Okay, can I clarify something? I do not have writer's block. Writer's block involves staring down a tunnel and seeing nothing but a shadow at the other end. What I have is more like getting to the end of the tunnel, and having to stop right before the light because the guy in the semi in front of me refuses to move. This semi driver, let's just call him Alphonso, is this story, okay, this schmultz, because I consider stories to be 1,000+ words in length, is a metaphor for Alphonso. Enjoy him =]

Bruises

I tried to do handstands for you
I tried to do headstands for you
Every time I fell on you yeah every time I fell
I tried to do handstands for you
But every time I fell for you
I'm permanently black and blue,
Permanently blue for
you

"Find it!" I screamed at him, throwing his heavy backpack at his chest, smiling at the 'Oomph!' sound he made as it hit his gut.

He grimaced, moving his bag to the ground and rubbing his stomach painfully, "I don't know where it is Sam, honestly. I told you, Gibby took it!"

"What would Gibby want with my Biology homework?" I said, pinching him below his ribcage, his face twisting in pain. I could see his Adam's apple bob as he suppressed a squeal.

"I don't know, he's Gibby! For God's sake Sam, just take mine! I'll do it again! It's not worth this!"

I bent over his backpack while he sat unmoving, rifling through his binders until I found what I was looking for. I ripped the sheet out of his notebook and muttered, "Dweeb," before I walked out of his apartment. I wasn't about to wait around to see him cry.

I made it all the way down to the first floor before I realized that in my rush to crush Freddie, I'd neglected to grab my backpack from inside his doorway. Awkward as it would be to go back in there after what I'd just done, I had a substantial stash of Fat Cakes awaiting me in the front pocket of that bag.

Somewhere in my mother's endless etiquette training, she had forgotten to teach me the value of knocking, and I stormed into his apartment.

As soon as I saw him, my heart dropped. He was standing at the fridge, shirtless, with an ice pack in hand. He saw me and turned quickly, but he knew I'd already seen them.

The bruises.

Along his spine, behind his shoulder blades, in the shadows of his ribs…

And when he turned, there were more pressed into his abs and chest, along his upper arms…

"Who did this?" I whispered, unable to believe that one person could do this much damage. He refused to answer, but when he caught my eyes, I knew. "Oh my God Freddie, I did this?"

He stared at me for a long second before he nodded quickly, walking toward his room. I was afraid he would try to pretend I'd never seen it, but he came out with a button-down shirt covering his shoulders. He left it unbuttoned, probably because his gut still hurt too much from where I'd thrown his backpack on him earlier. I could still see the red mark where I'd pinched him, and that too would probably turn into a familiar bluish-gray stain on his pale skin.

He sat down and watched me where I was frozen near the doorway. He pointed on the sofa next to him, and I hesitated, but dropped next to him.

"Why didn't you tell me I was doing this?" I said, reaching out to move the collar of his shirt before tracing a large bruise on his upper arm, which was stronger than it seemed when I was pinching it.

He just smiled, before whispering nonchalantly, "I can handle it."

"Does it hurt?" I said, letting my fingers sweep toward his collar bone.

His eyes caught mine before looking down at my wandering fingers and answering, "Not so much anymore."

I inhaled quickly before pulling my hand away, but he grabbed my wrist in mid-air. He was laughing. I could see the level of abuse I'd given him, and he was still laughing. So why did I feel like I was about to cry?

"What can I say Sam? You've made your mark on me," he grinned, but when he saw that I wasn't smiling, he stopped. "Sam, it's not as bad as it looks."

"How can you say that? How could you not tell me this was happening?" I said, unable to stay still any longer. I got up and went to his freezer, where he'd replaced his ice pack when I came in. I picked it up and brought it over to him. He reached for it, but instead I placed it on his chest and he stared at me.

"Because, then you would stop," he said, and he reached out and touched my chin. I felt a tingle along my jaw line, which didn't feel too horrible, but I forced myself to turn away.

"For such a smart guy, you say some really stupid things," I said, moving the ice pack to his stomach, where there was a hint of a six pack. Maybe a four pack.

He covered my hand with his and caught my eyes, "It's the only way to get you to touch me."

My breathing became shallower, and my list of snappy comebacks dissolved, "That's very self-destructive…"

"We all have our hobbies," he said, grinning. For the first time since I'd walked in on him, I was smiling again.

I looked at his grin, and at the bruises he was so proud of, and then I stared into his expresso-colored eyes, and I knew exactly what he was talking about. I was obsessed with touching him, as much as he was obsessed with being touched. But I couldn't hurt him anymore. Not like this.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore," I whispered, and he took the ice pack out of my hand and placed it on the table, leaning toward me as he did so.

"Fredward?" I choked. I wasn't totally…disturbed by what he was doing, but I was unnerved. Since when was Freddie a man? Must've been when the voice changed…

"There's more than one way to touch," he whispered in that husky deep voice I was just getting used to. He was coming on to me. Fredward Benson was coming on to me.

What are you waiting for? Throw him off! Slap him! Do something!

But I couldn't. And I didn't want to. I let him cup my cheek and brush his fingers along my jawbone. I let him press his lips against mine, and his hands up the edge of my shirt.

And I kissed each of his bruises to heal them. There were so many other ways to leave my mark on Freddie.

And I already knew he had left his mark on me.

Oh, I can already hear the reviews. OOC! OOC! They call. But I stand by my position that Freddie is horribly repressed, and will break like this one of these days. And Sam is just a whole 'nother ball of complicated. Anyway, maybe tomorrow I'll update. Tonight I get to make up sick work. Oh yes, I'm so talented I get sick before I've spent an entire week in school. The senioritis doesn't help. LOL. Okay, that's enough. Too long AN. I get it. Just review please?? Tank Oo Vewy Much!