Disclaimer: iCarly is like bacon. I don't have it, but OMG I WANT IT.

You remember the first time the two of you slept together. It was awkward, and fumbling, and almost an accident. At the least, a very bad idea.

You still look back on it with as much disbelief and confusion as you did the day after. But it's been years, and it still doesn't feel real, and sometimes you'll be with her, and it'll hit you, like some new realisation. You've slept with her. You've slept with Carly.

You're not even sure how it happened. You were just a kid then, and so was she. Somehow you'd started talking, and... and wondering. Wondering about how and when both of you would lose your virginity. You'd looked down at your fidgeting hands, uncomfortable, because you're a fighter, not a lover, and mumbled it'd have to be with someone you trusted. You'd never really said it, maybe 'cause you didn't have to, maybe because Carly already knew, but there's no one you trust more than her. Actually, there's no one you trust but Carly. You'd glanced up at her, shrugging, and said that you'd just wanted it over with, sort of. It was like your first kiss... this huge weight just hanging over you, crushing you with expectations. Carly had nodded, agreeing, and somehow it had gone from there. You'd talked more, and you're not sure who suggested it, and you're not sure who agreed, but she'd kissed you and you'd kissed her, and before you knew it, your hand was in her pants, touching her clumsily while Carly panted in your ear, lips against your hair, and she'd done the same to you, your hips pushing into her hand urgently. And it was done. You'd woken up next to her, body stiff, hair tousled, an arm draped over her, and you'd wondered if you'd dreamt it all. But you could still taste her, still smell her, still feel her on you, like a film over your skin. Sometimes it feels like it's still there.

You never really spoke about it with her. It didn't mean anything, you just did it to do it, and you were fine with that. You understood what it was, but then thoughts started creeping in, and your memories of it came tinged in another colour, and suddenly you wished you had talked to her, so at least you'd know how she felt about it. Because it was her first time too, and as much as you pretended it wasn't a big deal, as much as you shrugged it off, because, after all, it's just a physical act, you started to realise there was a reason it was so big. And maybe other people can just do that, just open themselves up like that, but you're Sam Puckett, and you've always been hesitant around love, or sex, or anything like that. It makes you vulnerable, and you hate feeling that way. You can fight all the nubs in the world, but there's no way to fight your emotions, no way to defend against someone who has them in a headlock. But you kept it to yourself, because if Carly wasn't going to say anything, then you weren't either.

And then it happened again, more than a year later, and things made even less sense. It was just another afternoon, spent lying around Carly's room, and you'd been sprawled on her bed, almost asleep when she'd sat down beside you, abandoning her homework. And she'd tentatively suggested that you try it again, just to get some experience, she'd said, her fingers creeping along your arm, just to get better for the real thing. It'd baffled you, and you'd sat up, wanting to ask a million things, but all that came out was an agreement, and anything else was soon silenced by Carly's lips. It was different to the first time... slower, more deliberate, and your clothes had come off gradually, adding to the pile on the ground. You'd seen Carly naked before, but you'd never seen her with your hands, with your mouth. You'd taken your time, and it wasn't about losing anything this time, it was about gaining something. Gaining her, and you'd savoured it, taken in everything of her that you could. How her skin tasted, how her stomach shivered when you traced your fingers over it, how she shuddered when you slipped a finger inside of her. How her pulse throbbed against your lips, how her eyes flickered shut right before she came, teeth sunk into her lower lip. You remember these things, fill your heart with them, where it's warm and safe. Your mind is too treacherous, it'd let something slip. Then your turn had come, Carly slipping down your body, lips leaving a hot trail over your skin, lighting a fire from your lips to where her tongue flicked, tasting you, hands spread on your thighs, and you'd almost tried to fight it, to gain some clarity for a moment before it'd overwhelmed you, and you'd mixed her name in with your moans, breaking it up and hiding it, hands tangled in her brunette hair.

It was like an unspoken rule, that you didn't talk about it. An unspoken rule, because to speak of the rule would be to speak of 'it', and you weren't sure if it was allowed. You weren't sure if you wanted to. But mostly... you weren't sure of anything. Why it happened again... why it happened in the first place. Why you wanted it to happen again.

The first time you can explain away to yourself; you were kids, you were impulsive, you were stupid. But you can't explain the second time, and you don't know how to ask her, and you're not sure you want her to know you've been thinking about it all this time, because maybe she can explain it, maybe she can make it meaningless for you, and you're not sure you want that. It did mean something to you, it does mean something. You're scared to touch her at all anymore, because your fingers still remember. It's etched into the ridges of your fingertips, and you've started thinking that maybe that's why people have fingerprints in the first place; to remember.

It's hard not to touch her. Sometimes you forget and you do touch her, and you wonder if she ever notices how your hands start trembling and your breath hitches when you do remember, and then it's impossible to forget. She has to notice.

You've seen Carly get boyfriends... there's been a lot of them. You've watched her with them, wondered if she's done with them what she's done with you. You've wondered if she enjoyed as much with them. You've wondered if it's meant something with them. They kiss her so roughly, hold her so tightly, and you feel like taking them aside, throwing them against a wall and telling them to fucking be gentle, because Carly's precious. It's a privilege for them to even touch her, and it's not their fucking right. And then you have to rein yourself in, and wonder why you care so much. But you know why you care so much. You've known since the first time.

You haven't had anyone. You've been on the sidelines, watching the boys come and go, your arms crossed and your mouth zipped, and a few of them came to you when Carly was done with them, using the same sweet words that had worked on your best friend. You'd found them disgusting, but sometimes you were almost tempted, because at least you could still taste Carly on their lips. At least their hands had touched Carly, and if you pressed yourself against them hard enough, you might be able to smell her. But you'd never given in. It wasn't worth it.

Carly still acted the same around you, and you're not sure if it's because she felt the same as always, or she was just a brilliant actor. You're not as good as her. You can fake your way through anything but this, because this involves your heart, and you're worried something will jostle it, and it'll fall and shatter, and you're not sure how to put the pieces back together. You've never been good at puzzles. She's been your friend for as long as you can remember, although that's mainly because you don't want to remember a time you didn't know her. You didn't feel alive then. You were just a kid, but you weren't a happy one. Not until you met her. You're in love with her, and it's taken you so long to realise, because you never knew what love was, it's always supposed to hit you suddenly, but yours crept up slowly, since the moment you met her, and it's finally tapped you on the shoulder and pointed it out, and it's so big and so bright you wonder how you didn't see it before, or maybe you were only looking at a little part. Maybe it was too big for you to comprehend, to understand until now.

And that's why, when it happens again, you're so scared. One moment you're leaning into the fridge, your fingers circling around a cool bottle of root beer, and the next... you just know she's there, and when you turn, she's so close, eyes flicking over you, and suddenly, you need that drink more than ever, because your mouth is a desert, and sand is lodging itself in your throat, silencing you. Carly's eyes are dark and wide, and they're scanning you like she's looking for something, and you feel like a swelled balloon, since all you can seem to do is breathe in, not out. There's not even an excuse this time. Just Carly's hand stroking past your jawline and tangling itself in your hair, and then it's lips, pressed against yours, hard and soft at the same time, and it makes your head swim and your blood fizz. Your grip slips on the root beer, almost dropping it, your hand clammy and cold while the other is hot and smooth, pressed against the skin just under Carly's top. She smiles against your lips before she pulls away, taking the bottle out of your weak grip. And you feel like asking her what's going on, why this is happening, but your heart is pounding so hard against your lungs you can't speak, your breath shaking with your heartbeat. Carly sets the bottle down, and she's smiling at you like she knows something you don't, and you think she must, and you wish she'd tell you, because this tension is killing you. And it's not quick enough. So you move to her, your hands on her face, capturing her in a kiss you've thought about every day, and you squeeze your eyes shut and tell your brain to start recording, because for this brief time, you can kiss her. You have permission, and it's like a dam breaking. You back her against the counter, and all the months spent waiting, all the months spent watching other people touch her burst through you, and you can't stand it anymore. You tug her forward by the waistband of her jeans, hips pressing together as you work the button, fingers shaking. You breath is panting against Carly's neck, and you put your lips to the soft flesh, tracing your tongue over it, and she tastes just like you remember. Your hand snakes into her pants, fingers pushing their way under her panties, and then you're rubbing her urgently, Carly gasping and bucking into you, and your fingers are getting as slick and hot as your heart. And that suddenly-heavy muscle is forcing it's way into your throat, because you're too scared to say you love her, and it'd be so much easier if you could open your mouth and show her; show her that your heart is beating for her, and that it always has been.

Your fingers slip inside her almost too easily, and you wonder if she thought about this before she kissed you, if she'd planned it, but your mind recoils from it, because that'll only lead to wondering what this is, and the thought makes you falter, swallow hard and force your heart back down. You don't want her to see it yet. You work your fingers inside her, rocking your hand back and forth, and Carly's soft moans are like an ice cube dragged along your spine, and you feel hot and cold and lukewarm, and it's like your blood doesn't know how to act around her, it forgets what it's doing, and it always comes back to your heart. You wonder if she's using you, teeth nipping at the skin of Carly's throat. Maybe you're the one using her... or maybe you're using each other, and maybe that's all relationships are, mutual use, both wanting the same thing, just for different reasons. And you wonder if your reasons are different, or if they're the same, and you can feel your heart clambering into your throat again as Carly's body tenses, her hips pushing into you, hands gripping you so tight. And you like her holding you like this, like she needs to, like she's scared that if she let's go, she'll float away. Like she doesn't want to let you go. Carly cries out, clenching around you, and you whisper her name so softly, lips moving against her pulse as she moans loudly, body pushing against you like she's trying to force the two of you back into one. Like you're two pieces of a puzzle that fit together, but have never been turned around the right way. And even after the movements of your hand have stopped, you keep it against her, just so you can feel her longer, and memorise what it's like. It's not until her breathing slows, and her hands loosen on you that you drag your hand out, skin slick with her. Carly's lips brush yours softly, and you wish you'd been patient, you wish you'd taken more time with her, you wish you could stop this trembling, and just tape your heart back in place, and stop it from jumping around so much. And when she breaks away, your traitorous mouth can't help but whisper,

"I love you."

And it's the not the first time you've said it, but it's the first time it's been hard. Carly's hands rest on the waistband of your pants, and you can only hope she didn't hear you over the sound of her own breathing, that maybe she was too intent on undoing your pants to hear you. "...Sam?"

You open your mouth to say something, to take it back, to say it again, anything, but nothing comes out. You need to say something, because Carly is looking at you, and you think if you were her, you'd be looking at you too, because you're not Sam right now. You're not a part of Sam you've ever shown before, and it's a seed that Carly's planted in you that's finally bloomed. And really, there's only one thing you can say, the thing that's been preying on your mind ever since it started, all those years ago. "What is this?" And now it's Carly's turn to open her mouth and have nothing come out. She's never seen you like this, no one has, because you're awkward around love, and you don't know how to act, especially not in a situation like this. It's delicate, something you've never been.

"I... I don't know. I didn't think it meant anything to you."

"Does it mean something?" You say the words hesitantly, because it's things like that that can end a friendship, and you know the two of you are closer than most friends, but maybe it just means the words are that much more powerful.

Carly's eyes are dark as they flick over you, studying you, and you wonder what she's seeing, and you wonder how much of this turmoil inside you has leaked out, how much of it is staining your skin for her to see. Finally she nods slightly. "Yes." She leans in, and when she kisses you it's different,and you think maybe this is how she kisses her boyfriends. Maybe this is how she kisses someone she loves. And this time, when her hand slips inside your pants, it means something.

You still remember the first time the two of you slept together. It was awkward, and fumbling, and maybe it wasn't an accident. At the least, a very good idea.

A/N: I heard on the grapevine, that there hasn't been much Cam around lately. That or people like to fuck with me... maybe both. My reactions are priceless.

Anyhow, this is my contribution. A smutty little oneshot that'll hopefully entertain you and make you think, "I like this lady, she knows how to write about pleasing a woman." and yes, yes I do. I've pleased an immense amount of fictional women, and I plan to do many more ;D

So, as always, please review, it means ever so much. It would fictionally please me.