Say say, oh playmate
Come out and play with me
and bring your dollies three
Climb up my apple tree
Slide down my rainbow
into my cellar door
and we'll be jolly friends
It first happens when they're eleven, exactly twenty four minutes after health class she's got him skipping P.E. to come to the roof with her, but they can't invite Carly, she tells him. He's still shaken up, even now trying to process the information he received in Sex-Ed and trying to erase the images of what parts of his body can go into-
Actually, it'd be better if that thought wasn't completed, ever.
"Okay," Sam says, throwing a quick look over her shoulder and shoving her hands deep in her pockets. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
Freddie cocks his head because- what does that even mean? She'll show him whatif he shows her his what? He doesn't even have anything. (If she's referring to the fat-cake Carly snuck into his lunch pack this morning while waiting in the Shay's kitchen for Spencer, she can forget it.)
"Sam," he sighs, "I don't have anything." She stares at him, blue eyes boring into his browns, conveying the message of, 'You can't be serious, can you?' but he is, and so she groans.
"What? Have you never watched TV? I'll show you my-"
"Samantha Puckett, Freddie Benson what do you think you're doing?" The shrill voice of Ms. Haylyn interrupts whatever Sam was about to say.
Sam whirls on her, glaring. "Stuff, can you go away?" He can't believe she's actually talking to a teacher like that, but at the same time he can. It's Sam, and with Sam there really are no boundaries. (This is what his mother says, along with how boundaries are there to protect us.)
"I certainly cannot go away!" Ms. Haylyn replies, affronted. "But you can accompany me to the principal's office, as for you," she turns her attention to Freddie, grey eyes taking in his innocent form. "You can get back to class, but don't let me catch you skipping again, understood?"
Freddie throws one last look to Sam, trying to figure out exactly what she meant, but she's glaring at the wall, too busy to pay attention to him anymore.
He nods his head, "I understand." He really doesn't.
The second time it's three hours, forty two minutes after he asks his mother what it means if a girl asks him to 'show her his'. After another talk- this one more detailed than sex-ed, along with slideshow of STDs and lots of stress upon marriage, and age- Freddie is no longer confused, just unable to ever to ever look his mother in the eye again.
When his mother goes to bed and their apartment falls silent, he stays up staring into the darkness, wondering why Sam would ever want them to do that together. It doesn't make sense. He's Freddie Benson, lamest person in the world (at least, in her eyes) and she's Sam Puckett, girl who can do anything (again, in her eyes).
Then he remembers that Sam is right across the hall, spending the night at Carly's and more than likely flipping through the channels of the Shay's TV while everyone else is asleep, she always had been a slight insomniac. Before he knows what he's doing, he slips out of bed, sneaking through his apartment until he's across the hall taking out the emergency key Spencer leaves under the totally obvious fake rock next to the door.
When he opens the door his assumptions are confirmed. She sits with the phosphorescence glare of the TV dancing across her features. She looks bored when she glances over to him, as if she were expecting him all along.
"Breaking and entering, dork?" She asks, eyebrow arched for a semi-second before dropping it as her gaze returns back to the screen in front of her.
"No," he defends. Technically it's only entering. "What are you doing?" And that has to be the dumbest question in the world.
She looks at him, not bothering to respond letting her expression say it all. He clears his throat, taking a step forward when really, he's pretty sure he should be taking a step back. "So, I know what you meant." She ignores him, now completely absorbed into some hour long infomercial about blankets with sleeves. "You know," he continues in the silence, "About the-"
"Yeah, yeah," she takes a glance around and it occurs to him that there could be someone around to hear, and he doesn't know why but that thought makes his cheeks burn and his ears go red. (Actually he does know why, because it's gross, and he's totally not interested in it. He's pretty sure he doesn't have hormones yet.)
He moves closer.
"So…" He starts again, this time quitter, unsure where he's going with it.
She looks at him, blue eyes brilliant. "Offer's off the table," she tells him.
He wasn't going to put it back on the table, if that's what she was thinking, but still, he feels the need to ask, "What? Why?"
She shrugs with a smirk. "Someone has already stepped in."
"Who?" He demands, somehow resisting the foot stomp that usually comes when someone takes the tone of voice he just did.
She shrugs again, all lazy like it's no big deal. "You know," she drawls it out, taking amusement in his impatience. "People."
In that second Sam seems so much more adult than he is, of course, she always has but now more than ever he feels like. He gets the sense of catching a bit of an R-rated movie where the characters have all these jokes that fly over his head.
"People? Like who?" He knows she's not going to answer so he can't help but throw in, "You know, my mother says that whole thing is repulsive. That no one should show 'theirs' to anyone unless they're married."
Sam doesn't seem bothered, simply pursing her lips mockingly. "Don't say? Mommy also tell you that Santa is real?" Freddie rolls his eyes, Santa is totally real, but that's beside the point.
"You're just mad because I wouldn't show you mine," he doesn't know where that came from, but it certainly wasn't out of his mouth.
"No, you're just mad that I didn't show you mine," she backfires, crossing her arms over her chest and sitting forward on the couch.
"Am not." The response is lame, but he doesn't have any better.
"Are too." It doesn't sound lame when she retorts.
It could go on forever so, either in order to stop the never-ending circle they're in or out of natural curiosity he's not sure, he blurts, "Who was it?"
She smirks triumphantly. "Not telling."
Freddie shakes his head with a sigh. "Fine, yeah, whatever. I don't even care." He totally does.
Freddie turns towards the door to make his way out, dragging his feet like you do when you lose a battle.
"Oi, nerd," Sam calls out to him and he turns his head. "I didn't show anything but Carly and I got an X-rated movie on paper-view for about five minutes before Spencer came in and started freaking out."
"Really?" He asks, maybe a bit hopeful.
She rolls her eyes. "Maybe."
He turns back towards the door, not quite sure but somehow content and as he's about to shut the door, he hears her soft voice,"Hey, I'll show you mine if you sure me yours."
The third time it's exactly seven minutes after he turns eighteen, celebrating by himself in the loneliness of his room while the rest of the world is unknown to the occasion until dawn breaks. He's a senior and an adult now, but he still feels like he did when he was seventeen, and likewise, when he was sixteen.
He's not sure what the big deal is, he can vote and what not but other than that what's the point of being an 'adult'. It isn't until he hears the lock on his window click followed by the shrill shriek that comes with opening his old windows does he start to think there might be a difference. Unlike every year before he's never had someone break into his room just a bit after midnight, and unlike before, he never thought that having Sam Puckett slip into his room would be a good thing.
"Sam?" He plays the part of annoyed, maybe a bit surprised. "What are you doing?"
Once she's in the room she throws out her arms, "Ta da," she announces, "One birthday wish already come true, right?"
"No," he says, but it pretty much has.
"You're right, not even on your birthday." She smirks and throws something into his lap while she pushes the stuff off his desk before taking a seat on the top, because of course, it'd be too much to ask for her to use the chair.
He looks down and sees that she's handed him a cupcake wrapper, almost completely clean except for a few crumbs and a patch of icing. He throws her a curious looks and she just smiles.
"I got hungry, it was a birthday cupcake," she digs around in the pocket of her vest before taking out a box of wooden matches and a candle. "I was going to sing you happy birthday." He doubts that's what she had in mind but he can't help a silly smile from engulfing his lips.
He's not precisely sure what they are to each other, they're some kind of built up sexual tension released in the forms of lost touches in broom closets and a lot of 'Don't tell Carly'-s, it's kind of perfect like that. He can't imagine Sam actually being someone's 'girlfriend' for longer than a day and in the limbo they're in it's possible that maybe he could fool her into forever.
Her face lights up with an idea and she jumps off the desk, hopping over to him, candle and matches still in hand. He watches wary and anxious, sure that whatever is going to happen next will make eighteen a whole lot different than the other years.
"You want to make a wish, right?" she asks, taking out a match and holding it dangerously close to the strike zone.
"Um," he should really say no, "Yes?" She smirks, popping the candle into her mouth and lighting the match before spreading the flame onto the candle.
His first thought is that she's crazy but he kind of see's how it works. The wax is dripping onto his comforter instead of into her mouth, like he first assumed it would, and as long as he blows out the flame quick there should be no problems.
Well, beside the fact that the wax is going to take forever to get out and if his mom sees it he'll probably be put into a class for pyro-maniacs, and god knows who he'll meet there and then-
Well, that doesn't matter at the moment.
He closes his eyes, thinking nothing more than a simple 'Forever' assuming whoever is 'up there' will get it before blowing out the candle. The first strand of smoke hasn't even materialized before she's dropping the candle, letting it fall to the floor which is dangerous because he's pretty sure it can start a fire, and attacking his mouth with hers.
The kiss is harsh and sweet and the best birthday present he's ever gotten. He's never exactly sure where to go with it; she always wants to be in control so it's more a wrestling match until she gets too lazy to put any more effort in and lets him regain the faint hope he still has some masculinity left. But tonight, in a true form giving form, she lets him have full control which leaves him at a loss of what to do with a mass of blonde hair and a thin, maybe a bit too muscular for her age, body. So he just kinds of goes with it, copying moves from movies and making it up as he goes, which he's pretty sure if what you're supposed to do.
When his lips are sore and her breathing is erratic she pushes back, staring back at him with dangerous blue eyes.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
Only, the problem is, with the age of eighteen he's not entirely sure she's legal.
This idea sprung from various things, I really love the idea of playground rules so I thought I'd incorporate it into a one-shot. Short and simple.