Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ICARLY! That should not come as a big surprise.
Dishevelment.
For mine and your enjoyment.
Also for Sharkofthemist120's challenge.
Sam was exasperated. 6 hours in a car with Spencer singing show tunes and who knows what else, being squished in the back seat next to Freddie, and having to go a long period of time with not-so-much food…well, let's just say she wasn't happy. And now this. Stupid techgeek who had straight A's had proved his real smarts once again. I.e.: none whatsoever.
Geez, she and Carly already had to drag "the guy in the bumble-bee shirt" to admit he was the least bit apologetic toward Fred, the genius comedian. She was tired of having to get Freddie to try and stick up for himself, instead of having Carly or even her to do it. Plus she had to touch that nub-ish shirt. That, in fact, she had told Freddie approximately 7 hours, 4 minutes, and 34 seconds ago, that the polo made him look like a bumble-bee and to go find something that wasn't so obviously dorky. Why didn't her listen to her in the first place?
It would have saved her a lot of trouble. Especially now that he was back to doing the next stupid techgeek thing.
"Say you think that my videos are funny," Fred calmly stated.
Freddie paused for a moment, a disconcerting look on his face, "No."
"C'mon!" Carly was just as fed-up as she was.
"Freddie!" Now is not the time to finally get a spine. Remember spineless "For me?" Freddie? Gosh, now is NOT the time. Sam listened to her stomach growl as her own throat cupped the same sound so effortlessly.
"We're in a tree house in Idaho! Just say it!" At least SOMEONE had a brain. "Say it!" Ooh, she sounds mad.
And of course, Freddie just stands there, instead of heeding to Carly's every whim like usual, and dumbly emits the phrase, "Why should I say it?"
Instead of waiting for Carly's famous "for me?" plead, (which sickened her beyond belief, I mean she was the one that kis…nevermind) Sam took matters into her own hands. She was doing him a favor now, as her growl was finally heard and slurred into, "Lemme talk to the boy!"
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I know that they wanted me to, and perhaps I should have said it, but when Sam comes flying at me and pushes me behind a wall that was oh-so-conveniently put there, I thought that was just a tad unnecessary, don't you? I knew in that spilt second, I was dead. "Sam!"
"Can I use this?" she asks, rather bluntly. Uh-oh, I gulp. It's a tennis racket. I know I can't expect any mercy from Mr. Thinks-he-rules-the-world-because-he's-a-YouTube-sensation. "Please," he snides.
Then, she marches toward me with the tennis racket. Everything that follows goes by in such a flash, I'm not sure I totally believe it happened.
One minute, I'm protesting, "Sam, no! Get away from me!"
The next she's rather…seductively…um…glancing…at me.
And then her voice is so low and fast, I can't believe it. "Fredward, if you value your life at all, you are going to do what I tell you. You are going to act like I'm severely hurting you."
I'm totally puzzled at this point.
She sighs, obviously impatient for me to catch up. Hey, it's only been like .5 seconds, since she….
Then she grabs my hand, and slowly presses, almost pinching my wrist and the weirdest thing happens, it sort of, feels…makes me want…more. But, of course, it hurts all at the same time. "No, ow! Not there!" I screech. I just want her to stop! '
Then she twists my neck around and I can feel her lips roughly against mine.
"You'll do what I say, Benson, correct?" She whispers into my lips. And then drops the racket, clattering it onto the floor.
I am so surprised that I, embarrassingly, let out this girlish scream. She's…confusing…me so much that my voice is now ten times higher, cracking. I hear her chuckle at this.
Between raucous, awfully brief kisses, she tugs on the sleeve of my shirt, and then bangs the tennis racket against the wall right next to my head, as if to prove a point.
Snap.
Oh.
"Oh, good gravy!" Sam laughs at my expression, and my slightly unconvincing tone. It's about a pitch or two too high. But, hey, I'm just proud it sounds this normal. She resumes my coercion, throwing the racket into something that shatters very loudly, and puts her hands through my hair.
Then, all too soon she releases our lips; pressing her fingers, once again, smartly into that place by my wrist ("Ow! Ow!"), grabs the now obliterated racket, and drags me back out to Carly and the Fred character.
I realize how disheveled I look, with my hair messed up by Sam, my collar messed up by Sam, being dragged by Sam, and breathing heavily by Sam. And she's all managed to do it in about 8 seconds, a very familiar amount of time for us. She looks fine; a bit mad, cheeks faintly pink from what could be mistaken for anger, but her breathing is hunky-dory. I guess she stole all my oxygen in our little, um, episode.
She drops the racket once more onto the floor and all together digs her nails in the spot.
I was truly afraid of what would happen if I didn't say what Fred wanted me too.
Because, here I was, again: out-smarted, shaken, afraid, curious, and…attracted to Sam Puckett.
And that was the scariest, most striking, maybe even most wonderful thought ever.
A/N: Yay! It's finished! I likes this one-shot muchly. This idea came to me as soon as I saw this scene. I hope you guys liked it too :) And I'm excited that this encounter did last, approximately 8 seconds from where I watched it online.
Also, sorry about the wait on my story, I'm currently having some issues with POV and real life people, and homework. It should be up…sometime.
Hehe, I have to share this with y'all. It's the dialogue for when I first wrote up what Freddie yelled from the scene. It makes me laugh:
No, ow! Not there!
*Girlish scream*
Snap.
Oh, good gravy!
Another snap.
Ow! Ow!
Anyhow, I hope you like it and puh-lease drop a review!
Peace out,
Eyes Wide Shut.