Author's Notes: iCarly has kind of been my secret indulgence, lately. While I did not ship Spencer and Sam right away because of the age difference, I was a little curious and decided to search the internet to see what would come up if I tried to search for Sam/Spencer fan fiction. Surprisingly, I found out that there were actually a select few who really favor this couple and even derived a name for it: SPAM. That might possibly be my new favorite word now. I have always had a taste for "forbidden" pairings so here is my first SPAM fan fiction. As always, if you do not like it, then do not read it.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT, own iCarly or its characters or anyone from the wonderful world of Dan Schneider.

The Shay's apartment complex was quiet. It was not an eerie sort of silent, but a comfortable one. The studio of iCarly was empty, the red car seats vacant, and the tech equipment left tucked away under the cart. For once, there were no unexpected visitors appearing through the sliding doors of the elevator. However, there was one person whose presence is one to take note of. Down in the living room, Spencer Shay was sprawled across the couch, eyes closed with his sketchbook at hand, thinking.

After a few more minutes in this position, his eyes snapped open, and he turned on the television. After flipping through several channels, Spencer settled on the weather. A man in a stiff suit jacket with crooked glasses frames was vaguely pointing at lines with triangles and ellipses, using folksy speech trying to cover up the fact that there is no way to make weather cute. However, Spencer Shay was not focusing on the weather, or the comments of the other newscasters, but on the weather man.

"Perfect!" Spencer thought - this followed by flipping open his sketchbook and beginning a rough sketch of the man on the television.

The door flew open and in came an enthusiastic Sam Puckett yelling, "CARLY?"

Spencer looked over at her and said, "Hey Sam. Carly texted me a moment ago. She said that she had to stay afterschool to finish a test in her AP Chem class."

"Huh, I was wondering why she didn't get a ride with me," Sam mused.

She made her way over across the room, into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Scratching her chin, Sam pulled out a water bottle and skipped back towards the couch. For the past years, she has done this so many times. As an eighteen year old now, she still continues to mooch off food from the Shay's and lounge around their place. It was not a privilege for her; it was a right.

Sam hovered over Spencer, her curly golden hair slightly touching Spencer's shoulder.

"Whatcha' doin'?" Sam inquired.

"This weather guy looks like Matt Damon, except he has a huge cleft. I've kinda hit a dry spell in my art, so I thought sketching random things on TV would help." Spencer responded back, his eyes still concentrating on his sketch.

"Impressive. Didn't know artists turned to TV for help."

"Well, it makes sense, right? We observe everything around us. This includes weathermen who look like Jason Bourne."

Spencer turned to look at Sam, who was already chuckling.

"Hm, you have an eyelash on your cheek." Spencer told her casually.

Sam closed her eyes, wiped her face blindly, and tilted her face back up.

"Gone?" She answered, mildly annoyed and slightly rosy.

"Nope. Lemme get it."

He reached over and brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. With this small motion, the graphite on his fingers rubbed onto her face also.

Sam, with a deadpan look, said, "Yeah, you just made it worse, right?"

"Nooooooo. It'll be fine. Let me just..."

He brushed his thumb across the other side of her face - right on the other cheek. This left another streak of gray.

"Now there's symmetry!"

Sam gave him a, "You gotta be kidding me," look for two seconds, before decided that she could not hold back her laughter much long. It started with a smirk and then bubbled up. She clutched her belly as she sputtered out an incredulous laugh. Afterwards, she flexed her biceps in such a way to simulate a pumped football player. This led to Spencer joining in on the laughter, as well.

After the laughter died out, Spencer said to her, "You have something else on your face, too."

"Dude, I already know." Sam retorted.

"No, no, no. Not THAT. There's something on your mouth."

"Ah, that's probably because I ate-"

She couldn't finish her sentence before Spencer leaned over the back of the couch and planted his lips on hers. It felt both too brief and too long, but she didn't mind - paradoxes being something that both entertained and intrigued her.

"Chocolate?" Spencer finished for her, grinning.

Very soon, the Shay apartment would not be so quiet.

I made it short so that I didn't get too into a story line. Not looking for a series here, but just a one shot that'll satisfy my SPAM craving.

Wow, that has two meanings. Awesomeness.