The world appeared to Sam through dim slits that gradually opened to the familiar ceiling of Carly's bedroom. The episode planning had gone on for longer than 30 minutes, meaning Sam was entitled to a "rest of the planning session" nap. It was a right she earned by being the strongest and laziest member of the iCarly trio. Or so she thought she had, since she apparently shared it with her friends if the meeting dragged on long enough. The dim light of the moon streaming in through the opened bedroom windows revealed the prone forms of her best friends to the waking teenager.
Sleeping peacefully in the camping chair across from her was a boy who had earned many titles from her, the most recent of which was ex-boyfriend. Sam rose with feline grace from her spot on the floor underneath the window, allowing her a clear view of the digital clock next to the bed that Carly was cozily snuggled into. After taking note of the fact that it was a half hour past midnight, Sam's eyes rested on her brunette best friend's curled up form long enough to confirm that she was deeply asleep. By the time she made that confirmation, Sam was already looming over Freddie.
Sam's hands moved before her mind was aware of the movement, slicing through the distance between them to land softly on his cheek. She dragged her fingers lazily down the side of his face, drawing a twitch from the sleeping boy. Again, her body reacted without her consent as her lips spread into a gentle smile. The girl loved his expression, his emotions. She enjoyed watching them, but she loved drawing them forth. It was like she was the artist and he was the canvas. He was her work of art, or rather her labor of love.
His face gradually showed signs of returning from whatever dream his dorky mind could come up with. She regarded his waking face with a twitch of anger. She was enjoying the smoothness of his visage and the peaceful limpness of his body. She contemplated whether she should touch his face with her lips or her balled up fist. As she calculated which action would bring her more pleasure she calmly smoothed his light brown hair with her fingertips.
When Freddie's eyes opened and found themselves staring directly into Sam's, he experienced a hard jolt of confusion. The tenderness with which he was being stroked led him to believe that his mother was waking him up, but standing in front of him was none other than his … Sam Puckett. Was she even his? He didn't know if he could have ever claimed that right. But it was clear as he looked up into her blue eyes and bathed in the familiar maternal gaze of tenderness and possession that he was hers. As he continued to stare up at her, the softness of the gaze toughened up into a look he expected to see from Sam. The smugness of ownership remained, however. He realized with a shudder that he was being looked at like a piece of property.
Without saying a word she climbed into his chair, and onto him. Her legs straddled his body, hanging loosely in the air as her hands fell onto him. The fingers of her right hand combed firmly through his hair from his temple to the back of his head. Her left hand rested on his chest with its fingers curling lazily as it alternated between laying flat against him and forming into a loose fist.
Freddie could tell from the slackness of Sam's facial expression that she was in one of her unique moods: trying to determine whether she was going to smooch or smash him. He also knew with absolute certainty that he couldn't do anything to influence her one way or the other. He looked back into her eyes, passively awaiting her decision. It was an action that he knew from experience would infuriate her, but this neutrality was the only chance he had of not being destroyed by her desire to overwhelm him.
After a handful of heavy moments spent looking into each other's eyes, Sam broke the stalemate by wrapping her arms around his body and melting into him. Freddie's breath caught in his throat as he felt her softness pressing into him and her chin resting easily on his shoulder. He inhaled deeply, taking in her familiar scent: clean with a touch of faded sweetness. The boy kept his arms limply at his sides, not wanting to risk her squirming out of his lap if he attempted to hold her. The blond girl pressed against him had never been and never would be one to be kept.
They stayed immobile for quite some time, enjoying each other's closeness. Again Sam broke the stillness by dragging her soft, warm cheek up his neck and whispering quietly, "I love you most when you're sad."
After a breath spent collecting his thoughts, he replied, "I've always known you're a sadist, Sam, but I'm not exactly sad right now."
She pulled her face in front of his, allowing his eyes to focus on her lopsided smirk as she removed her body from his. His chest suddenly felt cold without her warmth seeping into him, and he couldn't resist the urge to reach out for her.
Sam nimbly danced out of his reach and stood comfortably away from him. Her arms crossed underneath her breasts as her smirk grew into a smile at the appearance of the frustrated expression on the seated boys face. She knew he wouldn't dare stand up now because of what she'd felt through his pants before she stood up. She ignored her longing to crawl back into his lap by weighing it against how beautiful he looked like that and how hungry she currently was.
Without another word she turned around and stalked out of the room towards the kitchen, leaving the teenage boy squirming uncomfortably in his chair as he tried to focus on anything other than the memory of his latest "torture". An action they both knew was impossible.
Author's Notes: Written in one sitting. I'll edit it later, probably tomorrow. I don't think I'm a sadist. This was actually spawned by the sudden idea of "I think you're beautiful. But I find you most beautiful when you cry." I was watching some show and the girl looked better when she was crying than when she was smiling. It was weird.
Thanks for reading.