A/N:

I'm sorry I haven't updated sooner than I wanted. I hope you haven't forgotten the story already haha! I don't want anyone to get any further confused with the way I've decided to go about this story, but I wasn't intending to make it follow a specific plot. In a sense, the story is going somewhere, because I want it to have at least some form of order, but I'm just writing each set based on a prompt I thought up in my head.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing so far! xDD I looooooove reviews. I love your feedback, so don't hold back, please! I wanna know what you have to say! 3

-Raeven

03: dominance;

There's an hour to spare before iCarly airs for the evening. Carly is downstairs and for once since he and Sam became the complete opposite of enemies, Freddie feels unfortunate to be alone with Sam right now.

But that's only because Sam is heated; he isn't sure what a heated Sam will do now that they're together. The heated-Sam in the past would have him petrified in this situation. They've just undergone a wrestling match, and Freddie has won. This never happens. Both are on the ground after Freddie had very easily pinned Sam under him, her arms bolted to the plush purple rug under the bean bag corner of the room.

That high-pitched whirring from the bluescreen on Carly's flatscreen is the only noise in the room while Freddie's looking straight in the eyes of Sam's fiery ones (like he's trapped and can't look elsewhere); they're both out of breath and he doesn't know whether he should let her loose and run away until she cools off or to laugh the tension and the fear away.

So he just stays where he is, slightly amused, until Sam shows she's had enough. She starts by gritting her teeth. Her attempts at freeing herself only looks like she's wriggling underneath Freddie; it's utterly infuriating. A frenzied shout from her lips rattles Freddie's eardums, but he doesn't ease up on her.

"This is ridiculous, Benson!" She yells, still struggling to free herself. She can't even shove him out of her sight anymore. He's as sturdy as a rock these days.

"What is ridiculous, Sam?" Freddie asks with his lips quirked upward.

"Someone like you doesn't just go from noodle-arm boy to Popeye in thin air!" She quickly shoots back, her teeth close to his chin. That's how close they are, and if Freddie hadn't felt so smug, he would have cared more about his chin being bitten.

"I do eat spinach," Freddie adds with a side smile that Sam unwillingly goes weak for. He wonders if he can flex his arm while keeping Sam restrained, tries, and fails before Sam is able to see it. In the next second, he's rolling onto his back, curling into himself, and mentally screaming in his mind for not protecting the very prized parts of the male.

He hears Sam storm across the room but he's too busy trying not to cry like a baby while his lower region burns like hot fire.

"Stop making all that noise," Sam says. She sounds more irritated then morose, but it's definitely there. "I know I can't hurt you anymore,"

"God, Sam-that did hurt!" He manages, surprised his voice has surpassed a squeak. He keeps his eyes closed because he's still seeing spots. Right now, he would love for Sam to forget her pride and maybe pet his hair and rub his back, but that would be asking too much.

Sam lingers by the elevator, tapping her worn leather boots on Carly's wooden floor. "I don't believe you," She says, training her eyes to the ground for a hanging moment.

She won't admit it aloud, unless Freddie specifically points it out, but her dominance was threatened by this simple game. Sam has always had dominance.

The elevator takes her downstairs and Freddie chuckles weakly to himself. He can't believe he's thinking this, but he finds Sam's pouting over not being able to "hurt" him anymore kind of cute. This definitely hurts, though, he thinks with a wince.

He turns to cover his face on the plush rug, as if someone is there to see him smile, and he realizes he's hopelessly into this hurricane of a girl.

Carly comes back up with some jump ropes and a pitcher of green Kool-Aid. She stands over Freddie, who hasn't moved for a half hour now. "Freddie," She says through a questioning laugh. He sleepily opens his eyes, accepts her hand to help him up ("Carefully, please", he adds).

"Sam beat me up," he says. Yes, Sam would have liked to hear that.

04: bacon custard;

Freddie takes Sam out that same day because Sam is still moody and he hopes she'll appreciate this bacon-infused gelato he's discovered at this new gelato fusion place in the heart of Seattle.

They're sitting outside, on a stone ledge above some neatly-trimmed greenery next to the shop. Sam wordlessly demolishes her ice cream, deep in thought, and finishes the hand-made waffle cone in a matter of two minutes, not even. Freddie's frugal self already feels like this trip was a sacrifice from his wallet, so he has to say something.

"You ate that in like, 2 seconds."

"And?"

"Wouldn't it have been more enjoyable if you savored it?"

"I savored it,"

"You wolfed it, you didn't savor it. Did it even taste like anything going down?" He asks, thinking of that $3 "signature waffle cone" on top of the one scoop of gelato for $4.25. And he had to buy two of them, so Sam wouldn't question his cheapness for not getting himself one.

Sam bites on her bottom lip and slaps the side of his head. "It was good, you nimwad!"

Freddie recovers fast. He sighs, realizing he's killing a mood that was perfectly fine until he tampered with it. "You're right. You wouldn't wolf down anything unless you liked it, huh,"

"Exactly,"

He watches her. The sun has made everything on her golden. Her hair is perfectly messy, ruggedly beautiful, catching light at the ends of each strand like an intensifying bulb. The rich gelato is glistening on the side of her upper lip and Freddie's cheek twitches upward. His eyes fix on her contentedness, at her half-buttoned red plaid shirt and khaki vest, holed skinny jeans and leather boots, at her legs as they kick absently against the ledge they're sitting on. She goes to lick her fingers when she looks up and notices him staring.

"What?"

"You have-" He gestures to her lips with his thumb. Before he's even showing her where it is on her lips, he's leaning there, kissing the custard off. He licks his own lips and leans back a little, his other hand next to her knee, keeping him in his invasion of her personal space.

Sam doesn't move. Her blue eyes catch the light as if a spark of excitement has run through her, but her expression only shows slight surprise while inside, she's reeling from Freddie's successful attempt at sexiness. "Mmm, that was actually really good," Freddie murmurs honestly at the bacon flavor on his tongue with a glint in his eyes.

"Bacon's the best," Sam says with triumph and truth to her voice, with a genuine grin that Freddie is pleased to see. When his fingers have cupped her chin to pull in for another, Sam realizes how quickly he's altered her mood. Feeling out of her own control, she pulls back and eyes him warily. "Stop that."

Freddie's eyebrows are furrowed, but he's still feeling smooth, so he tries to figure out her conflicted expression with a steady glance, and then he smirks. "This is about that dominance thing, isn't it?" He's leaning toward her again, closing in the space between them. Sam is fixated on his face, at the fullness, the color of his lips, through long and heavy eyelashes.

"Yeah." She admits automatically.

Their noses almost touch.

"I can't be dominant?"

"No," Sam breathes, but she can't even stay sure of her answer, because this kind of dominance isn't half bad. She just doesn't want to admit that. "Sometimes." She resigns, changing her answer and inclining her lips toward his, allowing him the initiative to kiss her first. This sends him in a full-on flush of giddyness; Sam is actually allowing herself to be a girl today, he's thinking happily.

A few hungry, sweet bacon-laced kisses later and Freddie has acheived an arm snaked around her back while her legs are slung across his lap and her arms are hung loosely around his neck. Passerbys start looking their way and while Sam likes the idea of PDA, Freddie has always felt less comfortable, but even he can't find it in him to stop what they're sharing right now.

He isn't sure when the roles have suddenly switched, how Sam has taken control, how he's the one left breathless, but when he's marginally aware, Sam has a fist full of the front of his v-neck shirt, her arm still around his neck. A lingering draw from his lips and she pulls back with half-lidded eyes that sparkle with. . . dominance. "Now go buy momma another."