Puck kisses him, and Sam wants to melt in his arms. His fingertips graze down Puck's sides, his skin smooth and damp and familiar. Puck's hands are hot against his face, and Sam almost chokes up right there because he's tired and this is fucking hard. He knows he's being a bitch about this, and Puck probably wants to walk away and find Quinn because they work and they're just easier together. Puck kiss is brief but surprisingly gentle. He pulls away soon after to pull on a shirt, and Sam grips the back of a chair, looking away and blinking hard. Puck is ready to leave, turning away, and Sam just wants to put his arms around him, squeezing tight and holding on, maybe forever because that sounds like a good time frame to him. "I want you, too," he whispers, swallowing.
He follows Puck out, already resigned to be miserable the rest of the night. Quinn'll be here any minute, and she and Puck will go off together, maybe dance a bit to the sudden onslaught of 80s power ballads blaring through the speakers, and Sam will sit at the bar and watch them until he's too drunk to feel like his heart is being squeezed into his throat. They reach the bar and Sam slides onto a stool. Puck is scanning the crowd already - looking for Quinn - and Sam just licks his hand and picks up the salt shaker. "Shots," he says to the bartender, sprinkling salt carefully onto his skin. "Tequila. For me and him, but mostly me. He's got a girlfriend he needs to dance with." Yeah, maybe he deserves to be punched for that one, but he's, like, eighty-five percent sure Puck won't hit him in public, especially in front of all these people they know, and Quinn.
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Date: 2011-07-22 06:07 am (UTC)He follows Puck out, already resigned to be miserable the rest of the night. Quinn'll be here any minute, and she and Puck will go off together, maybe dance a bit to the sudden onslaught of 80s power ballads blaring through the speakers, and Sam will sit at the bar and watch them until he's too drunk to feel like his heart is being squeezed into his throat. They reach the bar and Sam slides onto a stool. Puck is scanning the crowd already - looking for Quinn - and Sam just licks his hand and picks up the salt shaker. "Shots," he says to the bartender, sprinkling salt carefully onto his skin. "Tequila. For me and him, but mostly me. He's got a girlfriend he needs to dance with." Yeah, maybe he deserves to be punched for that one, but he's, like, eighty-five percent sure Puck won't hit him in public, especially in front of all these people they know, and Quinn.