam's neck. He might be sore in the morning, but this Just me and you. feels too good to regret, even if he can't walk or sit or whatever. "S'good," he whispers, licking his lips. "Love - you. I love you."

It doesn't matter how many time Puck says it. Every single time those three words pass his lips, it feels like the first time all over again. It feels - incredible, and unbelievable, like this can't possibly be happening. Sam pulls Puck from his shoulder, wanting to see his face. He puts a hand gently against Puck's cheek, his thumb resting just beneath his jaw, and their noses bump together softly as he closes his eyes and lets Puck's warm breath tickle his skin. "I love you, too," he whispers back, his lips touching Puck's. His breath wavers a little as he wonders if Puck said the same thing to Quinn last night or this morning before he left. He swallows, running a hand along the back of Puck's head, letting him settle in the curve of his neck again. His fingers brush over Puck's smooth back. Just forget it, Sam. He kisses the top of Puck's head and then reaches down to pull the sheets over their bodies. Puck must be tired from being with Quinn all night, and then having Sam fuck him open right now, so he settles down and lets him rest. Sam lets his mind stop; he doesn't think, and he tries not to feel anything but this moment of warm bodies pressed together. He kisses Puck again softly, curling his legs against Puck's, and tries to fall asleep.

Puck blinks at Sam, gazing dazedly into his eyes; Sam strokes the side of his face, drawing them closer together. "I love you," he whispers again, their lips brushing with every word, every breath. It's more serious than the way things are with Quinn, more hidden; he curls into Sam, gently slinging his leg over Sam's thigh, one arm wrapped around his ribs as he nestles in the curve of Sam's arm. "Wanna be with you," he whispers with closed eyes, his breath hot against the other boy's neck. It's morning, and he's only just woken from his night with Quinn, but he wants to sleep for the rest of the day [curled up with Sam, just Sam].

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( puck/sam verse: back in lima )

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i was loling at the first tag. puck doesn't dig the clinical talk - he'd laugh or be all "ok gross"

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