It was a Saturday, and Sam was driving down town at eleven. He had anticipated this night for quite some time: the copy of Avatar: Special Edition Actors Cut was going to begin sale at midnight. He was going to start queuing early, scared the copies would be sold out. Not that many people made buying DVD's a priority on a Saturday night, but whatever. Better safe than sorry. He had practised his Na'vi so his words were fluent and grammatically correct – something he could never do with his Spanish classes, even if he had wanted to.

The traffic lights shone red and Sam slowed to a stop at the intersection. Drumming his fingers impatiently on his steering wheel, his wandering eyes lingered to the park adjacent to the road. He did a double take when he registered a still figure, nearly camouflaged by the unkempt grass. The dim light of the moon did no favours, but he could make out the unique hairstyle of the face down person: a levelled mohawk. And he had only ever seen one person in Lima who sported one.

He wanted to ignore the image and just stick to his goal, but he would be crushed with guilt if he ever found out it was Puck, and just let him lie unconscious on the street. In the end, Sam's conscience won out, and when the traffic lights shined green Sam hurriedly pulled his car over. He launched out his vehicle and knelt beside the figure. With shaking hands he rolled the man onto his back, fully prepared to bolt if it was just some shaved homeless man. But sure enough, it was Puck. However, that wasn't relief. It was the exact opposite. He may have looked like he was just dozing off in a drunken stupor before, but now that Sam had a clearer view he knew Puck was in a much worse state. His face was bruised and battered. His nose was crooked slightly, and some blood had crusted around his nostrils. How long had he been there? His bottom lip was cut, and Sam was certain if he smiled some of his teeth would be missing. On top of that, one of his eyes was black and he smelt strongly of sweat and alcohol. The only thing that mitigated Sam's fear was the slow rise and fall of Puck's chest.

He's still breathing. Sam let out a shaky sign, liberating his fears of finding his friend's dead body. But by looks of it Puck was dangerously injured. Sam was no doctor – hopefully a human could withstand such injuries without dying? Sam steeled his reserve, disarming negative thoughts, defiant to help Puck make a full recovery.

"Puck?" Sam shook the unconscious teen's arm gently, trying not to scare him. He shook harder when he was met with no response, and a snore escaped Puck's lips. Sam's eyes lit up as Puck lazily rubbed his eye with one hand.

"Wha-?" Was all Puck could manage before choking on the bile and blood in the back of his throat. Sam helped him to sit upright, and a few blood ridden coughs later Puck was conscious, but barely. His eyes fluttered intermittently, and his breathing was loud and slightly wheezy. Yet, Sam was thankful that all of his teeth were still in his mouth.

"Where... wher'm I?" Puck slurred. His voice was that of an innocent child, and Sam couldn't repress his smile, even with the accent of alcohol. "Why're you here?" He raised his eyes to Sam's. The blonde had never noticed how shiny Puck's eye were – brimming with hopeful curiosity, twinkling subtly in the moonlight.

"I was going to get Avatar but I found you here," Sam revealed mechanically. He mentally kicked himself, but Puck didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to like it.

"That's cute!" He drawled, ending on a high note. His expression grew hazy and his head tilted slightly while still maintaining eye contact with his saviour. He bit his lip amorously before hiccupping. Sam blinked. Puck was so out of it. He must be a flirty drunk.

"Come on – we need to get you to a hospital or something. I seriously though you were dead." Sam said, grabbing Puck's hand to help him off the ground. Instead, Puck looked at it in horror, as if it would lead him straight into the depths of hell.

"No. No hospital," he groaned weakly in protest, beginning to crabwalk away from Sam. He moved quickly, fear fuelling his speed, before his eyes rolled back and his limbs gave way to his weight. He sprawled in defeat, still mumbling protests.

"You sure can move for a drunk," Sam said lightly, amused. He walked over to his friend and heaved him off the ground, dusting him off. Puck's legs buckled, catching Sam by surprise. The blonde had to drag the bemused drunk to the passenger side of his vehicle, trying his best to shove him into the car without adding to his injuries. He buckled Puck's seatbelt and trudged to the driver's side. He was surprised at his lack of annoyance at missing the Avatar sale, but it seemed insignificant compared to Puck and his health. He wasn't even thinking about Avatar (which was very unusual); he just wanted Puck to be safe.

After double checking Puck was still safely in his seat, Sam started the engine. The sound triggered Puck, jolting him into a state of panic.

"No hospital. Can't," he pleaded, desperately tugging at the door handle. He was too drunk to notice the lock just inches from his hand, but Sam had no reason to point it out to him. The fact that it stayed shut made him whimper. Whimper. "Please, no hospital!" He was begging now, slumping against the door, trying to use all his weight to break it open. That childish tone from the drinking gave Sam mixed feelings of guilt and sympathy. With a loud sigh, Sam acquiesced.

"Fine," he said, making Puck cheer. He hit his head on the ceiling but still retained his enthusiasm. "But I'm taking you home. You could have a serious concussion or something." Now the joy was gone. "Okay, okay," Sam yielded again, not even bothering to argue. "I'll take you somewhere else." He pressed down on the gas pedal with more power than necessary, speeding down the street.

Puck clutched the hand rest, the shining streetlights making him dizzy. "Ugghh," he moaned. "I fink I'm gon' - urpp"

"Out the window!" Sam instructed, hastily pressing the window switch. Puck squeezed his head out the window before it was half open, vomiting onto the street. Sam blanched at the familiar sound, gripping onto the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Puck kept his head out the window for a moment, enjoying how the cool night air viciously caressed his face.

"Ah, dat's better," he said thickly, returning his full person inside the vehicle.

The foul stench of Puck's vomit-scented breath nearly made Sam retch. He fished for a water bottle in the glove box, throwing it in Puck's lap. "Drink this," he ordered.

Puck accepted it with a large, open-mouthed smile, as if it was a token of affection. He brought the bottle to his lips and began to gargle the water, giggling at the sound. He spat it out the window before he started to choke, loudly burping to cease his bodily functions. The giggles still threatened to emerge, though, and he plastered a hand over his mouth to try and cease them.

Sam tried to distract Puck with a question that had been on the tip of his tongue since their encounter. He hadn't asked it yet, since Puck's health was more of a priority than frilly gossip, but now with only the humming of the engine it seemed fine to reveal it.

"How did you end up in the park?" He tried to ask it casually, but his desire for an answer was dotted through his words. Maybe not enough to be perceived through Puck's inebriation, though. At least Sam hoped not.

"Found -hic- some of m' juvie buds. 'N' we fought -hic-," Puck explained through hiccups. He paused, ruminating briefly. "'N' I fink I lost."

"That sucks." Sam grunted sympathetically. "Then why were you drunk?"

Puck's response was a deadpan. "Because it's a Sat'day night."

Sam can't think of a reply, but doesn't need to. He brings his car to a stop and pulls on the handbrake. "We're here," he announced.

Puck took one look out the window and began sulk miserably. "You lied." He crossed his arms in a wounded expression. His voice broke with frustration as he tried to not wail. "'M not getting out."

"Hey, come on," Sam soothed, patting Puck's thigh. "It's not so bad; it's just your house." To the 'bad' he was referring to, Sam did not know. But Puck wasn't paying that much instead, instead placing his hand over Sam's, and drawing it back to its place on his thigh. Puck smiled, invading Sam's personal space with his flirtatious countenance. The moment may have continued, but the disruptive bang of Puck's front door bursting open, only to shut once again, captured their attention.

Puck snaked his hand back. "Oh no," he whimpered. "No, no, no, no." Sam was surprised to see Puck reduced to such a state, cowering with consternation, trying to shrink below the window.

Sam was about to mollify Puck when he felt himself quieten in fear. Puck's dad was staggering towards the vehicle, a paper-bag-wrapped bottle swinging threateningly in his hand.

"Please," Puck begged, the panic and fear unable to be contained in his voice. "Just drive. He'll – he'll hurt me. He always does." Sam froze, letting Puck's words sink in. Even though he was drunk, his voice was earnest and credible. And his father's countenance could not be mistaken for paternal discipline. It was much more suited to alcoholic abuse. Coupled with the profane insults he was screaming, there was enough vindication for Sam to release the handbrake and speed away. Puck's Dad threw the bottle after them, but it only crashed onto the road, missing Sam's car by meters. As soon as the raging man became one with the landscape through the rear view mirror, the boys breathed easy.

"I guess it's to my house then," Sam sighed, mentally mapping the route he had to take. He began to dwell in his thoughts as Puck entertained himself with the electric window, letting it rise and fall against his face. Great. Sam didn't need this. Of course, he wanted it, in some twisted sort, but he didn't need it. He didn't need a drunken flirtatious stud, ready and willing to be taken advantage of, arriving at his empty house. Sam wasn't sure he could suppress his bubbling lust for the mohawked teen much longer. He had to focus on pure thoughts even now – somehow, most of Puck's sex appeal managed to seep through his bruised and bloodied lineaments.

Sam still harboured a small amount of resentment towards Finn, for both destroying his coming out plans and padlocking him securely inside the closet. Yes, Sam was gay. And he had planned to let McKinley know, using Kurt and their proposed duet as the push he so dearly needed. He knew he wasn't as brave as Kurt, but seeking some guidance and a perfectly tuned song could have helped Sam be true to he really was. Not romantically, of course. Sam had only thought of Kurt as a friend. Of course, they could have progressed into something more, but Finn had to wedge his foot in and mess with Kurt's head, inadvertently fucking up Sam's strategy in the process.

Sam cringed at the memory of Kurt breaking off the duet. It had been extremely frustrating. But he wasn't frustrated at Kurt – his anger was directed at Finn, and how he can't pass a Spanish test, yet is able to manipulate his step-brother with ill-placed subliminal homophobia. Kurt was made to believe he was using Sam, and the boy's pride just wouldn't have that. Sam scoffed. If only Kurt had realized it was reciprocal, and stood his ground with Finn, this affair probably wouldn't have started.

So instead of Kurt, Sam winds up with Quinn. That was okay, but it was icing on the cake when he found out she used to date Finn, and that he still has intimate feelings for her. It was perfect – he would sway her just to piss him off. It may have been a bit cruel to Quinn, but he honestly didn't think of that until it was too late to back out. He'd step up his game whenever Finn was within earshot; whispering sweet nothings into her ear in glee club, interlocking their fingers as they passed in the corridors, and sharing enthusiastic embraces at the end of football matches (particularly victories, which would result in a running hug, with a twirl and all). After all, they were both blonde, attractive, and talented singers. Ergo, it was meant to be. You know, if Sam wasn't gay and all.

This mean that Sam was stuck with his attractive-but-not-to-him girlfriend and their relationship built on falsities. But he couldn't bring himself to break up with her – she was the only thing contributing towards his straight persona. Sure, Sam accepted who he was in the least bit shameful, he just wasn't strong enough to go through the steps alone. Not again. He needed someone – not Kurt, who contradicted his effeminate nature with his unrelenting pride – but someone who matched his position; another closeted teen. The problem with that, though, was that he was living in Lima, Ohio. Nevertheless, that couldn't stop his foolish fantasies, which all started in him meeting a new friend in a moment of serendipity; reaching for the same piece of fruit at the greengrocers, both taking the same elevator alone, finding his attractive barista's number on his coffee cup at the Lima Bean. You name it, he'd dreamt it. And while these fictions started separately, they would all come full circle, having their friendship evolve to the point where they'd find out their sexualities were one and the same. Next was the secret romance, riskily sought after by a hasty kiss in a backlit movie theatre, where it would progress until they had the courage to announce their relationship to the world.

It was the perfect platform for a fairy-tale, which made Sam regret ever dreaming it up. It was incredibly unlikely that it would ever happen, and he was fully aware of that, but no matter how hard he tried to forget the fantasy, he couldn't. Even though it was nearly impossible, there was still the tiny shred of possibility that constantly tore at him, deceiving him into believing that something like that could still happen. And he believes it, still waiting, desperate for his fantasy to become reality.

It's just that waiting hurts. Not know when the waiting will end pains Sam immensely. He can imagine himself waiting until he's thirty, and by then it would probably be too late anyway. It started to rain, and Sam clicked on the windshield wipers as droplets hit the car. Puck was now exposing himself to the downpour every time he clicked the window down, but in his inebriated state he didn't seem to notice or care. That was another thing Sam had to worry about: Puck. He had no other choice but to hide his feelings. Puck was straight, and there was plenty of evidence to support that, but Sam couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was flirting with him ever since they'd met.

"How many tennis balls can you fit in your mouth?"

Not to mention the more than platonic looks they shared during his first audition. And now he could add affection and brief hand holding to the list, but those were probably prompted by the alcohol. So far, Sam had managed to persist through the teasing torture that was Noah Puckerman. He focused on the spitting rain instead, gripping the steering wheel with so much force his knuckles were white. Right now he had to shove his feelings aside and convince himself he was doing this for a friend in need, not the object of his unrequited affections.

He'd been strong this whole time, not flushing when Puck had called him cute, not giggling when Puck locked their eyes, not shying away when Puck had grasped his hand, and certainly not mashing their faces together like his burning, bubbling lust was telling him to.

Do it, something that was clearly not his conscious told him, it'll feel great, and he's drunk. He won't remember a thing. Hell, he'll probably like it.

Sam locked his jaw in an effort to dissipate his thoughts. That was wrong – he couldn't take advantage of a friend. Especially one in a state like Puck's. He would just help out a friend, and then that would be the end of story. Sam concentrated more on the here and now as he pulled into his street. The rain had stopped, and apart from the squelching friction of Puck's cheek against his window, the car ride was completely silent.

"We're here," Sam announced, pulling into the driveway. Puck's attention was still occupied by the window, though, and he didn't notice. Sam watched. It was amazing how the simple sliding of his face, then the jerk of lowering the window too far, was enough for him to laugh babyishly. The blonde shook away his thoughts as he turned off the engine. Puck stayed, leaning against the window expectantly, pushing into it harder when it didn't move. Sam jumped out the car and walked around to the passenger door, opening it. He must have been concentrating too hard on thinking unsexy thoughts, or else he might have foreseen Puck tipping out the vehicle.

"The hell?" He said roughly as Puck fell on him. He hastily jabbed the seatbelt ejector, only for Puck to fall further, arms enclosing Sam in a hug. Sam quietly admitted to himself that he liked the feeling; being surrounded by a part of Puck everywhere. He was kind of glad Puck wasn't in a rush to release his grip. Puck managed to get on his own feet, but had somehow maintained the hug, which was now awkwardly threaded through Sam's arms. Blushing slightly, the blonde retracted himself from the embrace.

"I think there's a first aid kit inside," he blurted, trying to focus his attention on healing Puck a little. He motioned for his friend to follow him, but he staggered (in a way reminiscent of his father), and Sam had to place an arm over his shoulder and aide him up the front steps. He took fortifying breaths as Puck lightly massaged his shoulder for some godforsaken reason. He shuddered at the rubbing motion, willing for blood not to pool downwards. Puck's hand slid down Sam as he obliviously looked for the house keys.

"It's only me tonight," Sam explained, still fishing for his keys, "the family's gone to visit Tennes- haha, hey! Stop it!" Sam giggled, pulling Puck's hand away from under his ribs. The drunk teen was probing the area with a vivid curiosity, which gave Sam the oddest visceral feelings.

"Aw," Puck drawled, "Sammy's a li'l tickly." He snaked his hand out from around Sam and placed it on his abs, pressing down. "And sexy!" he gasped, with more exclamation than needed.

Sam protested with a meek laugh (why the surprised tone?). The effort of keeping his smouldering emotions under control had him vibrating at Puck's touch, but he was still determined to stand his ground. Besides, he could just jerk off later. "You're a touchy drunk," was all he could think of to reply. He grinned at Puck's gazing smile. From his place resting against the wall, Puck watched as Sam unlocked the door. Sam could feel the gaze burning into him, and he cautiously turned, looking up to meet it. He did this partly out of hope Puck would withdraw on a reciprocated gaze, but also just to know how it felt to share a loving, intimate gaze, even for just the briefest of moments. Just so he could memorise the specks of green in hazel eyes, and learn the details from a more personal perspective, so his daydreams could have pinpricks from reality. Falling into a cliché stereotype, Sam lost himself in the moment, mouth slightly ajar, dragging the glance into a full blown gawk, which Puck ended by seductively raising his eyebrows. This allowed Sam to twitch and regain his senses, painfully aware of how head over heels he had been.

Even though it was thoroughly damaged, the amusement on Puck's face was clear. Sam felt as if Puck had stared straight past his eyes and into his soul, the current silence suggesting that Puck had learnt his secrets and desire.

Damn, he can pull moves, sober or not, Sam thought peevishly. This was only going to make things so much harder, in more ways than one. Sam walked ahead of Puck, leaving him to use the house walls for stability.

"In here," Sam called, turning into the laundry. He opened the cabinet next to a hamper of dirty clothes to receive a first aid kit. Puck didn't respond, but his puerile giggling was heard from two rooms over, and Sam knew what room he had found. He raced into his bedroom to find Puck admiring the posters on his wall.

"Hehehe," Puck giggled, collapsing onto the bed. "They're all –hic- blue people."

"Shut up," Sam retorted quickly, wasting no time in heaving Puck off the bed and pushing him into the laundry. He tried to hide the flush in his cheeks as Puck smiled lazily at his reduced legwork. "Sit here," he ordered, pointing to the washing machine. Puck obeyed in silence, pouting at the change in tone. He kicked his legs nervously, fidgeting with his hands. Sam retrieved a face towel and soaked it in water, wiping Puck's face clean of dirt and dry blood.

"I'd let you do this yourself, but you'd probably cause more harm than good," he explained between scrubbing Puck's face, which was begrudgingly scrunched. "Now, this may hurt a little," Sam warned, dripping some antiseptic onto a different cloth. This time, he gingerly dabbed at the cuts, faltering when Puck hissed to cope with the pain. He felt Puck's face tense as the last of the open wounds were coated, and sighed. "I still think the hospital is the best option," Sam said brusquely. He had no clue why he wasn't driving Puck there, whether he liked it or not, but for some reason the teen was intent to avoid the place at all costs.

"Nu-uh," Puck replied, swinging his head left and right. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can't."

"Well, why not?"

Puck paused, and stopped kicking his legs. "Cause- cause these aren't from m' juvie buds," he confessed. His eyes were glued to his now still feet.

"What?"

"Pa's – Pa's back again."

"Again?" Sam pressed. He nearly felt guilty about persisting into Puck's personal affairs, but the poor guy looked so alone – he was probably dying to confide in someone. Knowing Puck, his pride would have corked the bottle of his 'feminine' emotions, but that didn't seem to be an issue in his intoxicated state. In fact, coherent with Sam's prior premonition, he seemed almost relieved by it.

"He always comes back," Puck revealed bitterly. "Once a month, -hic- at least. Dead drunk and ready to hand me a bashing – hic." He looked up, pleading. "No one can find out. Please – please don't tell anyone, -hic- Sammy?" Puck forced prolonged eye contact again, and Sam could see nothing but complete honesty and a slight fear of judgement. It was the first set of sentences that wasn't slurred (though it was still intermissioned by hiccups). Sam took it as a sign of sincerity. He gazed over Puck's face once more. The wounds seemed worse now – not physically, but knowing that someone could to this to their own child would have made a lot more scars underneath skin. Sam's relationship with his father was good, and he couldn't possibly imagine how fractured it would have to get for him to be in Puck's place. He swallowed heavily, not knowing his next move. Telling someone would help, indefinitely, but at what price for Puck? It was his objective to let it remain as his one pitiful secret.

"Sure, I won't tell." Sam smiled guardedly, exhaling through his nostrils. Their eyes were silently exchanging words, words of trust and understanding. And not of judgement, for which Puck was incredibly grateful for. There was another brief pause, and Puck relaxed, which Sam hadn't seen him do at all that night. His shoulders shrunk, and he took a deep exhale. He was safe, and he knew that, and it allowed him to let his guard down a little.

Unfortunately for Sam, he mirrored the body movement a little too forwardly, and the second Puck noticed he jumped off the washing machine and darted out of the room with surprising agility.

"Shit," Sam breathed, caught by surprise. His brain was clouded, still thinking about how he was just having a total moment with Puck.

Come on, Sam thought to himself, his craving get the better of him. You have to admit that wasn't a look that friends give each other. It was the one potential lovers share while one cleans the others dirt-ridden wounds and the other shyly confesses domestic abuse. His countenance deadpanned as he heard himself think. Well now that didn't seem desperate at all, did it? That was Sam's common sense, logically tearing away Sam's hope as he needed it to. You're also forgetting the idiot's drunk and probably tried the same moves on every person he met before collapsing in the park. It would explain why the hell he's here, of all places. Sam's subconscious stood on the offensive, firing insults to give Sam some thinking room.

Don't get upset, Sam, you know no good can come out of this. Sam's subconscious was quickly advancing through undertones: first angry and explanative, and now to pity, and it was working. He's a stud and sleeps with people as if his dick is gonna fall off the next day. Even if you did have a shot, it's not like he'd keep you. That was the final nail in the coffin, and Sam looked down miserably, knowing he was right. He had no chance with Puck. A drunken one night stand was not what he wanted: he had too much dignity for that.

Sam exhaled, all his hopes leaving with his breath. He walked out of the laundry and followed the sounds of heavy breathing to find Puck. He was still going to help the poor bloke – he was just going to detach all feeling so the pain would lessen. That sounded about right. The teen in question was in the living, sucking on a bottle of beer as if it was liquid gold. He was sitting on the sofa, legs sprawled invitingly. Despite the airtight lock his lips had around the neck of the bottle, Puck's shirt was absolutely drenched in the fluid.

"God, will you stop drinking?" Sam asked in exasperation, angrily tearing the bottle away from Puck and sitting on the couch opposite him.

"But it heeelps," he whined. Now that his hands were free, he seemed to notice his saturated top. "Eugh, -hic-, sticky," he said to it.

Sam began to scold him, but was lost mid-sentence as Puck hoisted his shirt over his shoulder, dropping it beside him to rub his hands over his exposed chest. "You really shouldn't drink… so… mu…" Sam's jaw was left hanging as Puck failed to knead the stickiness from his chest.

"Tha's betta," Puck marvelled, not noticing Sam subtly cross his legs. "Why's your mouth open?"

"Hm? Oh, uh, no-no reason," Sam choked in reply, his cheeks flushed. "Where did you get the beer?"

"Fridge," Puck replied smugly, raising his well-defined arms to rest behind his head. "I can sniff the stuff out from. –hic-, anywhere."

"Uhhh…. You sure got a lot of it on your shirt." Sam scratched the nape of his neck, unable to help but notice Puck's torso was undamaged, looking fresh and undamaged in comparison to his face. Not that his face wasn't attractive; Sam still wanted to jump the kid, bruises or no bruises.

"I –hic- dropped the first," Puck revealed thickly, waving dismissively at a discarded beer bottle on the floor. It had left a pool on the rug, and Sam probably would have lost it if he was listening. But he was entranced by Puck's appearance.

After careful consideration, Sam concluded that the cuts somehow made Puck look hotter. They were like war scars, proudly on display after battle. And, God, pool cleaning did great favours in giving his body one hell of a caramel tan. He looked so perfect, as if God himself had carved him from marble. Everything about Puck screamed stud: the firm Mohawk, the battle scars, the drinking, the body-

How's operation 'No Emotion' coming along? His thoughts blindsided him with a sneer. He had been lost in his thoughts again, staring absently at… Puck's nipple ring. Great. That wasn't suss at all, especially since Puck himself had noticed.

"Dude," Puck said seriously. Sam licked his lips and gulped down a breath before nodded. Puck beckoned him to lean forward, and they craned closer to each other. Sam could feel Puck's bated breath as he spoke with satisfaction. "It's hot, isn't it?" The serious tone was gone, catching Sam off guard. He opened and closed his mouth, like a fish, his wordless sounds of endless amusement to Puck. Sam could only wonder if the guy knew how much he was tempting him by sitting half naked and slightly sticky on his couch.

"You can touch it if you want," Puck proposed drunkenly, biting his lip. He had his flirty eyes on, and his smile was mischievous. "Feels like ice." He hissed seductively, tugging on the ring itself. Sam struggled with his multiple twitches, and his legs were now crossed tighter than ever before. Sam's attempts at controlling himself were a major turn on for Puck. He viewed it as a challenge – and he had no doubt he could win the boy over in the end. To urge the smouldering emotions into revealing themselves, to result in fierce, sweaty sex was pretty much all he wanted.

"Really?" Sam said hopefully, looking up before realizing what he was doing. He blinked owlishly. "Wait, what? Um, no thanks." He swore under his breath for being so foolish.

Puck ravished in watching, letting out a low, content sigh. He enjoyed this, for some reason. He had convinced himself he wasn't doing anything immoral – after all, it was fairly obvious the blond wanted it. He was just trying extremely hard not to cave into his feelings for some reason. But he would in the end, because Puck wanted him to do just that.

"Do ya know wha' would make me feel better?" Puck asked. Sam shrugged. "A song." He leaned in the direction of the stereo in a disorderly fashion, smashing the buttons with his sticky fingers. Sam pulled a face as residue was left on the knob of the volume. "You should sing t'me, -hic-. It makes me feel good." Puck relaxed back into his seat, batting his eyelashes as a song familiar to both of them permeated the atmosphere. As soon as Sam starting singing Puck jumped from his seat to be next to him, looking on with anticipation. Sam was painfully aware of the fixed gaze.

"In this room of darkness I ain't undercover,
That won't stop my prowess rubbing off on to another.
Elevating higher as my body's moving lower,
Now I've reached my element you better move over, ohhh."

Sam hoped the last line would give Puck a clue, but he only interpreted it as a lyric, not a suggestion. Sam felt like he had no choice but to return the eye contact, and Puck's eyes were searching without direction.

But he doesn't he blocks my way," Puck sang, nudging Sam with his shoulder. Sam allowed himself a giggle as he realized what Puck was doing. Acting out the lyrics. How cute. Somehow, the elevated blood to alcohol content had no effect on Puck's pitch or voice. It was solidly professional, and Sam stared at Puck's mouth, watching his lips shape the words. He continued singing from there, but with timely interjections from his duet partner.

"I try to push past-"

"But he wants to play."

"So I sip his drink-"

"As I hold his gaze, ooh!" Puck raised a suggestive eyebrow, but Sam still didn't get it. Exasperated, he pressed the stereo off with a balled fist. He had begun to sober up now, enough so he was able to speak without intermittent hiccups, but not enough to have a crisp lucidity. It was probably what helped him in the end.

"What's your game, Evans?" he inquired. Sam jumped slightly at the direct address.

"Wha-?"

"I've been dropping hints all night. I know you want me. What are you so afraid of?"

Sam looked like a deer in headlights. He stared at his sneakers, spluttering nonsense as he picked at a thread on his jumper's cuffs. He looked intensely distressed, and Puck was getting worried. He did the only thing that usually worked, and cupped Sam's cheeks in his hands, bringing him in for a sloppy kiss. Sam's berry flavoured Chap Stick flavoured the kiss more than Puck's booze. Puck could feel how incredibly tense and stone Sam was being, so he soothed his thumbs into the boy's cheeks. He relaxed a little, lips puckering but not opening.

"Relax, kid," Puck said, breaking them apart. "I want you." The look of abashed guilt on Sam's face lessened the second time Puck leaned in. This time, Sam was edged on by unrestrained, lust fuelled thoughts. He returned with passion, smashing their lips together with hunger. Puck was taken aback only for a second, before grinning into the kiss and dragging his hands through Sam's hair. He loved the roughness on both sides, something he had never experienced before. Sam opened him mouth, granting Puck's tongue access through his luscious lips. Puck quickly withdrew, tugging Sam's hair and licking up his neck. Sam moaned in appreciation, raking his hands along Puck's back, relishing the contact of the firm muscles.

Puck's tongue had traced the full circumference of Sam's lips once more before he pulled back. "You want me too," he teased, in between gravelly breaths.

"A little," Sam admitted submissively. It was a bit hard to deny when his nails were digging at Puck's lower back. All his prior hesitations quickly dissipated as Puck rubbed all the way up his thigh.

"Then come get me," Puck ordered. And with that, Sam wasted no time in straddling the boy, pushing himself against Puck's sticky chest, desperate for the contact he convinced himself he would never receive.