Sam turns eventually, closing his eyes as Puck's soft mouth touches his ear and his face. He wraps his arm around Puck's waist, burrowing into him as his sniffles cease, vaguely registering his boxers sliding down, the fabric brushing his leg. He would start groping Puck again if his brain hadn't suddenly turned to exhausted mush. Sam lets out a tired sigh, another apology on his tongue, but it never makes it past his lips because he presses his face into the crook of Puck's shoulder and promptly loses his train of thought. The room feels like it's tilting once again, so he holds Puck tighter and lets sleep take him under.