Title:iBlew it
Oneshot:
Author: Caalan
Genre: Fluffy epiphany
Pairing: Seddie
Rating: Oh, definitely an implied T for teen
Summary: Basically Sam's thoughts in the weeks following iKiss. Oh, Freddie is in there, but it's all about Sam. ;)
Notes: I've watched that scene…a lot. And there is this look that cross Sam's face just before the kiss ends and just after. I was always a bit bothered by her inaction in those moments and wanted to write away a reason.
I blew it.
I'm sitting here in Mr. Montgomery's class pondering that one thing, that one moment…again. It seems if Carly or Freddie isn't in the class to make me pay attention, my mind strays. And lately, it always strays back to a particular fire escape at Bushwell Plaza. I blew it. I had that one chance and I blew it. He just threw it out there, like the most beautifully placed lob over home plate. I'm not one to miss opportunities like that and when offered such an easy hit, I swung at it.
I kissed him. No, he kissed me. I sat there like I was locking lips with a meatball. No. I take that back. I would have reacted much more strongly had I been kissing a meatball. I'm pretty sure of it.
So why did I just sit there, eyes wide open, stunned into stillness? Because I'd wanted it and right up until his lips touched mine I didn't think he would. I was afraid to move. I was afraid to put my own feelings and reactions into it for fear that he would recognize I was not the one he had been waiting for and pull away.
Now I know…I blew it.
That was my chance. My chance to show him something other than his vision of perfection. My chance to show him that there is beauty in flaws. That passion isn't something that comes in a pretty package with a neat and trim bow. That there is something worthwhile in being loud, and messy, and unpredictable.
No. I sat there, surprised that he'd followed through, shocked by the care and softness behind his kiss. It didn't seem like he wanted to just get it over with in that moment, and just as I realized that, he pulled back. Maybe I'd imagined it then. I certainly didn't offer him anything to steer him away from his vision of the perfect romance. Yeah, I blew it.
I knew it the second he sat back with that look on his face. That look of comparison and compartmentalization. So I turned away to leave because I didn't want to see the final result. And when his soft voice offered up that more familiar emotion, the one I'd been hiding behind, I agreed. Then I left…crushed.
And so we fell back to what I know. The jabs. The insults. The pranks. And I admit, in hindsight, that I was probably a little more physical than usual, a little more violent. I projected my anger at myself for my inaction into a flurry of slaps, punches, digs, and jibes.
Except…maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe.
He has been pulling a few pranks too. Turned in a full-fledged sonnet with my name on it that I'd ended up having to read aloud in class. An ode to my love of fried chicken, which really kind of made me smile, but I beat him for it anyway, for having to read in class. He actually tied my hair to my desk when I fell asleep in class. Yeah, that went over about as well as a pregnant pole-vaulter. When I finally detached myself from the veneer, I hunted him down and practiced one of the moves I learned from Jackson Colt.
The kicker? He injected mouthwash into my Lo-Fat fatcakes. With a syringe from his mother's aggressively large first aid kit. He's really starting to think these things out. Which means, maybe…maybe…he's thinking of me a lot more too.
The bell rings and for once I head directly toward my locker. Normally I hang back and talk, annoy, or plot rather than admit I need tools or preparation for another class. Today, however, I'm apathetic to display any personality at all, and opt to just get my books and go. And there he is.
He's hunched over, shoulders up to his ears, like he's hiding something. His quick sidelong glances confirm my suspicions and I slide casually out of his line of sight and watch as he struggles to get the lid off a jar of Nutella. The little twerp is planning to smear it all over my lock and handle.
And then I know. I hadn't blown it at all. At least not completely. Freddie has spent more time this month plotting pranks than producing any substantial ideas for iCarly, which translates to Sam over Carly. And even though I had not consciously entered into any competition for his affections, I still feel as if I've won a tiny battle. He's willingly putting himself into my line of fire…a lot.
I sneak up behind him, and just as he's about to place his goo-covered finger on my locker's latch, I grasp his wrist very firmly. He pales a little as he turns and wiggles a bit to see if he's strong enough to break and run. I wait until his gaze returns to mine, hold his wrist higher, and resolutely lean forward and suck the nutty goo off his finger with a practiced swirl of my tongue. His mouth falls open in shock. The plastic tumbler of Nutella drops to the floor, bounces a tiny protest, and rolls away forgotten.
With one more firm and completely unnecessary swirl, I release his finger with a purposeful pop. We stand there for an awkward moment, gazes locked. I can't help but grin as his synapses finally fire and he fumbles in weird way and drags his book bag more toward the front of his khakis. Yes, there is indeed a battle raging.
Game on, boy, Momma plays to win.
Fin.
A/N: Hoped you enjoyed it!