"You're fucking drunk and I'm taking your ass home. You can't even fucking walk," Puck half-mutters, half-growls, still hugging Sam around the ribs and nearly dragging him out to the car. He doesn't fucking care if Sam doesn't want to go, and he flinches when he feels the press of Sam's tongue to his ear in a moist swipe, the slurred murmurs of love that he really can't hear right now. Puck doesn't answer any of the questions; he tosses the keys to the bouncer following them, who opens his truck helpfully so that he can shove Sam inside.
He pulls away as Sam tries to lean for him, nearly falling out of the truck in the process. "Fucking stay in there," he gasps, raking his hands over his close-cropped hair. "I'm going to get our shit and then I'm taking you back to the house. We'll deal with shit there." He's angry, and uncertain, and feeling fucking trapped because any decision he makes is going to result in somebody getting hurt, somebody unhappy, somebody feeling the sting of betrayal and he's this close to dumping Sam off at the house and just showing up at his mother's to sleep.
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Date: 2011-08-14 04:48 am (UTC)He pulls away as Sam tries to lean for him, nearly falling out of the truck in the process. "Fucking stay in there," he gasps, raking his hands over his close-cropped hair. "I'm going to get our shit and then I'm taking you back to the house. We'll deal with shit there." He's angry, and uncertain, and feeling fucking trapped because any decision he makes is going to result in somebody getting hurt, somebody unhappy, somebody feeling the sting of betrayal and he's this close to dumping Sam off at the house and just showing up at his mother's to sleep.