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

Entry tags:

* 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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 )

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject