He doesn't know what the fuck he is and it makes the entire thing worse. Being with Quinn is normal, is comfortable, is safe. It's the same thing he's done for the past six years and it's just easy to do this. It's okay for him to love her or not love her or fuck around on her or even just to be with her on so many levels - if it was Sam, that wouldn't be okay. There's still the stigma and there's still all the groupies who only care about them because they're eye candy. [He's not gonna lie. He knows it's true.]
"I'm not gonna leave you here," he mutters. Leaving Sam at the house is Plan A, but he's not going to be that much of a dick. [He'll have to see how drunk Sam gets first.] "Maybe we'll all just crash at our place and I'll be too drunk to do shit." That would definitely be a way around the clusterfuck that will be the three of them ending up sleeping at Puck and Sam's house for the night after a show.
He checks his phone when it buzzes in her hand; she wants a Cosmo, and he orders her one "with the sugar shit on the rim" and the bartender smirks and makes it for him immediately. He looks like a fucking pussy with that drink on the bar in front of him and he ignores it, reaching for the shaker of salt. Sam throws back a shot, but Puck sees Quinn heading towards them. He reaches out for her when she's close enough, and she kisses Sam and then plants one right on Puck's lips; he wraps one hand around her hipbone and grinds against her for the briefest of moments before taking her hand in his and licking her wrist; he carelessly dumps half the shaker of salt on it. "Stay still," he lightly demands, licking the salt from her wrist with the flat of his tongue before dropping her hand and tossing the shot back, popping the lime wedge into his mouth and crushing the citrus between his teeth. He pulls it delicately from between his lips and places it on the dish of used limes that Sam's already started.
"So, are we gonna get fuckin' wasted or what's going on? Here's your Cosmo, babe, drink it 'cuz I look like a pussy holding it."
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"I'm not gonna leave you here," he mutters. Leaving Sam at the house is Plan A, but he's not going to be that much of a dick. [He'll have to see how drunk Sam gets first.] "Maybe we'll all just crash at our place and I'll be too drunk to do shit." That would definitely be a way around the clusterfuck that will be the three of them ending up sleeping at Puck and Sam's house for the night after a show.
He checks his phone when it buzzes in her hand; she wants a Cosmo, and he orders her one "with the sugar shit on the rim" and the bartender smirks and makes it for him immediately. He looks like a fucking pussy with that drink on the bar in front of him and he ignores it, reaching for the shaker of salt. Sam throws back a shot, but Puck sees Quinn heading towards them. He reaches out for her when she's close enough, and she kisses Sam and then plants one right on Puck's lips; he wraps one hand around her hipbone and grinds against her for the briefest of moments before taking her hand in his and licking her wrist; he carelessly dumps half the shaker of salt on it. "Stay still," he lightly demands, licking the salt from her wrist with the flat of his tongue before dropping her hand and tossing the shot back, popping the lime wedge into his mouth and crushing the citrus between his teeth. He pulls it delicately from between his lips and places it on the dish of used limes that Sam's already started.
"So, are we gonna get fuckin' wasted or what's going on? Here's your Cosmo, babe, drink it 'cuz I look like a pussy holding it."