Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly or anything related to it. Never have. Never will.
Notes: I just had to write this after seeing "iDate Sam and Freddie". A few lines from the episode have been borrowed, but, as stated in my disclaimer, I claim no ownership. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy the story!
an iCarly fan fiction
"Hey, how great does Sam's hair look?" Freddie asked Carly, smiling.
"He brushed it for me," Sam informed, smiling in return at her boyfriend's loving gesture. She placed a hand on his shoulder and beamed in his direction.
"With one of these," said Freddie, holding up Sam's blue hairbrush.
. . .
"Freddie, stop," Sam demanded, pushing her boyfriend away. Freddie frowned at her rejection, and puckered out his lip in exaggerated sadness.
"Why not? I just want a kiss," he persisted, his voice dripping with false melancholy emotion.
"There is nothing more I would like to do than kiss you, but we have to go over to Carly's in a few minutes. We have iCarly tonight, remember?"
"Of course I do. But it doesn't start for another half hour, and Carly's apartment is right across the hall. . ." he smirked suggestively, leaning closer to her on the couch, "It was lucky that my mom decided to go buy some more band-aides for the first-aid kit. I like being alone with you like this."
Sam sighed. She was feeling ambivalent about her boyfriend's advances; it was hard to deny him when he was being so sweet, so painfully lovey-dovey.
Finally, she responded, "I do too, but still—" He had crushed his lips against hers before she could finish her sentence. She loved his lips: it was like a drug, something that she just couldn't get enough of.
"Hm," he moaned. His lips still lingering on hers, he spoke, "Sam, your hair. . ."
"What?" Sam said, suddenly concerned that she had messed up her blond locks in their most recent make-out session. "Did you mess it up? I'll kill you, Fredweeb!" she exclaimed, only half serious.
"No, it's just. . ." he brought his left hand up to the side of her neck, where he gently curled a lock of her hair around his index finger. "It's very. . attractive."
"Attractive," she repeated, quirking an eyebrow. "Well, thank you."
"It looks so soft—I just wanna run my hands through it." He cautiously brought his other hand to the side of her head, as if waiting for her to protest. "May I?"
Such a gentleman, Sam thought. She decided to play along. "Knock yourself out."
Eagerly, Freddie placed the fingers of his left hand at the nape of her neck, then slowly finger combed his way through the length of her cascading mane. His right hand strayed near her cheek, his thumb rubbing her creamy skin.
Her hair was like silk against the pads of his fingers and the skin of his palm. He massaged her scalp, as if rubbing an imaginary shampoo into it. This elicited a small moan from Sam, which sent a violent shiver down Freddie's spine. She closed her eyes in bliss, enjoying her boyfriend's caressing. This was an intimate act for both of them: Sam rarely let anyone touch her hair, and to be doing it like this—alone, with no one stopping them from kissing until they were gasping for breath. . .
"Do you have a brush?" he asked suddenly.
"Huh?" she said, snapping out of the trace he had put her under.
"A brush," Freddie repeated.
"Oh. . .yeah," she replied. She reached down to grab her bag, from which she pulled out a blue, hard-bristled brush. "You wanna brush it for me?"
He didn't respond, but instead took the brush out of her hand. Being unfamiliar with brushing a female's hair, he tentatively brought it to the top of her head, near her part line. Though he figured it couldn't be that different from brushing his own hair, he watched Sam's expression carefully, looking for any signs of disapproval. But, even as he ran the brush through her locks, she only smiled at him. Freddie moved it through every section of her hair, coming into contact with no tangles or snags.
"Your hair is beautiful," he said, "For lack of a more elaborate word." The thumb of his right hand continued to pet Sam's cheek, and, he was surprised to feel a warmth erupt from beneath her skin, followed by a sudden appearance of crimson on Sam's face.
"You're blushing," Freddie noticed incredulously. He couldn't believe that he of all people was making her blush. He momentarily stopped brushing her hair, basking in the moment.
"Am not, you nub!"
"Real mature," Freddie smirked. "It's okay to blush in front of your boyfriend."
"I. Am. Not. Blushing!" Sam insisted, but her face cracked into an ear-to-ear grin.
"Sure," Freddie said, resuming his brushing. "There. Perfect," he concluded after another minute. He dropped the brush back in her bag and stared at her blond mane, grinning in self-satisfaction. Sam produced a compact mirror from her bag, which she used to examine Freddie's work. She nodded, impressed.
"Nice job, Benson," she complimented. "You'd make a good stylist."
"Stylists get paid. You should give me something."
Sam laughed, knowing where this was going. "I don't have any money on me," she played along.
Freddie moved his face forward, his eyes burning with desire, his lips looking especially tempting. He spoke, his minty breath teasing her face, "I can think of another way you can pay me back. . ."
Sam wanted no further teasing; her lips collided with his without any more verbal interference. His mouth danced against hers skillfully, driving her further and further into madness. Every time they kissed, she felt that she had just fallen in love with him all over again. His arms were firm and protective around her petite frame, his lips warm and soft like a cushion, and his delicious, natural scent flooding her nostrils pleasantly.
How had this nerd become so hot? And, more importantly, how had he managed to steal her heart? Samantha Puckett—the tough girl carved from stone, who once thought her only true love was ham—wasn't afraid to admit that she had fallen hard for the tech nerd she had previously harassed on a daily basis. She never wanted to return from this kiss.
When Sam's phone began to buzz, they reluctantly pulled apart. She pulled it out and viewed the text message.
"It's Carly," she said. "She's wondering where we are."
"Oh," said Freddie, glancing at his watch. "I didn't realize what time it was. We should get going."
Hand in hand, they walked across the hall to Carly's apartment, their lips still tingling with desire for each other.