Maybe it was the oxytocin high he got from it all. Skin on skin contact did produce a rather lovely drug in the body's own system. It was also a way to show that he did truly and deeply care about individuals, even when some times he could be vicious or otherwise upsetting with some of his comedicly intended commentary.<br/><br/>"Aye, bravery and fearlessness are two entirely different things. I like you for your own bravery, though. You are not afraid of being yourself. You're truthful. I like that. Most people deceive; the world, themselves. But not you, nor I." Which is probably funny coming from someone whose nom de guerre was the prototypical trickster. But the fact was, Puck never did lie. He just used the truth in a creative way, and it wasn't his fault if people made bad assumptions!<br/><br/>But Scar had proven herself to get it. "I don't think I've ever been afraid before. Probably the Irish in me. Three things scare an Irishman: The Wee Folk, the pub running out of whiskey, and of course, an Irish Woman." He said with a laugh. It's perhaps especially funny because Puck wasn't the sort to drink. He might have an occasional celebratory toast with his troupe, but nine times out of ten, soda, coffee, and tea were as exciting as he got. In truth, for all his apparent freedom, there was one thing that terrified him: losing control of himself.<br/><br/>That he allows Scar to have moments of controlling him, of being on top metaphorically or literally, showed just how much he trusted her. "Mmmm, four poster bed. Will it come with hard points for bondage, or do we have to add those ourselves?" He pondered aloud, his grin turning downright devilish. "I volunteer to be tied up and sacrificed first." He smooched her on the forehead, then stroked her hair affectionately. "We'll get you a sexy cop uniform, and you can handcuff me, and<em>interrogate</em>me." Always with the crazy ideas. At least she'd never have to worry about a boring sex life!<br/><br/>Also, much like Scar, Puck really wasn't one for wearing clothes when he didn't need to. Like, boxers and socks was his default. Maybe throw a flannel on if it was chilly. Actual clothes were only for outside the house. Or, you know, when guests come over.<br/><br/>When she touches him, if she happens to run a hand over any of the red streaks she left on him, his breath catches in his throat in a sort of delighted way; like a suppressed moan. And going right back, full circle, to the cuddling: she reciprocated with him. That made him feel accepted, which is probably why she is the longest relationship he's ever had: most people couldn't or wouldn't truly accept him.<br/><br/>A dream girl in a dream home; he makes it a point to let her see him pinch himself, just to make sure this wasn't... "I guess this isn't a mid summer's night's dream." Cue the cheeky grin. "But it sure does feel that way, aye?"