A/N: Something I wrote out of strict love for the pairing and hatred for the TV PG rating iCarly has. This scene was originally supposed to be part of a longer (much, much longer) story, but I don't have the time or attention span to write it at the moment. Still, I had fun writing this, I had fun re-reading it, and I didn't think posting this would do any harm.

First "sex scene" I've ever written, if you can even call it that much. For a teenager as perverse as I am, this is actually really tame. Hmm. Hopefully it doesn't suck.

Lies and Walls

Something was dangerously wrong, and I could tell.

"Sam?"

A shadow fell across her face. She lifted her head just the smallest bit, her eyebrow cocked up towards the ceiling. Her lip quivered, and it happened so quickly that I thought I imagined it. Because, for a split second, there was something in Sam's eyes that I didn't recognize. I'd known the girl for years, and if there was one side of Sam I hadn't seen, it was the side I was seeing now.

Almost as fast as it had happened, that look was gone. Sam extinguished the fire in her eyes, letting them cloud over and pursing her lips into the same dull, "I-don't-give-a-shit" pout. She turned away from me, casually throwing her handbag down. She didn't stop to pick it up as it slid off the sofa. That was typical Sam.

I'd be lying if I said that I never had the urge to hit a girl before. This is Sam we're talking about, after all. But that moment was as close as I'd ever come to actually hitting a girl. Except this time, the feeling was so different. She wasn't antagonizing me this time, and she wasn't even trying to. Sam was being her usual self. And, by 'usual self,' I mean the one that always wore the same bored expression.

That night was the first time I'd gotten a glimpse of another Sam I'd never known. And, if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that I hated the fact that all I'd gotten was a glimpse. I hated Sam's casualness, and how she could just throw her handbag down and wipe any emotion off her face.

I wanted to punch her even more as she walked out of the room, her back to me and not saying a word.

"Sam," I said. She didn't respond. "Sam." I reached out and grabbed her arm.

She turned around, facing me. "Jesus Christ, what's your problem? Let go of me."

"No."

She wrung her wrist, trying to get out of my grasp. "Freddie, I'm not in the mood. Back off."

My arm went slack, and Sam quickly jerked her hand away.

"What is it with you?" I said, before she had the chance to back into the empty bedroom.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I rolled my eyes. "You know, we've gone through hell together these past few weeks."

"So?"

My gut churned as I heard that word come out of her mouth. So? So? That's all she could say to me?

I searched the look on her face, trying to find even the smallest inkling of emotion. But her walls were up, and they were up too high.

"You don't have to pretend, Sam," I said. Before she opened her mouth to say anymore, I continued. "Not around me. I get it, you're not the emotional type."

"I've been trying to fracture your skull since the sixth grade," she said, raising an eyebrow. "How the hell am I not the emotional type?"

I crossed my arms. "The only Sam I know is the one that wants to fracture my skull."

She opened her mouth to say something, closing it quickly.

"I don't know another you," I said. "I don't know much more about you besides that. So, while we're going through hell together, it'd be nice for me to see a Sam that's actually human."

I knew I said just the right thing, because within a minute, her hands were at my throat. She backed me up against the wall, all five and a half feet of her pressed against my body as she got right in my face, nose to nose.

"You want human?" she seethed. I could tell her blood was boiling. "Is that what you want from me, Benson? Well, I can't give that to you. Who says I want you to see the human me?"

I could hardly choke the words out, she was crushing my throat so hard.

"You do."

She let go of me, stumbling backwards.

"Then fine!" she shrieked. "Fine, so maybe I'm not a total monster. But you know what, Fredward? You don't want to see another side of me. I can tell you right now that you'll hate it. You want to know why? Because I hate it."

That was when I saw it—Sam's walls were starting to deteriorate. I only had to say one more thing, and I knew it had to be said perfectly. One wrong slip-up, and whatever it was that I had with Sam would be over for good.

"Try me. Puckett, try me. See how hard you'll have to try to get me to hate you," I said. Her expression was absolutely murderous, but the words kept shooting out from my mouth. "Because that's what you've been trying to do for years, and it hasn't worked. You taunt me, you tease me, you bitch about me and you've publicly humiliated me, but no matter how hard you try you've never fucking been able to get me to hate you. And I know that bugs you. So, here's your shot, Sam. Go ahead—make me hate you."

There was a moment there where I thought I'd lost her.

The silence that filled the room was so thick it was almost poisonous. She just stood there, her expression morphing into something I couldn't quite make out. I knew her angry face well, but this was something entirely different. It was almost . . . desperate.

"She's a fucking perfect bitch, that's what she is!" If there was one thing I hadn't expected, it was for the tears to come out of Sam's eyes. But, there they were, streaming down her face as she screamed in front of me. "Carly Shay, so freaking beautiful and kind and perfect to just about anyone she ever met! Well, look at how great that turned out. Next thing I know, fifteen years of friendship are gone and she's hooking up with my boyfriend. Now I'm stuck living with you, and I can't help but notice small things like the smile, the abs, and how I don't know if I want to kill you or kiss you when you walk through the door-" She was rambling so fast, I almost missed what had just been said. She stopped talking, bringing her hands up to her eyes and wiping them quickly.

I froze.

She shrugged, letting her blonde hair drop. Her face burned red. "You wanted to know," was all she could mutter.

I shook my head. This moment . . . it wasn't happening.

"Sam . . ."

"You always want to know why it's so hard for me to talk about my feelings? Now you know, dipshit. I've only got one question to ask you know—what the fucking hell did you get out of this?"

In that minute, I let the universe take over.

Screw logic.

"So much more than you'll ever realize, because you aren't going to let me respond, are you?"

She looked up, her gaze meeting mine.

I lowered my voice. The nagging voice in the back of my head kept telling me the same thing; "Shut the fuck up, Benson."

Fuck you.

"Because we're both scared. We're both scared of what's happening," I continued.

"Freddie—"

"Sam, I'm in love with you."

My words hung in the air for a minute before she finally responded.

"What . . .?"

"I'm fucking sick and tired of all the games and lies," I continued. "I don't know why or how, but if there's one thing I do know, it's that I'm completely not supposed to feel this way about you. But you know what? I do. I do, and that's the end of it."

"I—I don't understand . . ." her voice was so soft, I could hardly hear it.

Human Samantha Puckett, ladies and gentlemen.

I wanted to say more, but I didn't. I gave her a minute. I could tell she needed time to have everything sink in. In the back of my mind though, the nagging voice kept telling me, you need this minute more than she does.

It seemed like ages passed by. Sam was still looking at me like a deer caught in headlights, not sure what to do or say. It got to a point where I turned on my heel, heading for the empty bedroom. Maybe what I said was entirely wrong, and that given everything that had just happened, it was the worst possible thing I could say. But it was the truth.

Before I knew what hit me, she whirled me back around. Her lips crushed against mine. I held her there for a minute, keeping her close. It felt hot—not like a passionate hot or a horny hot, but almost like I was about to pass out from heat exhaustion. I can't tell you how much I loved that feeling.

My hands traveled down from her face, down her neck and down her back, down and everywhere . . . that's the only word I could use to describe it. My hands were absolutely everywhere. Not that Sam was any exception—she pressed so close against me, I could almost feel her heart beat from under her flesh. She was so close, and I only wanted her closer. I only wanted more of her.

More.

"More?" she whispered. I didn't realize I'd said that aloud.

I hardly had time to nod as she backed me up into the bedroom.

It was then I suddenly became aware of everything—how blue her eyes were, how crooked her fingers were, how soft her bare skin felt. She ripped off her shirt without hesitation, her top hitting the wall as she snatched the buckle of my pants. A part of me (the only part of me left with any degree of reason) kept eating at me. This is wrong. This is so wrong. You're stripping Sam Puckett.

Well, to be entirely fair to my logical side—she was also stripping me.

Clothes were everywhere. On my dresser, in heaps on the floor, hanging off my lamp. My fingers traveled up and down her spine as she toyed with me, lying me flat on my back and reaching for me. I stared up at the ceiling, feeling the crevices in her back. Her lips moved back to mine. She was right on top of me. It was so quick, and in that split second, the reality of what was going on came crashing down on me. I moved inside of her body, and I could only choke out one thought in between all of the warmth and muddled feelings in my head.

I'm having sex with Sam Puckett.

That was when I cried out. She didn't seem to mind, because she was moving right along with me. For what seemed like ages, the only thing that could come out of my mouth was her name. There was so much more I wanted and felt like I had to say, but whenever I tried, the same three letters wound up popping out instead.

"Freddie," she said. Her voice shot up a good octave. She whispered my name into my ear, digging her nails into my back as I gave one last push.

I rolled over to my side. The only sound inside the bedroom was our breathing, and it filled up whatever void we'd felt before. It took me a minute before I realized that void was gone. Because, quite honestly, that void was the unknown. That void was everything we'd left unsaid. Now that the words had been spoken, we couldn't go back to whatever we had before.

It took me a minute for the words to register in my head. And, once they rang true and seemed to actually make sense, I said them before I realized that they were coming out of my mouth.

"You actually had sex with me."

I didn't know what I expected Sam's reaction to be. Frustration, maybe, and anger, probably.

She let out a small laugh. "Yeah. Funny how things work, isn't it?"