Hello, peeps :) I was catching up on the latest episodes and decided to continue this story that I had started writing during the hiatus after season 3. The story follows canon up to the end of season 3 (cause that's when I started writing it) but takes place when the gang is 17 because (in case the title didn't tip you off) the topic is a little more appropriate at that age. Rating is T for now (if not for the adult theme it would be mostly K) but there will be at least one M-rated chapter later on. Later chapters will also be longer - this first part is just the prologue. Reviews and comments are always appreciated (and they give motivation). Let me know what y'all think...
I do not own the show or its characters.
"I want you to be my first…"
Freddie's head shot up from his PearPhone to stare open-mouthed at Sam. She was sitting on the beanbag next to him, idly flipping through the pages of one of Carly's girly magazines like she hadn't just said the most mind-bogglingly random thing.
"Okay, Wahoo punch for me and Sam and water for Freddie," Carly announced, walking back into the studio.
Coughing to cover up his discomfort Freddie took the bottle from Carly with a nod of thanks. They were there to go over ideas for their next show but thanks to Sam the only ideas running through his head weren't at all appropriate for the iCarly viewers.
Carly took one look at the expression on Freddie's face and knew something had happened. "Sam? What'd you do to Freddie?"
Sam didn't need to look up to know that Freddie was blushing furiously and Carly was staring down at her disapprovingly with hands on hips. "I didn't touch the dork…" She continued to casually skim the magazine; there were too many too thin models, wearing too much make-up and photo-shopped to simulated perfection. She wanted to tell them all to eat a sandwich…
"He's bright red, Sam. You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with it?" Carly fell into the last beanbag with a sigh, knowing Sam didn't really care what she believed.
Giving her an indifferent shrug, eyes still on the glossy pages, Sam suggested, "Maybe you caught him fantasizing about you."
Freddie choked on the water he was drinking. He wasn't stupid enough to think Sam would tell the truth (if he'd heard what he'd thought he'd heard) but that was just playing dirty.
Carly gave him a sad look and smacked him on the back to help him cough up the water. Sometimes she wished she could return his feelings, if only because it would make their friendship less uncomfortable.
"I was not!" Freddie sputtered as soon as he could breathe, wiping the spilt water from his chin with his t-shirt. They would need to make up a new word to describe just how much he hated Carly's 'I'm sorry I don't love you the way you love me' look. "Sam, tell her I wasn't!" he half-demanded, half-begged.
"How should I know what you were thinking about, Freddifer?" Sam asked with a smirk. She knew it was a loaded question but wasn't worried. If she knew Freddie (and she did) then he was still trying to figure out what exactly he'd heard (his geek brain frantically searching for any other possible explanation) and wouldn't run the risk of the teasing and/or physical pain if he were wrong.
Freddie opened his mouth to call her out but lost his nerve when she raised an eyebrow in challenge; he wouldn't live it down (or at all) if he'd heard wrong. He'd just have to hope that Carly believed him. "I wasn't, okay?" he told the brunette. The pat on the arm and sympathetic smile she gave him in return told him she didn't, but was going to go along with it to save him from further embarrassment. Ugh. Sometimes he hated Sam as much as he hated that look.
"Okay, so what can we do for 'Messin' with Lewbert'?" Carly asked, taking pity on him and turning the focus from the previous awkwardness.
Lost in thought Freddie barely paid attention to the plans the girls were making, taking part in the conversation only to either confirm or deny a plan's feasibility, and even then only when asked directly. He ignored the concerned glances Carly kept throwing his way and found himself staring at Sam more often than not. He thought maybe if he stared hard enough he could figure out what was going on in her head.
Sam felt Freddie's eyes on her and it took every ounce of self-control she had not to acknowledge it. She knew she'd probably broken the poor boy's brain but the intensity with which he was studying her was unnerving. More than once she was tempted to tell him it had just been a joke so the scrutiny would stop. She didn't, though; she had a plan and was going to see it through. Even if it killed her.