Hey, guys, remember me? It's been about six months since I updated this thing. I am so sorry for the wait, I started this literally the day after I posted the last chapter and then I went away and got distracted and then school began. This year the workload has practically doubled and I have GCSEs and I've been studying and bogged down with work, and the lack of iCarly episodes has rid me of my inspiration. Even for my drabble collection. I posted a couple of things for the creddiefans forum Secret Santa challenge which I'll link to at my profile. I hope this chapter is sufficient in making my absence up to you all! I hope you also all had a lovely Christmas and New Year, as well as a well-deserved break. C:
more smut in this chapter, guys, so to those of you with innocent eyes, look away and come back in a couple of years! It's not hideously graphic but still. xD
She was dying, she was sure.
His large hands were so soft and gentle on her hips, guiding their movements and making her feel safe. He was panting into her neck, almost sinking into her skin. He was heavy, even though he supported his weight on his arms; it was not unpleasant. In fact, as every limb touched and squeezed and moved the sensations heightened.
"Gibby," she breathed, eyes fluttering closed and her hair sticking to her clammy neck. "Yes, oh, Gibby."
"Sam," he groaned, kissing his way up her jaw until their mouths collided. He kissed her like she was the only air left in the world, and she'd never felt like this before. She'd never have guessed that the chubby boy who was prone to removing his shirt would coax these sounds and feelings from her.
She was hurtling towards that blissful edge again, her arms wrapping desperately around his neck and her cries turning to breathless squeaks. And she was falling, falling...
Thump.
Sam's eyes shot open and found her carpet.
"Shit," she muttered, mind racing. "Oh my God."
She was dreaming about Gibby. She was dreaming about Gibby holding her and kissing her and moving within her and through the haze of her dream-state it had felt like the best sex she'd ever had.
But she wasn't supposed to feel like that, because just last week she'd turned him down for ice cream and also she had a sort of thing with Spencer.
She'd slept with him three times now. And it got better every second.
She pushed herself up from the floor, fists rubbing over her eyes. Her hair hung like cobwebs around her, and she reached for her brush.
Wincing as she managed to rip strands of her from her scalp, Sam let the sharp pain wake her up a little. She couldn't think of Gibby that way. Not odd, loud, greedy Gibby, who snacked every hour and –
That sounded slightly familiar.
She and Gibby had always got on well, because he understood her fetish for violence and food and didn't seem to mind when she used him as a punching bag (she suspected it didn't hurt anymore).
He was a friend, someone to talk to and tease and she always needed him to lean back on when Carly and Freddie were being sensible.
And when he asked her out, he looked like if she said yes it would have been the best thing ever to happen to him.
Freddie squeezed Carly's hand as he sat with her on the Shay's couch, his throat constricting but the words still flooding out of him.
"I feel so guilty," he said. "I mean, all she did was love me the way she felt was right, and I thought she was embarrassing, and really over the top. I didn't appreciate her."
Carly said nothing; she placed her other hand on top of his.
"I yelled at her," he said, head drooping. "The last time I saw her, I yelled at her. Can you believe that? And now I can't say sorry."
"You didn't know," Carly gazed at him, sympathy lining her face. "Freddie, she knew you love her."
He was grateful for the present tense.
"I didn't," he said, focusing on his lap. "Most the time she pissed me off. But that was the only way to love me that she knew."
He screwed his eyes shut for a second.
"She deserved more," he mumbled. "She was – she was amazing. I didn't realise it."
Carly moved to hug him, but he leaned away. Her hurt expression made his gut twist painfully but he shook his head.
"I think – I think I need to be alone," he said hoarsely, and she nodded quite reluctantly.
"I'll – I'll see you later," she replied quietly, getting up and wringing her hands. He stood up too and pressed his mouth to her temple very lightly.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, fingertips fumbling for her hand again. "I'm sorry."
When he left he couldn't feel her eyes watching him go.
"Ooh, Spencer," Sam hissed as his fingers dipped lower. She felt his smirking into the inside of her thigh before he kissed it. "Would you just get to it?"
"Get to what, beautiful?" he murmured, tongue flicking over her skin. She inhaled sharply and her breathing quickened ever so slightly.
"It's right there," she moaned, writhing underneath his teasing touch.
She heard his snigger and almost kicked him, but then she whimpered as his mouth finally reached its destination.
"Oh my God," she let her hips rise and fall.
"Shh," he found her hand momentarily and caressed it. "No talking now."
"What if," she panted, toes curling. "I wanted to – yes – say your – Spencer!"
"That's fine," his voice against her made her tremble. "That's absolutely fine."
"You can- you can," she cried out suddenly at a flick of his tongue. "Touch –"
His sigh of relief met her own. "Thank you."
As she heard a rustle of clothing and then his soft groan, any thoughts of guilt flew from her mind and she focused on these few moments of escape.
Three plates. One cup. A mug. Just Spencer's coffee mug to do now – and then.
And then she'd be out of distractions.
It had been three hours since his departure and she was fiddling and cleaning and she was even considering baking some freaking brownies or something. She looked at her phone again, tempted so badly to just text him – to see if he was okay, if he wanted her again.
Her fingers inched towards it.
Sam licked her ice cream absentmindedly, her shorts too hot and rough and her t-shirt too tight.
His hands had left marks on her skin and she could take as many showers as she wanted but he'd left his essence buried within the crannies of her joints. She didn't know that artists' hands could be so calloused and yet so soft over her shoulders; she didn't know his fingers could move so rhythmically in contrast to his heavy, shallow breathing; she didn't know his hipbones could stick out like that, drawing her gaze downwards.
She only came back to the present at a sudden, wet splatter of cold on her finger. Her ice cream was melting, the pink liquid dripping steadily onto her hand. She smirked and wiped it on her jeans before returning to her snack with gusto.
"Hey, um, it's me, I was just checking you were okay. I know you said you wanted to be alone but it's been like three hours, Freddie, please can you come back over? I – I'm sorry, I just – I just worry. Just – just text me? Please?"
She sighed before mumbling a farewell and then wrapping her hand around the cushion on her lap. She buried her nose in the soft fabric and squeezed her eyes tight shut.
Sam found Gibby with his little brother; they were arguing over baseball.
"But if you hit it really hard, buddy," Gibby was pressing. "You don't even need to run."
"I want to run!" Guppy stomped his foot.
"Hey, guys," Sam stopped in front of them, an eyebrow raised.
"Sam!" Guppy squealed, suddenly distracted. He ran and hugged her round the middle. "You're the prettiest girl ever."
"You better think so," she tapped his head awkwardly. "Let go of me, you little monster."
"Okay," he removed his little arms and ran back to his brother. "You were right, Gibby, she's hot!"
Gibby turned scarlet and immediately slapped his hand over his brother's mouth. "Guppy, don't objectify her!"
Sam could feel a smirk catching at her mouth and merely stared at her friend. "That's okay. Sometimes we like to feel hot."
Gibby's eyes darkened ever so slightly.
Freddie found himself having difficulty knocking on Carly's door half an hour after receiving her message. He did hate worrying her, and he wasn't mad at her all – he just took his sweet time being alone. He had to raise his fist twice before rapping shortly on her door and stepping back nervously. He heard a pattering of quick feet and leaned his head in the direction of where the door opened in preparation.
"Freddie!" she'd never looked happier to see him. "Hi, is everything okay – I mean, you were gone for ages and you didn't pick up your phone."
"I didn't mean to be so long," he held out his arms and she rushed into them. "I just – I just sat there, at her grave."
She let him go and pulled him to her couch. The déjà-vu sent a pang of guilt through his stomach – he was killing her.
"Carly," he tugged her under his arm. "I shouldn't lay this all on you."
She was shaking her head. "Freddie, I love you, and we're going to work this out – you and me. Okay? I'm here because I want to be and I want to make you happy again."
He pushed the hair back from her forehead and kissed her deeply.
"You're amazing," he breathed into her mouth, breaking away for just a moment. "Have I ever told you that?"
"Probably," she gasped, reaching for his mouth again and moaning when he nipped at her bottom lip a little. He smiled into their kiss and wrapped his arms tightly around her tiny body.
He loved small, quiet moments like these when he could just hold her and kiss her and love her with no interruptions and no expectations and no distractions.
He suckled gently on her tongue and revelled in the beautiful sounds coming from the beautiful girl in his embrace.
Sam did not know what the hell was happening between her and Spencer. She didn't know if he was referring to her as a girlfriend, a lover – and she couldn't exactly call him and say "Hey, Spence, can I fuck Gibby? Is that okay?"
The bedroom eyes she was getting from her formerly chubby friend were overwhelming and she could feel her body fluttering and heating and softening almost as she breathed. His eyes were caressing her curves and she could nearly feel his gaze – his hot, blaring gaze.
Summer was almost over but the heat was still everywhere.
She was forgetting the tall, quirky she had slept with just last night – the softness of his hands, the way they were large enough to cup her wholly, to make her sigh his name. She just knew that the boy in front of her wanted her, and the desire was fully reciprocated.
"Guppy," he blurted, not breaking their suddenly locked gaze. "Hey, buddy, there's Lucy."
"Awesome!" His little brother spotted his lady friend and toddles over, leaving them alone.
"There's an alley," she said huskily, inching forwards. Her gaze was slow as it moved away to indicate said alley. "Over there. We've got about five minutes."
His expression remained blank, but she saw his pupils dilate and smirked.
"Ten, maybe," he said softly, a streak of tenderness mixed into his deepened voice. "I could do ten."
Her eyebrows shot upwards. "Deal."
He grasped her hand and they began to stride towards the alley. Sam swore she could feel millions of pairs of eyes on her – judging her, scolding her – but she ignored it and walked even faster to the alleyway. They reached it eventually and went further down it and round the corner.
"Privacy," she hissed at his frown. His face cleared and he nodded.
This was it. Their spot.
They faced each other, hands now gripped tightly. Gibby leaned immediately, but Sam stopped him momentarily.
"Do you have protection?" she murmured, and at his nod finally kissed him.
It was surprisingly gentle, slow, for this kind of place they were in – for what they were about to do. There was no tongue thrust into her mouth – oh, there it was, but it was so careful. Like he thought she (this) could break any second. She pressed harder. He pushed back.
"Wall," she choked, pulling away.
"Okay," he lifted her easily and leaned her against the wall. The bricks scraped a little at her bare shoulders and upper back, but she didn't care. Her legs were twisting around his waist and now the fire is racing through her. Her blood vessels pumped – everything felt like it wasburning.
He traced the curve of her hip to her thigh with his palm, now kissing down her neck. She writhed and moaned, wanting more, more, more and always needing his touch and his kiss. She had her hands under his shirt, finally marking the much dreamt-of muscles with the invisible ink of her fingers. He was moving his hand up her waist, her ribs, to the place where she loved to be touched and he clearly loved to touch. He was so gentle but everything felt so fast and desperate and she was falling again and gasping and needing him there right now.
She was unbuttoning his jeans and he was tugging down her cotton shorts (cooler than denim – advice from Carly) and slipping his hand into her underwear and she moaned.
Their upper-body clothes didn't matter – just the ones covering the necessary body parts. She didn't even look at him, not that bit of him, she just rocked her hips and went for what she'd set out to get in the first place.
He was panting in her ear, and it was so like her dream that she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tight around his neck.
And she tried to hold on as he surged within her.