As per usual I don't know what this is. Just that I wrote it.
Disclaimer: They are disclaimed.
"If I had a ham right now I'd name him Stanley. Stanley the happy ham. Has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?"
Despite my efforts to sound cheery and light, she only grunts in return. I look at her now. She's lying near comatose on the lawn chair. Her eyes are half-open, though only in an effort to keep them from closing. I can't decide whether she looks serene right now or chaotic. Probably a combination of both, I compromise. I direct my gaze over the railing (trying to just to keep my eyes off her, if only for a little while), and decide to try again.
"If I jump off, do you think I would fly off into a rainbow or turn into a person sized puddle on the pavement? Because I think either one would be awesome", I say in my best "pondering" voice.
She only groans because she knows I'm not that morbid or even that dumb. I sneak another peak now, that turns to a full on gaze when I see that her eyes are now fully closed. God, she's looks so freakin' angelic. Her inky feather soft hair is sticking to her forehead and her lips are slightly parted. I have to look swiftly away, swallowing hard. By now, I've had enough of her not-quite-an-answer answers, so I try a more effective tactic.
Using my most seductive voice, I manage to purr, "It's fine if you don't answer me. After all, I like my Carly all hot, sweaty, and reduced to monosyllabic grunts."
I finally get a reaction after all my attempts. She turns that deep cherry color I absolutely adore and moves to take a swat at the back of my head. Chortling, I move off our shared space, to avoid her half-hearted attempts at violence (yeah, that's my explanation. It doesn't have anything to do with the fact that when she blushes, I suddenly feel the need to kiss the living daylights out of her). My laughter stops when I see how she droops over the lawn chair when I don't occupy my half.
Sighing, I move to peel her off the seat, picking her up as if she was a sack of potatoes. Most beautiful sack of potatoes I've ever seen. I head off the roof, carrying her gently making sure not to jostle her. Her eyes are closed, and she doesn't protest.
I'm all the while trying to imitate the oh so suave "I-don't-care-about-this-Greek-goddess-I'm-carrying" look. This is as more of a lie then saying that Freddie is remotely cool. Which he is not. I leave the lawn chair on the roof, because nobody in this building would dare mess with my Carly, 'cause the police would never find the body of that dumbass.
I can feel the flush creeping up my neck (even though I will it to stop), as I walk us down the stairs. Ain't my fault she looks so perfect all the time. She looks as if she's sleeping except for one hand that's come up and started playing with one of my blond curls. As if I couldn't concentrate before, she snuggles closer. I can't see straight anymore (could I ever?) and it's all I can do to get us to the door of the Shay's apartment without running into a wall or a person.
She groans my name then, calling me quietly and tells me to take us to her room. I oblige willingly. Quickening my pace, as my heartbeat does the same, I carry her into her room, moving past Spencer who is seemingly passed out on the ground. Ah, well.
I open her door and enter the room that has as much of my stuff as it does hers (I counted to make sure). I lay her on the bed, watching her hair spill all over the pillow. The rate at which my heart is going can not be healthy.
"Sam?" she murmurs nearly inaudibly.
I lean forward eager to grant her what ever she desires. God, I'm so whipped it's not even funny any more.
"Make sure Spencer is still breathing."
Doesn't she understand that it causes me actual physical pain to be away from her? But, as I exist for the singular purpose so as to make her happy, I get up and do as she says, albeit unwillingly. There has to be a law somewhere against loving someone this much.
As, I enter the living room I notice that Spencer has moved, twisted in a way that makes him seem as if he just died after a set of particularly violent convulsions. That could be counted as evidence that he's still breathing, right? But, true to my word I stoop over him, make sure respiration is taking place and then straighten up to hurry back to her.
Somewhere in the course of me leaving the room and checking if Spencer is still medically alive, she's turned over. Now, all I can see are the gentle curves of her back and shoulders. Tossing my shoes and socks to some remote corner of the room, I take my place behind her. Stretching my arms lazily over her skin I revel in the softness, and my mind wanders. Maybe that's why her next action catches me so off guard.
Without speaking, she turns swiftly in my arms. Her hand grips my chin and she molds her lips to mine. It's all I can manage to do is hold on because her lips are moving ever so slowly and sensually and I'm melting. I melting and I love it. I still haven't regained my form by the time she's pulled away. I barely even respond when she calls my name 'cause I'm too busy exploding. Or imploding. Whichever one is more intense. I think I may have just whimpered. She notices.
"It's fine if you don't answer me. After all, I like my Sammy all hot, sweaty, and reduced to monosyllabic grunts." She half-whispers half-smiles.
And with that she turns over and falls asleep in my embrace. After several minutes of gaping and blinking much too rapidly, I cuddle into her back. As the sound of Carly breathing lulls me into sleep only one coherent thought resonates in my head.
I shoulda known.