Hallo! Here's another one-shot for you guys! :D
In which our favorite couple watches a MMA fight…
| SAM'S P.O.V. |
My PearPhone buzzed loudly from its spot on my bedside table, interrupting my afternoon nap. I snatched my phone and checked the time before glaring at the name displayed across the screen.
ONE NEW MESSAGE
I crinkled my nose. How dare that nub wake me up from my nap ten minutes earlier than I usually woke! I rubbed my eyes sleepily and opened the text.
Hey Puckett, care to join me on my last day of house sitting for Carly and Spencer?
Carly and Spencer went to Yakima to visit their Granddad and had asked Freddie to apartment-sit for them. They usually didn't need someone to watch their home, but Spencer had just bought a new goldfish and he needed someone to feed it, determined to keep this one alive for more than three days. I typed in a reply.
Why would I want to spend the rest of my afternoon hanging with a dork?
I rested my phone on my stomach and threw an arm over my face. The phone buzzed against my tummy. I checked the screen; this time he was calling me. I growled before hitting the answer button.
"Give me a list of ten good reasons to hang out with you for a whole afternoon." It was kind of a game we played. Whenever we wanted something from the other, we would have to give each other valid reasons for doing it.
"I bet I can win you over in three,"
I scoffed. "Try me, Benson."
"Okay, one: you probably don't have any plans as of now."
"Psh, I could totally find something to do."
"Nothing legal." He took my silence as a chance to keep going. "Two, Carly has a fridge full of uneaten food and I hear it calling your name."
I snorted. "That sounded dorky. And as tempting as that sounds, you've already pulled the free food card many, many times. I've trained myself not to succumb to its call. Sort of." Freddie laughed.
"Fine, you're right I do play the free food card a lot."
"Face it, Fredderly, nothing you say will get me to cave."
"But I have one last really good reason!"
"Shoot." I heard him take a deep breath.
"You, me, the Shays' living room couch, popcorn, and the latest Shelby Marx fight on pay-per-view." I threw my covers off and started scrambling out of bed.
"I'll be there in ten."
"Yeah Shelby! Just one more hit and that chick's down! Popcorn," I said, opening my mouth. Freddie rolled his eyes and tossed a piece into my mouth. I was jumping up and down on the Shays' couch, switching between yelling at the TV and catching popcorn from Freddie. I was wearing a baggy, white tank with 'CUTTLEFISH' written in black across the chest and a pair of purple boxer shorts; I had been too lazy to dress properly.
"You know Sam, if you want popcorn you should really just get it yourse–"
"Oh and Scottish fighter, Glinda O' Fallon is down!" He whipped his head towards the screen at the sound of the announcer's voice. "Shelby Marx has defeated, yet another, opponent!" I started dancing around on top of the couch, forcing Freddie to relinquish his spot. He stood and laughed at my array of hair whipping and flailing limbs.
"Yes! Shelby Marx is the MMA champion of the world! WOO-HOO!" I fist pumped and then threw my arm around his neck in a headlock. He let out a huff as I rubbed my knuckles against his hair.
"Jesus Puckett!" I released him and flopped onto the couch dramatically. His annoyed expression was replaced with one of amusement when I smiled and sighed happily.
"I love MMA," I said dreamily. I was jolted from my dreamy state when Freddie pushed my legs off of the couch and reclaimed his spot. I glared at him. "What are you doing?" He raised an eyebrow challengingly.
"Sitting in my spot." I raised my eyebrow right back at him.
"Well, stop sitting and get standing. Fetch me another root beer, Freddog." He looked at me incredulously.
"Dude, you've already had seven bottles. How much root beer could your little body possibly hold?" I scrunched up my nose and threw my legs onto his lap as hard as I could. The little squeak he let out told me I had hit his – ah – sensitive spot.
"Meh, suck it up, Benson and go get me some soda." Instead of following my orders, Freddie grabbed my bare ankle and started tickling me through my red and blue striped sock. I let out an embarrassing snort of laughter and attempted to bat his hands away.
"Kn-knock it off!" – snort – "Ben" – snort – "son!" – snort – "Augh!" I let out a strangled yell as I fell of the couch. He stood up, still tickling my foot.
"Surrender!" he shouted.
"Never!" I swung my free foot up and, once again, came in contact with his crotch. Freddie squeaked again and fell back onto the couch, immediately releasing my ankle. I smirked and stood up, straightening out my tank and brushing my hair out of my face.
"Don't mess with me, Benson." I stuck my tongue out at him. "Now, seeing as you are, er, out-of-order at the moment, it looks like I'll have to get my own root beer."
"Bring me an ice pack, too. I think you permanently bruised my balls, Puckett," he peeped out to me as I walked to the kitchen. I raised my eyebrows. Huh, it was kind of refreshing hearing Freddie be so blunt. As I dug through the fridge for a bottle of soda, he shouted something at me.
"Hey," his voice had returned to its regular octave, "they're showing footage of how badly Shelby Marx messed up that Scottish chick's face." The fight! I forgot all about it in midst of all that stupid tickling. I grabbed a bottle from the back of the fridge (praying it wasn't diet) and ran back to the living room.
What happened next was all an accident, really. It wasn't supposed to happen. Spencer's stupid sculpting tools weren't supposed to just be lying around. I wasn't supposed to trip over them. Freddie wasn't supposed to be standing right there. I wasn't supposed to crash into his (surprisingly muscular) body. He wasn't supposed to catch me and wrap his arms around my waist. We weren't supposed to go tumbling to the ground. I wasn't supposed to end up straddling his waist. I wasn't supposed to look up into his eyes. And we definitely weren't supposed to get caught up in one of those cliché, in-the-heat-of-the-moment lip-locks.
But we did.
I pressed my lips to his and my hands automatically tangled themselves into his soft, brown hair. His arms tightened around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. A slight moan rumbled in his throat when I gently nipped his bottom lip. He opened his mouth against mine and I gasped as he ran his tongue over my lip. He took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth. I groaned when his tongue clashed against mine. I sat up without breaking the kiss and pulled him by the collar onto the couch. Shelby Marx's interview on TV was just a buzz in the background.
I straddled his lap, resting my knees on either side of his legs. I sighed as his fingers inched under my tank, brushing against my bare skin. I ran my hands down the sides of his arms, feeling the hardness of his biceps. Freddie suddenly flipped our position so that he had one knee in between my thighs. He kissed the corner of my mouth, my jaw, the spot below my ear, down my neck, finally stopping at my collarbone. I gasped as he sprinkled kissed along that very sensitive spot. His hands crawled higher and higher up my shirt until he rested a warm hand on my rib cage.
His fingers grazed across the edge of my bra. I bit my lip trying to hold back a moan. He abandoned my collarbone and slammed his lips against mine again. This time I could hold a moan back. He let me flip us back into our original position; hands still plunged into my shirt. Just as I wrapped my arms around his neck tighter, there was the click of someone unlocking the front door and Spencer loud voice from the other side.
Freddie and I froze, and stared at each other with wide eyes, as if we were realizing just now what position we were in. If Carly or Spencer walked into the room right now, with me straddling Freddie's lap and his hands up my shirt, they'd both die of panic attacks. Within seconds, we were sitting at opposite ends of the couch as far away from each other as possible, our eyes glued to the TV. After a few tense moments, the Shay siblings waltzed into the room. Carly ran towards us.
Freddie and I exchanged a quick, panicked look and we both started spluttering out incoherent words. Our faces were slowly turning red.
"Kiss? What are talking about, Carls?" I said, finally. She gave us a concerned look and pulled a little bag of foil wrapped chocolates from her leather handbag.
"Spencer and I dropped my MallMart before we came back home and I bought some Hershey's Kisses. Do you guys want some?" she asked, still looking at us weirdly. I gathered my composure and grabbed a handful of the little chocolates. I turned away from Carly and chucked one at Freddie's forehead. He caught it before it could hit him.
"Here you go, dork, a kiss from me to you." I gave him a quick wink before turning back to my best friend. "Well, I gotta go. Things to do, people to see, you know?" I smiled and walked out the door, hoping that Freddie had caught my message. Mama needed to finish what she started. The elevator was just about to close when I heard him call my name.
"Sam, wait up!" He came running into the elevator and pushed me up against the wall. I quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Yes?" I asked, stretching out the 'e'. He pressed himself up against me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
"I couldn't let you go without thanking you for that kiss." I hooked my arms around his neck.
"Oh really, Mr. Benson?" He nodded. "So, in what form will this thank you be in?" He didn't bother telling me the answer, he just showed me. I smiled into the kiss. He pulled away with a kiss to my cheek.
"Anytime, Benson, anytime."
And there you have it!
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