When he grabbed his hand, his touch was warm. Sam felt himself flashback to their nights in the Puckerman household, sneaking kisses and small gropes when they were alone. He suddenly flashbacked to their nights in bed, after the passion had died, when he would pretend to be asleep, and he'd feel Noah move in bed, rise onto his elbows, grab Sam's limp hand and press his lips to it. He would be gently forceful, icy warm, relaxingly arousing…

And Puck would whisper hotly against his skin with slightly wet lips. "I love your huge lips, your hair, your boy-band voice, how nerdy you are…"

And Sam would stir, and Puck would kiss his face as Sam opened his eyes, the fire returning, Puck's hands roaming down to grasp on…

Be he was in McKinley High, Puck was the bad-ass and he was the comic book nerd. Here, he and Puck weren't an item, they didn't have sex – no, make love – every night, they were just jocks.

But when Puck's fingers brushed his, when his lips touched the back of his hand, he didn't flinch. He only smiled. Because this, the little moment like these were they forget about their double-lives, where what helped through the day.