lormenari | ( puck/sam verse: lima gig )

Entry tags:

( puck/sam verse: lima gig )

They're playing a gig in Lima, their first since they left home, and Sam has mixed feelings about it. On one hand, they sound awesome. It's familiar, this dingy venue, one of the only spots for live music in town. They played here a lot when they were just starting out. It has memories. Sam fell off the stage once and sprained three fingers on his right hand, which drove him crazy because he couldn't play for weeks afterwards. Puck once stripped onstage and threw his pants into crowd, then played the encore in his Star Wars boxers (Puck claimed he didn't steal them from him, but Sam knows his underwear doesn't just disappear from his room). They'd gotten in trouble with the manager for that one, but it'd been totally worth it.

On the other hand, it's almost surreal being back where they started. It feels like an entire lifetime ago, a lifetime Sam doesn't particularly want to go back to. He still recognizes some of the faces in the crowd, people they went to high school with who are still stuck here. There are new faces as well, the younger crowd - McKinley students with fake IDs. Sam used to be one of them, along with Puck; they came here all the time to see whatever band was nice enough to make a stop in Bumfuck, Ohio. There's one face that stands out to him, dancing in the crowd near the front of the stage. Quinn. Puck told her she could hang out in the wings during the gig, but when the show started, she said she wanted to experience it like everyone else does. She's the most striking presence there; sure, there are tons of beautiful girls in the crowd, but Quinn has always lived a plane above the others. Sam couldn't bring himself to get it up for a vagina even if he tried, but there's something special about Quinn, something that Sam knows Puck sees as well. She's dancing with her hair loose around her face, her arms raised as she sings along, and Puck's eyes keep gravitating toward her.

It's the end of the set, and Sam is sweaty and tired - tired from playing, tired of watching Puck and Quinn and their strange wordless communication back and forth during the gig. The buzz he usually gets from playing live, the rush of adrenaline and the pure joy, it's strangely absent tonight. He's just off, and he's been off ever since they've been back in Lima. Puck is hopping all over the place, yelling into the mic and thanking the crowd. Sam waves and slides his guitar off, setting it down. The venue is small; backstage is basically stifling since the AC is out in half the rooms, and all Sam really wants to do is hit the bar and get drunk.

"Hey," Sam says, raking his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. "Do you wanna do shots?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Every so often, they end up back at this spot, playing a gig. It's where their roots are, and where the memories are, and where the fans and their band [is it a band?] really started, and it's usually pretty sweet playing here. Sure, it's Lima, and they know most of the groupies in Lima, but the beer's on the house and they know the owner of the place pretty well, and the place is fucking packed because it's Puck and Sam and everybody knows Puck and Sam [and if they don't know Puck and Sam, they know Quinn, and they know that Puck's her rockstar boyfriend and that's enough to make them curious even if they don't know the backstory, about McKinley and Beth and Finnocence]. He swears he sees Coach Beiste there, and maybe Mr. Schue somewhere in the background, but it's been something like six years since they've graduated from McKinley and it's not like he's really bothered to keep in touch with anybody.

He's there with Quinn; they'd been asked to play the gig, and he'd automatically said yes and passed the where and the when on to Quinn. She's his girlfriend, not necessarily his beard, because he actually does love her. It's just a fucking mess because he loves his best friend, too, and he actually pregames before the gig just so he won't think about what'll happen afterwards. Because they're in Lima and Quinn's out with them, and it's not Guys' Night and he's pretty fucking sure that Quinn both assumes and expects that they'll spend the night together. He hates the knowledge that he's going to come home the next day - if he does that - and see Sam's eyes, big and blue and betrayed, like a kicked puppy.

He jumps around the stage and keeps his pants on [this time, 'cuz he's totally going commando under these jeans, and he's pretty sure there would be a smackdown if he flashed Puckasaurus Sex to the crowd in front of both Quinn and Sam] and shouts at the crowd, spinning and showing off 'cuz he's pretty buzzed and that's just what he does. Sam's quieter that he's usually seen him, even after their encore, and Puck unplugs the cables and swings his guitar around to rest on his back, high-fiving Sam as they head backstage. "Let me put the baby away and then we can find Q and do shots, okay, bro? Come on, come with me."

Text Message To: q From: puckzilla taking care of shit, find u in 5? love u

Didn't ask to do shots with Quinn, too. Sam stays silent as he follows Puck backstage. He's not going to do anything, he's not going to make a scene. He pulls his t-shirt off and picks up a towel, drying his face and finding a clean button down to wear. He shrugs it over his shoulders and keeps his eyes down as he fastens the buttons. "So, do you two, um... are you spending the night with her?" Either way, Sam's getting drunk. He'll wake up with Puck or he'll wake up alone, but he's definitely waking up hungover. Puck texts someone, probably Quinn to come find them. Sam inhales a slow, controlled breath. Fuck this. He could find a guy here, he knows he can. He's gotten good at picking them out; he knows all the spots that the questioning kids discreetly hang around in hopes of an exchange of handjobs or a quick blowjob out back against the brick wall. He doesn't know why he should feel guilty about a handjob when Puck is in fucking love with someone else.

He does, though. And he doesn't want another guy anyway. Sam rolls up his plaid sleeves and puts his damp t-shirt in his bag, then straightens and looks at Puck, slipping his hands in his pockets. "You wanna go find Quinn, it's cool. I'm just... gonna be at the bar. Getting shitfaced."

At the very least, he needs to find Quinn or she's going to come find him; he doesn't mind it, but he also doesn't want to have to get between Q and some chick who thinks he's still into having a flavor of the ~~week~~ night. [He's not. Clearly.] Sam quietly changes his sweat-soaked shirt, revealing a muscled torso, and Puck just stares as he places his guitar in its case, zipping the padding closed. "I don't know," he mutters. "I don't know what she's gonna want to do." Arms cross over his chest and he grasps the hem of his shirt, drawing his hands up and uncrossing them; he tosses the shirt to land on top of his guitar bag, the silver hoop in his nipple stark against his tan skin.

Sam talks like what they have isn't a big deal, which is fucking bullshit. They both know that just you and me is something bigger than either of them can admit, because admitting it means admitting a lot of things at least Puck's not ready to admit yet. He raises an eyebrow, taking a deep breath as his arms hang down by his side. "The fuck you think I told you to come in here for? You already ditched your guitar," he points out. "Lock the fucking door."

"Well, whatever she wants to do, you gotta do it, right?" It's always what she wants. He doesn't blame her - she doesn't even know what's going on, that Puck's still cheating on her despite letting the groupies go - but. Sam can't lie to himself and pretend he doesn't want everything she has. She has Puck in a way that he doesn't, and that's just how things are. He looks at Puck's nipple ring, his fingers suddenly itching to touch him, but he doesn't. The door is open, and even if they locked it... "Anyone could find us, Puck. The employees have a key and you know that security guy will unlock anything for Quinn if she bats an eye at him." Kind of like how you are with her.

Sam stays put, still looking at Puck's golden skin highlighted with a sheen of sweat. "I just need to get drunk, okay? Quinn's out there, just - go be with her. Don't get careless now, we've done such a great job pretending in front of the world so far." He has a sudden intense desire to just kiss Puck with the door wide open, or maybe drag him on stage and kiss him in front of everyone to see, but he'd never do that to him. Puck would never forgive him and he'd never forgive himself. "Just don't screw this up now."

"I don't gotta do anything." His voice is serious, deadly-quiet and steely. He seriously hates this, the constant tug-of-war he feels whenever he does something with Quinn and Sam gets jealous. Sure, he'd feel the same way if it was Sam who had somebody else, so he doesn't fault him. But, at the same time, it makes things fucking difficult. This happens just about every fucking time that he does something with Quinn or even mentions his plans with her. He gets it. There's jealousy. It doesn't mean he has to like it. "Fast," he insists, stepping closer to Sam and clearing the distance between them. The door is shut, but not locked; the AC is actually functioning in this room, and he cups Sam's face in his hands and kisses him, gentle and deep before pulling away and returning to his bag to rummage through for a shirt. They're safe, and there's nobody in the vicinity of the green room backstage, and nobody sees.

"Let's go," he mutters, turning to head back to the bar. "I want you. You know I want you. S'long as you want me."

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.

The buttons of Sam's shirt are hard and almost rough against his chest; he presses his body against Sam's anyway, sighing softly into the kiss. Kissing him is like his body and heart and mind all screaming this is safe and I love you and I trust you and whenever shit gets too hard, I want to be with you, and I know it's gonna be okay and if I was only with you for the rest of my life, it would be okay. This fucking sucks. The hiding and the limitations and the fear that they're absolutely fucked, absolutely fucked, if anybody sees them or if this gets leaked. He's not afraid of much, but he's afraid of losing everything. Afraid of losing Sam.

"I know," he murmurs, shrugging resignedly. "I'm living with you, dude." When he could be living alone, or with his family, or with Quinn - he wants to be with Sam. Quinn isn't at the bar, and he's up for shots; he leans against the bar itself, texting her again.

Text Message To: q
From: puckzilla

@ bar - u want anything? come find me if u want babe

He shrugs off Sam's comment, reaching for the salt shaker as Sam places it on the bar with a soft click, barely audible in the chaos of the room. He doesn't take affront to it, because... "Yeah, she's gonna fuckin' hate me if I'm so wasted I fall on her or something. You don't have that problem, bro. Get fuckin' wasted, I'll make sure your drunk ass gets home."

I'm living with you, dude. Sam doesn't say anything to that, because, sure, it's true, and Sam doesn't doubt that Puck loves him, but at the same time, Puck's also in love with Quinn. And maybe he's not living with her, but he still loves her. Sam just never predicted that his first real relationship that actually means something to him would involve a third party. It's hard to swallow. On nights like these when all three of them are in the same space, it's even harder. Puck texts someone again - Quinn - and Sam just sighs, slouching in his seat.

"If you have to take me home, then you can't go home with Quinn," Sam mumbles. "Or are you gonna dump me at home and then leave for Quinn's?" He knows he's pretty unpleasant to be around when he's drunk, but he wants Puck to stay with him. No matter what. He's not going to say that, though - not sober, anyway. Puck has a life outside of him, and that life involves Quinn, and it wouldn't be fair if he didn't let him go live it. Their shots arrive with a little dish of limes, and Sam slides one glass over to Puck. He wants to lick the salt off Puck's hand, but he settles for his own. The tequila makes him cringe - it's not very expensive and it tastes like shit, and he sinks his teeth into a slice of lime as he puts his shot glass down. He's sure everything would taste better if he was licking the flavor from Puck's mouth right about now. He wants to so badly, but they have appearances to maintain. Sam does another shot and shudders, making a face. "You can go find Quinn if you want. Seriously, I'll be fine. I'm not mad." And he's not, mostly. He's mostly just sad. But at least he has his shitty tequila.

Quinn got the second text from Puck and she was thankful for it because she was surrounded by groupies fawning over Puck and Sam and well, she didn't really appreciate it. Mainly because Puck was hers and Sam was still to this day a close friend. At least, she felt like he was. They had a past just like Puck and her, she helped him when his family was having hard times. Nowadays, she felt like if she needed someone to talk to, she could talk to Sam. Even if it was about Puck.

She sent Puck a text back, to just get her a Cosmopolitan and that'd she be there in five minutes, that she had to get through a large crowd first. But she saw a security guy and waved him down and knowing her, he helped her through. Giving a bat of her eyelashes and basically smiling with her eyes, the security guy cleared a path for her so she could start making her way to the bar.

Seeing Puck and Sam at the bar, Quinn smiled and rushed over, giving Sam a kiss on the cheek and Puck a kiss on the lips. "You guys were great."

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."

"I'd rather you just left than have to see you sleeping all over her at our place," Sam says in a low voice. "Unless I get too drunk to care." He drops the subject when he sees Quinn heading toward them out of the corner of his eye. She kisses him on the cheek, and Sam smiles at her, then does another shot while Puck kisses her and licks salt from her wrist and hands her the Cosmo he ordered and basically does a million little things that makes Sam want to crawl in a hole and die. A million little things that couples do when they're in love with each other. It comes so naturally to Puck and Quinn, and it never fails to send Sam into a jealous rage and/or a pity party.

"I'm getting wasted," Sam says, sprinkling more salt onto his hand as he sucks on a lime. "You two should go dance or something. When was the last time you guys actually danced in public? Probably, like, back in Glee Club." He throws back his fourth shot and slams the glass onto the bar, popping a lime in his mouth and looking at Puck. "Go ahead. Ask the lady to dance, Puckerman." Sam can't decide whether he wants them to stay just so he can be privy to the warm closeness they have together, or if he wants them as far away from him as possible so he doesn't have to see how grossly perfect they are for each other.

She gave a playful roll of her eyes at what Puck said about her drink and she took it, taking a couple small sips. She loved the girlie drinks, beer or anything stronger and she was a drunken mess within an hour. "You two can get drunk, I'm only going to have this. Someone has to be the responsible one between the three of us," she teased.

At the mention of dancing, her eyes went wide while she took a long drink. "Mmm. Dancing, I'd love to do some dancing." She looked to Sam though with a smile. "Sam, why don't you have one dance with me? Come on, it'll be fun. Maybe it'll make some women around here jealous and you'll get a little something something because of it." She poked his arm teasingly.

The last time he and Sam got legitimately wasted together was the night with cheap beer and Jack and that had started all of this. He'd said some things and made some moves and that had been that, and they'd been together ever since. He's down for getting wasted, but dancing? No.

"We're gonna get drunk," he counters. "Dude, dance with her. I'll do some more shots and watch you guys and, like, kick your ass if you get a boner dancing with my girl." And it's all for show, because Puck knows that Sam won't get one, and Sam knows that Puck isn't that stupid, and this is just continuing the charade. But, right now, he could use some more alcohol. And he needs to be away from Sam and the jealousy thing for a few minutes; he just can't deal with it, with the knowledge that he'll hurt one of them either way.

Sam's eyes widen a little in panic when Quinn asks him to dance, and he tries to laugh it off. "Uh, no, that's all right. I'd just step all over your feet and... um, I've already had a bunch of shots, I'm not really in the dancing mood right now..." He smiles tightly, throwing Puck a glance in a silent plea for help, but Puck looks like he's already made us up his mind.

He doesn't want to dance with Quinn, he doesn't want to hold her and laugh with her and look her in the eye knowing that he's fucking (sort of) her boyfriend. Sure, he loves Puck, too, but he loves Quinn like a sister, and he feels bad enough that he's sneaking behind her back like this. That they both are. But Puck's not going to save him, and Sam can't just leave Quinn hanging, so he slowly slides off the stool. "I'm not really looking to hook up with any girls here... but I guess one dance can't hurt."

He purposely steps on Puck's foot as he takes Quinn's hand and leads her onto the floor. He's always been almost as much of a lightweight as Quinn, so he's starting to feel a buzz as he lifts their hands and gives Quinn a twirl, then settles his hand on her waist as they move to a Journey song playing over the speakers. For a second he feels like he's in high school again, still trying to kid himself into liking girls.

"It's nice to be back in Lima," Sam says, lying right through his teeth. If he had his way, he'd leave and never look back, preferably taking Puck with him. "Haven't played in this place in years." He links their fingers together, and he brushes over something hard - a ring. He's seized by a moment of panic before he realizes it's on her right hand. Puck wouldn't propose to her. No way. It's just a ring, just something he must have picked up for her on the road. His can't contain his curiosity. "So, is that, like, a promise ring from Puck? Remember when I tried to give you one of those?" he teases gently, but his throat feels tight, and he just wants another shot.

Quinn beamed a smile when Sam slid off the stool and was actually going to dance with her. She herself loved Sam, as a brother and she'd pretty much do anything for him. If he needed her for anything, she'd be there. No matter what it was.

When Sam twirled her, she giggled. "It's nice to have you guys back in Lima. I missed you both a lot." But as they kind of swayed back and forth, Sam mentioned the ring and she lifted her right hand that was linked with his and smiled, love for Puck in her eyes and smile. "I.. I don't think it is. I don't know. He gave it to me the first night I was with him again. It was in a ring box and everything. I mean, he actually put some thought into it," she stared at the ring for a moment before looking up to meet Sam's eyes. "Yeah, I remember. I thought it was the sweetest thing ever. I actually still have it, it's in my jewelry box."

She sighed happily and moved closer to Sam, their dance still a slow sway and she rested her cheek on his shoulder, looking over to Puck when he was in her sights again, Quinn flashing him a smile.

Admittedly? The quiet's fucking awesome.

He can't remember the last time he was somewhere without Quinn or Sam; he can't remember the last time he slept alone, without Quinn wrapped in his arms or himself wrapped in Sam's. [He totally doesn't take the chick role when it comes to their bromance, but he honestly does like when Sam holds him.] He orders a few more shots from the bartender, just tequila because he intends to get drunk tonight and now's a great time to get a head start on that shit, watching his boyfriend and his girlfriend dance together to some slow stupid Journey song. [He feels like Mr. Schue must have requested it.] His foot doesn't even throb from the pressure of Sam's foot.

With a smile in Quinn's direction as she glances at him, he tips his shot glass at her before tossing it back, well on his way to being drunk.

Quinn puts her head on his shoulder, and he hugs her softly, swaying in time with her. He's glad he can't see her eyes anymore, because he recognizes the look in them. It's the same way he knows he looks when he thinks about Puck, when he looks at him, when he talks about him. Quinn and him? Exactly the same. In love with the same guy. And Sam almost envies her right now for not knowing a thing about what's really going on. "That promise ring I gave you was the cheesiest thing ever. But this one's nice. Puck must've..." He swallows hard, smoothing a hand down her hair. That first night, when he was alone in the house, Puck was giving Quinn a ring. "He wanted to make you feel really special." His eyes feel wet. Puck didn't even tell him. Not that he needed to - whatever he does with Quinn is his own business - and Quinn said herself that it's not a promise ring or anything, or at least she doesn't think it is. But his chest still feels tight, and his face feels hot, and he's not nearly drunk enough for this.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't, um... I'm not good at dancing," Sam says, pulling back abruptly. "I'm just tired from our set. I need a drink." He leaves her on the dance floor with a mumbled apology, and his vision blurs as he makes it back to the bar. He wipes his eyes and grabs a shot glass, not even bothering with salt as he throws it back. He wipes his mouth, then wipes his eyes hastily, looking at Puck. "Go dance with her, okay? She's your girlfriend, don't just leave her out there." He grabs another shot, ignoring the way his eyes prickle with tears again. The tequila makes him shudder, and he bites into a lime wedge. "Go, Puck, okay? Just go, please."

What Sam said at first warmed Quinn's heart because - for the most part - she thought he really cared about her feelings, about how Puck felt about her. But then Sam was pulling away from her and she swore she saw tears in his eyes, but he was already walking away and she stood there awkwardly, arms down at her sides. She felt like she'd done something wrong or maybe he was mad at her and she didn't even know why. Maybe she said something or just looked at him wrong and he took it the wrong way. If he was angry with her, she didn't want to be around him. She didn't want to piss him off even more.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she didn't even look over at Puck, which Sam was beside again and she just turned, tears in her own eyes now. She felt like Sam was her best friend, her brother and he was clearly upset. She isn't stupid. She headed for the nearest exit and Sam and Puck could just have a guy night and hang out. She'd just stay at home, watch some TV and go to sleep. Whatever.

He watches them over the rim of his bottle of beer; he'd switched after his last shot, sipping it slowly and watching them. All is well. Sam's dancing with Quinn, and her head is on his shoulder, and they're talking softly to each other. Anyone would see them and assume that they're a couple, or best friends.

Quietly, all hell breaks loose. Sam stiffens, standing straight and pulling away before heading back to the bar with his head hanging. Quinn stands, shell-shocked in the middle of the floor, before turning and heading for the exit. "The fuck?" he hisses when Sam reaches him. Go dance with her. "She's fuckin' leaving, I'm gonna go get her and fix this shit." He can't leave the club without getting his things from backstage; he won't be able to leave entirely, but he needs to fix whatever the fuck happened out there on the dance floor.

"Babe," he calls, shaking his head, sending a half-confused, half-exasperated glance in Sam's direction. He follows her, catching up to her just outside the exit; he wraps his fingers around her elbow and tugs her close. "Babe. Stop, Q. What happened?"

Quinn stopped when Puck took hold of her arm and she sniffled, shaking her head. "I feel like Sam hates me. Everything was fine and then he just said he couldn't.. and I swear I saw tears. What did I do wrong? I haven't been rude or anything to him!" She couldn't understand why Sam would be crying, if he even was. But she swore it looked that way or looked like he was about to. She honestly felt like someone she considered her best friend was angry at her for no reason at all or no reason she knew or understood.

With a low exhale, he pulls her against his body, wrapping his arms around her body and tucking her head beneath his chin. "Quinn, it's okay, okay? Relax. Sam's... going through some shit, okay? We both are. We're trying to write and still trying to do gigs, and we're coming off the fucking tour and we still have to fly out to record when we get enough material for an album or an EP. And I think it's still kind of hard for him to see us together 'cuz now we're living together, you know? That's why I always stay at your place." It's entirely true, although Sam's issue is more one of wanting Puck than wanting Quinn. But he leaves it at that; his hands smooth over her hair, and he kisses her forehead gently. "Look, let me grab my shit and tell Sam I'm gonna take you home, okay? I'll come back for him after 'cuz he's gonna be drunk." There's so much that he can't explain, even to himself. What does he say? I love Sam, and Sam loves me, and I love you, too, and we can't deal with this. There's really no other way to explain it.

He pulls away gently, his hands sliding down her forearms to tangle his fingers with hers. Oh, shit. "Babe?" he asks, trying to keep his voice light. "Sam ask about your ring?"

She just nodded, sniffling against his chest. She was sure Sam didn't like her, not like that anymore. She never got that vibe anymore and she was pretty damn sure she'd get some kind of vibe if Sam was still interested in her. It had been years, he had to of gotten over her by now. Seriously. "Okay, just hurry, okay? I just want to get out of here. I just want to be with you," she whispered.

When Puck pulled back, she glanced down at her right hand, nodding. "Yeah, he did. He asked if it was a promise ring and I said I was pretty sure it wasn't. I told him you gave it to me our first night together again." She slowly raised her gaze to look up at him. "Why does it matter if he asked about the ring?"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He'll need to talk to Sam about this, but - right now - it's all about damage control. "I don't know, babe," he murmurs, "and, I mean, like, don't quote me on this or anything, but maybe Sam's just trying to give us some space, you know? Maybe he feels that way but wants to respect what we have, and kind of freaked out at the ring. I didn't tell him I was giving it to you or anything. He didn't know I had it. So, if he found out I gave it to you, maybe he's freaking out, you know?" He exhales. "I'm sorry, babe, okay? I'll grab my stuff and take you home, but I gotta come back and grab Sam. Good thing I, like, only did a couple shots. Unless you wanna take a cab and I'll meet you there...?" He drops slow kisses over her temple and the side of her face, his lips trailing over her cheekbone. "We're cool, okay? I'll figure this shit out with Sam tomorrow."

"I'll drive us to my place and.. why can't Sam get a cab? I love him and everything, but I kind of don't want you to leave once we're at my place. Please, Puck?" Yes, she was practically begging him, but she felt Sam was a big boy. Either he could call himself a cab or someone there could call a cab for him. She just wanted the whole night to Puck and herself, no interruptions. She even gave him the big green doe eyes, which was a 50/50 chance of working.

"I know, baby," he cajoles apologetically with another kiss to her forehead. "I gotta make sure he gets home safe and doesn't do anything fuckin' stupid, okay? He did it for me a ton when we were on tour. He totally rescued my pants from this homeless dude, too. He's my best friend, and... I'll get him home and then I'll head over, okay?" Pressing his forehead to hers, he lightly kisses her lips. "Maybe I'll get lucky and my girl's gonna be waiting in a bubble bath for me?"

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

Wow. Yeah... I forgot about this.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject