WARNING: This fanfic contains explicit imagery. Read at your own risk. I do not own iCarly. As a matter of fact, I apologize for what I'm about to do, iCarly people. I can't help myself.

It was probably the way his gaze had lingered on her for an extra moment that did it. Or maybe the fact that afterwards, he had forced himself to turn away and stare at another girl in the distance. Whatever it had been, it wasn't important in the grand scheme of things. Something had snapped, and she was reacting on instinct now.

Her eyes flew over her surroundings, taking quick note of the sparse amount of people occupying the tree-littered field. There weren't many, but it only took one to be a court-approved witness. She snatched the front of his long-sleeved shirt and hauled him to a nearby copse of trees. His struggle against her sudden, violent lunge was useless against her herculean strength. He was doomed to go wherever she wanted him to.

Once they were concealed within the semi-circle of trees, she hurled him away with all of her might. The force of the shove was overwhelming, but he managed to stumble clumsily on his feet for a few steps before falling over onto the lush, green, uncut blades of grass. After hitting the ground, the boy quickly scrambled to his back and looked up to find her standing over him with the mid-day sun sitting on the horizon behind her head: a fiery halo giving her curly, blond locks a reddish-crimson tinge. It was a look fitting for an angel. Of death. Her eyes had a frantic, dangerous movement to them, as though she was seeing everything around him as well as some things that only she could see. As the blue eyes narrowed, a cold sweat broke out on his skin. He had seen this expression before. It was generally a painful expression ... for him.

As she watched him curl up defensively, a bitter taste came into her mouth. This one? Really? She stalked towards him, continuing to watch him as his puny frame folded into a fetal position and his frail arms threw themselves over his head. There were so many guys her age with better bodies, better looks, more fun attitudes. But she didn't want those guys. It was so goddamn frustrating. She'd tried throwing herself against a promising candidate the other day, and experienced the satisfaction of having him surrender to her advances almost immediately. As the kiss deepened and the hug tightened, however, she realized that the only joy she was getting from it was the satisfaction of imposing her will upon him. There were no butterflies in her stomach. There was no quickening of her heart. Not even a light blush had touched her pale complexion. Inexplicably, she was affected by all of these afflictions as she eyed the worm squirming at her feet. It just wasn't fair. She should have been happy with that fine specimen of a man that she had suddenly abandoned once she realized that their physical contact wasn't doing anything for her. It was all this one's fault.

She bent at her waist and rushed forward, her arms swinging loosely and with a purpose. They threw punches up and down his body at a frenzied pace. The punches were not at her full strength. They were not hard enough to destroy, or hard enough to injure. Just hard enough to mark. In a day, there would be light, purple bruises where her fists had landed, and a dull ache would surround his consciousness like a heavy overcoat. It would be a constant reminder of what she had done to him. At first he took the punches stoically, grunting in protest as she made contact. When the torrent did not let up, however, he began to protest verbally. His calls for her to stop had the opposite effect, and within moments she was straddling him, landing blows on both sides of his body evenly.

Finally the pain became too much for him to handle, and his arms fell to his sides to protect them from more punches at the expense of exposing his face. He looked up into her face for the first time since she had begun striking him. Where he expected to find malice he found curiosity. Her face was calm, collected, and free of any distorting emotions. The only thing distinguishing this face from the one he had been holding a conversation with minutes beforehand was something in her eyes. It was like a hunger. He cried out once more for mercy, begging to know why she was attacking him. She looked directly into his face and saw all of the signs of complete submission. She knew with certainty that she had dominated him, and the knowledge seemed to drain all of her strength. The storm of blows stopped and he felt a pressure on his stomach as she sat down on him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he marveled over how light she was.

She leaned forward, laying the palms of her hands on the grass next to each side of his head. Her head stopped inches away from his so that their eyes were looking directly into each other. Only when she could make out the darkness of his pupils did she announce lustily that she hated him. Her announcement stunned him to the point that he didn't react at all when her right hand moved from the ground to grip roughly at his short, dark brown hair. She then yanked his head slightly to the right and rushed forward again.

Her head had come down with such speed that for the first moment, he was utterly unaware of what had just happened; entirely focused on the pain that began pumping from his mouth when they collided. The pain eventually subsided, however, leaving him with the soft, silky feeling of her pink lips moving against his own: touching, teasing, tantalizing. Her left hand moved from the ground to his chest, putting her full, undulating weight on top of him. She was so very light. Driven by a primal force, by a feeling of rightness, his own hands reached up to touch her. His left hand fell on her hip and began to roughly massage anything it came in contact with: loose clothing over soft skin over taut muscle over hard bone. Meanwhile his right moved towards her back, feeling her spine through her clothing as he struggled to pull her closer to his chest.

His efforts were rewarded with a soft moan. Quickly after he had felt her warm breath against his mouth and taken in the scent of her saliva, he felt her tongue force its way into his mouth. The soft, moist muscle pressed hard against his own: aggressive, combative, challenging. He allowed his senses to focus on what was happening. Her hips wiggled from side to side, pressing varying parts of her anatomy against him with each passing second. Her hands maintained their position. Holding him down. Anchoring his head back. Forcing his lips towards the sky. Towards her mouth which continued to move against his own, opening and closing in a massaging, mesmerizing rhythm. Probing his mouth with her tongue, which tasted sweet, and soft, and warm.

He felt himself straining against his pants, towards the ass which continued to shake suggestively inches out of reach. Yet more pain she was inflicting upon him. But it felt good. So very good. A groan emanated from deep within his chest, and the boy began to lean upwards; eager to participate in everything that was happening to him.

The groan had been a signal of sorts, and the girl suddenly ceased all of her aggression. Her hands had returned to the ground, and he no longer felt her weight leaning into his body. She moved her head back into its position inches away from his face. Long, curly strands of blond hair cascaded down towards him, obscuring the rest of the world from his view. He saw only her face. Her tightly closed lips. Her searching eyes. Her hungry eyes.

She swung her right leg over his body in a quick, fluid motion. Normally he would have flinched, but he didn't because he had been lost in her eyes. Because he had lost to her eyes. He had always and would always lose to the eyes and the will of the girl whose stray strands of blond hair remained on his face; reminding his nose of her scent. She slid down, resting her head against his upper arm. The girl nestled against the side of his body, taking in the smell of his deodorant. They lay still on the grass for minutes, hearing the sounds of nature around them. Actively listening to the sound of each other's breathing. Finally the girl had the final say, her right hand reaching up to slide across his chest. Once it lay over his heart, her hand gripped tightly, pinching his skin painfully before finally grasping the fabric of his clothing.

Their eyes met once the action had been completed. An understanding was reached. Message sent. Message received.

He belonged to her.

Author's note: This scene hit me hard out of nowhere, compelling me to write it out even though it doesn't fit into any of my current stories and I have no plans to write a fic that it can fit into. I hope I didn't offend anyone, but you can't say I didn't warn you.

I purposely left the dialogue out of this fic. I thought it gave the story a unique feeling. The names were also left out, but this is something I'm not really sold on. This was done because the two characters were inferred and it added to that unique feel of the story. Interestingly, this means that the story can also be imagined as a Spam if that floats your boat (an unintended side-effect). If it bothers enough people, I can easily go back and alter this portion. If this story ever makes it out of one-shot land, both of these items would be remedied.

I hope you enjoyed it. But not too much.