The voice hits Sam like a jolt of lightning straight through his body. His back straightens instantly and he can't help but remember a time when that same voice had his back writhing and constricting. He really shouldn't be having those thoughts. It's been months since he left McKinley, and this isn't even the first time that he's sworn he's heard Puck's voice. It's never Puck. But that doesn't stop Sam from turning slowly towards the door.
The lightning hits him straight in the chest then. That's actually Puck. The signature mohawk and smug grin circle Sam in a warm bath of familiarity. Home. Puck's hands are in his pockets, the way they always are when Puck does something sweet or honest. He did the same thing on their first date. Thoughts of that horrible night make Sam want to grimace. He stops himself, or rather Puck does just by speaking.
Puck's casual, as if he didn't just fly to the other side of the country just to see Sam on what should be their anniversary. When he talks, he does so as if they haven't been apart for five months and seventeen days. Again, Sam flashes back to that first date. He can still taste the Fruit Loops and feel the roughness of the bandages brushing against his cheeks. The memory leaves Sam breathless. Maybe that's why he doesn't respond to Puck's simple
Sam stays out of gossip. He meant it when he said that he wasn't looking for drama at McKinley. He tries not to hear who likes whom and what diseases are floating through the underclassmen. Still, he would have to live inside of a Sue Sylvester guarded, soundproof, cement enclosed, indestructible bubble not to know about what happened with Quinn, Puck, and Finn in sophomore year.
The day after he found out, he watched hours of 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom to try and understand a bit of the situation. He wound up watching it religiously just so that he would be useful if any of the group ever talked to him about it. For the longest time, it seemed like no one would.
Then there's this knock on the motel room door. It's early June and school is just about finished junior year. He figures it's the pizza man or something. It's Puck. With knuckles bloodied and covered in a million band-aids, with blue paint dripping off of the front of his shirt, and with this... face that makes Sam want to just pull him into the biggest hug in the universe. Sam figures in that moment that Puck must be some kind of kryptonite for him. He thinks lots of dumb stuff like that whenever Puck's around. They're not dumb because Puck's a guy; they're dumb because Puck is, well, Puck. The name meaning the guy who won't really talk after the failure that is Nationals and then shows up on Sam's doorstep looking like a thoroughly abused bulldog.
Puck hesitates before walking in. He seems to take in his appearance and question whether or not he should actually be there. Sam just opens the door wider and says, "It's not the Four Seasons. We can like make a mess or whatever." It's not really succinct or helpful, but Puck at least goes inside.
Sam watches him some more. Puck's back is really rigid. Like as firm as Sue's hatred for Schuester rigid. Like Sam's love for Lord of the Rings rigid. Like-
"Almost two years ago, I slept with Quinn. She got pregnant. She had the kid and... Beth turned one a few weeks ago. I only saw her once. She was in this little crib with all these other babies around her. She was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. I made that. I mean, I'm half the reason she's alive. But she lives with Rachel's birth mom in some random ass place that I'm not going to say the name of because it always makes her feel so close and so far away at the same time and - fuck - I can't do this shit. I can't walk around like it didn't happen. I've got a kid. What have I done since her that matters? I peaked with her. That's like the highlight of my whole fucking life right now. And I can't talk about this with Quinn or Finn or Hummel or anybody. So I'm here, with you, because you don't know about this stuff. You don't care that Finn and Quinn were together then. You don't care that we nearly lost Regionals back then because of me. You don't give a shit. I wish I didn't. I wish I didn't just spend thirty minutes trying to paint my truck after punching it until my knuckles bled. It's not nearly as badass and refreshing when this shit gets into the cuts. It sucks. Everything sucks. And I'm not looking for you to fix it or paint my car or even do anything. Just let me sit here with you, okay? Okay?"
Sam's kind of still processing everything Puck just said so he doesn't really have the mental capacity to say much more than "Okay" back. It's enough for Puck though, who just sort of collapses onto the bed. Sam follows suit.
Farrah doesn't care about her kid the way Puck cares about Beth. That's one of the first conscious thoughts Sam has on the subject. That and Farrah doesn't deserve a television show when other people have real stuff going on that matters. This stuff with Puck matters. A lot. What does Sam say to all of that? To any of that? He's not sure. He normally just eats when he can't figure things out.
Sam reaches over to the abandoned box of Fruit Loops on the ground. His comfort food might be good for something here. He offers it over to Puck who takes one look at it before snatching out a handful and crunching loudly. Sam grabs a few pieces and tosses them to the back of his throat. A few bites later and he feels a little better. He turns to say something - a joke that his sister told him - but he never gets that far. He never hears the box of cereal hit the floor. He never sees the unabridged pleas in Puck's eyes. He never even registers what's actually happening until there's a tongue in his mouth and this fire coursing through his veins so strongly that his body jumps away from the heat. Where can he go when it's inside of him? Around him? In them? In this kiss.
Puck's lips are forceful. Strong and imposing, they take no prisoners. They force a response out of Sam, not like he isn't offering one. It's like they're fighting for Middle Earth and Darth and Voldemort and, hell, Dr. Drakken all dove in there just to lead to this cosmic explosion of everything that Sam thought to be just. The world is actually flat and octagonal with brown water and polar bears that do the hula like Timon at the end of The Lion King. They thrust forward to end the song and Puck extracts himself from Sam just as quickly as he attacked. His hands pull away slowly, allowing the bandages to rub against Sam's flushed cheeks. The moment feels very last touch in Titanic. Sam really needs to stop watching movies. Or referencing them at least. He needs to do something. Say something. What was that joke he was going to tell?
"What did the farmer say to the other farmer when he lost his tractor?" Sam blurts. Puck glances at him quickly and says nothing. Sam shrugs and says, "'Where's my tractor?'"
For the third time, the room is deathly silent. Sam almost wants to go find his sister and push her down on the grass wherever she is for the horrible ice breaker. Then Puck smiles. And then he laughs. And then he flops back so he's laying on the bed, which really just makes Sam think about the shape of the world and the state of his hormones with reverence and longing.
"That's the dumbest joke I've ever heard," Puck says. He leans up a bit and makes eye contact with Sam. The pleas are muted now, much less demanding but no less deserving. Puck just wants to feel like he isn't the world's biggest failure. Then again, don't we all? "I might even listen to more if we get out of here. It's kind of lame that all you have to eat are Fruit Loops. I want meat so greasy that my arteries explode just at the sight of it."
That makes the longing a little easier. Typical Puck. If he's going back to normal, Sam will too.
Sam grins and asks, "Should I bring the band-aids?"