Puck sauntered over to a man resting on the brick wall outside the bar. He seemed at peace, watching the night air cloud with his breath and listening to the crickets.
Puck has a cigarette between his lips, but maneuvers it to the side to speak. "Whatcha doing all alone, hot stuff?" He asked, taking a drag.
Sam blushed furiously before spluttering: "Came here to fart."
Puck snorts, smoke billowing out of his nose as Sam pats him hard on the back. "Fuck man, you really suck at this role playing thing," Puck says when he's recovered. "That wasn't who you were supposed to be."
"How do you know that?" Sam said, crossing his arms. "I could have been playing a guy who needed to fart in privacy."
Puck chuckled, walking around Sam and hugging him under his shoulders. "That's not romantic." He spoke lowly, right into Sam's ear. He swayed a little. "We're supposed to pretend like we strangers. Like my boyfriends out of town and you're just in need for a good fuck. Then we go back to ours and go at it like rabbits for an hour or so." Even from over the shoulder, Puck can tell Sam liked the idea. His eyes aren't looking anywhere, as if he's picturing them as cowboy and policeman beneath the sheets. Puck grazed his hands over Sam's jeans, squeezing the hardening bulge that's there.
Sam moaned softly. Puck grabbed him by the hand and led him back to their car. "Come on," he said with a grin. "My boyfriend's out of town until tomorrow night."