A/N: If you've read my fic "The Past and Pending," then you know what this is. But in case you haven't, this piece is about the incident around which that whole story is based. Sam and Freddie have had their drinks spiked at a party, and this oneshot is what ensues after their inhibitions have gone. They are already an established couple in this story, and if they seem OOC, it's because they're totally blitzed. Mixing alcohol and drugs will do that to you.

The breaks in the narration signify slight shifts in the POV bias. There is almost no dialogue in this.

Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly. The children are safe.

Take me, take me back to your bed,
I love you so much that it hurts my head.
Say, "I don't mind you under my skin,
I'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in."

The first time you have sex. It's like a right of passage.

Sure, lots of folks say that too big a deal is made out of losing your virginity; that it's 'just sex' and you're bound to have more of it later on in life (and in higher quality), so why obsess over it?

But shouldn't it be a big deal? Shouldn't the act of sharing your body with someone else for the first time, in the most intimate of ways, warrant being obsessed over? Sam thinks so.

She had thought this over not too long after she began dating Freddie. Well, of course she did. It's not like she had ever been in a relationship before where she could actually see it lasting for an indefinite amount of time. Plus, she'd never been so attracted to someone in her life as she was to Freddie, and such attraction made her mind wander. Did he ever think about having sex with her? Would he want to rush into it right away, or would he want to wait a while?

Personally, Sam wants to wait, and she had told Freddie as much about a month into their relationship. He had seemed fine with it. They had both agreed that nothing was really considered sacred anymore, and so first times should be a big deal, should be special, and they had decided to wait.

But then why is Sam currently slipping her hand down Freddie's pants in the middle of a hallway?

The last thing she remembers, she had been abandoning a drinking game for Freddie's lap and forcing her lips onto his. But now they're in the corridor outside of his apartment, and she's not sure exactly when they left Duke's party—somehow they made it back to Bushwell without paying any attention whatsoever to their surroundings. They might have overpaid the cab driver, Lewbert might have yelled something, the elevator might have dinged.

Sam doesn't really care too much, though. She finds it hard to concern herself with the rest of the world or 'wanting to wait' when, at the moment, her hand is discovering that her boyfriend very much wants her, and the rest of her body is agreeing with him.

Freddie stares into her face, his own less than a foot away. She's all gaze-of-blue and golden hair and bitten lips, and she can't seem to stop touching him as they trip through the doorway.

His mother's absence is briefly—so very briefly—noted.

His pants are already undone and loose on his hips when he shoves Sam past the threshold of his bedroom, having traversed the apartment quickly. He slams the door shut and pushes her up against the back of it with the length of his body. His heart is racing and his thoughts are muddled, and he can't quite remember why he shouldn't be charging head first into this. She's his girlfriend, after all. She's beautiful. He loves her.

And she wants him. Unless he's misreading her signals, though he's fairly sure he isn't. Hand-in-pants isn't exactly subtle.

He doesn't know what's gotten into her tonight, but hell if he complains about it. Back at Duke's, she couldn't stop kissing him. Though perhaps 'kissing' doesn't quite encapsulate what she had been doing. She had sat there in his lap and essentially tried to devour him through his mouth.

Much like she's doing now, actually. Forcing her tongue past his lips and clutching him to her.

She lifts a leg and hooks it around his backside to pull his hips harder into hers. Freddie yanks her shirt over her head and throws it somewhere to his left, and Sam is back to devouring him. She tastes like beer, and something salty.

Freddie's eyes are closed, and he fumbles with the waistband of her jeans, her belly warm against the backs of his fingers. He clumsily flips the button through the hole and undoes the zipper. The force with which he jerks the pants down her hips brings her entire body away from the door, and when he straightens himself up again, he shifts his stance and presses her roughly against the dresser instead. A breath escapes her as he attacks her neck and collarbone, her mewling making him crazy.

He wants this, has wanted this for a long time, but he respected Sam's wish to wait. He had wanted to wait too, at one point. Don't misunderstand, he has always felt that sex is something special and should be saved for someone you love and who loves you back. Only, he's known for a while now that they love each other—that he's totally head-over-heels, anyway—and soon they'll have been dating for almost a year. There have been so many moments in these past months where something could have happened but didn't because Sam always held back, waiting for the 'right time.'

And that's what's freaking confusing him so much right now.

That party was probably the least romantic thing they've been to in weeks—it was stuffy, crowded with drunk people and reeked of stale breath and BO. Why would she suddenly choose then to act so forward and go against her self-imposed vow to wait as long as humanly possible to have sex with him?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Freddie can see the implications of what going through with this would mean for their relationship, but he can't quite get his brain to dwell on it for some reason. Sam wants him, here and now, and he can't resist.

He expects her to oppose him as he pulls her bra straps off her shoulders and folds the cups down so he can see her breasts, but she doesn't. Not even the smallest of protests leaves her mouth. She just reaches behind to unclasp the bra and lets it fall to the floor.

"Fuck," Freddie says a moment before wrapping his lips around the soft flesh of her exposed breast. Sam emulates the sentiment.

She tries not to analyze just how much she's enjoying Freddie's newfound aggressiveness—taking control of her and not asking permission. She might have been the one to start this, but he's clearly going to be the one to finish it.

She reaches over to pull his pants down, but he stops her, grasping her wrists tightly and pressing them against the dresser with the rest of her body. "No," he says, voice low and domineering.

She feels a fluttering in her chest, and lower. By all rights, she should knee him in the groin for treating her like that, but she's too fucking turned on right now to even consider doing anything except what he tells her to. When did she become so compliant?

He shoves into her again, her back slamming against the dresser, and she hears something fall behind her.

Their bodies are touching from thigh to chest, and her arms are bent at the elbows as he holds her wrists to either side of her shoulders. Freddie places his leg between hers and leans in closer, putting incredible pressure on her crotch as he lifts her a bit with his thigh. Her arousal is so heightened at this point; she's surprised she doesn't come. Reflexively, she gyrates her hips.

She's almost frightened at the intensity with which Freddie is watching her, but his eyes are promising her things, and his lips are swollen, and all she wants is for him to ravish her. She lets him kiss her hard, wondering why she had ever been so obstinate about resisting any of this. Never has anything come so easily, felt so right, as Freddie kissing her like this, licking into her mouth and bearing down on her with his entire body. She wants him to melt into her.

He rips away from her and roughly divests her of the rest of her underwear, tossing the clothing behind him and pushing her once again into the dresser, even more forcefully this time. She doesn't really mind. Besides, being sandwiched is probably the only way she's remaining upright.

He palms her center and her knees get even weaker, his hand and the pressure of his body the only things keeping her up. He slides a finger inside her, exploring, and the noise that escapes her throat sounds so unbelievably erotic, even to her. It's outright obscene.

In a moment, Freddie is hurrying towards the bed, pulling her after him by the arm. He accidentally runs into the small table in the middle of the room, knocking it into the chairs beside it, but he doesn't break stride. When he reaches the bed, he spins Sam around and drops her down onto it, just high enough so her feet aren't touching the floor.

She looks up at him, naked and yielding, and fuck if he's never been so turned on in his life. He waits for the spell to be broken, for her to regain her prudence and tell him that he's a pervert or something more colorful. But moments pass and all she does is look up at him obediently, eagerly.

She's not going to tell him to stop, he realizes. He can almost feel his eyes darken.

He removes his shirt and his jeans along with his underwear and stands before her, watching her eyes take him in. He feels proud at the fervor that gradually seeps in through her shock. But before he can join her on the bed, she scoots forward, gaze on his cock, and wraps a small hand around the base of him. He sucks in a breath, surprised at the chill of her fingers and roused by the tightness of her grip. Not a second after she's done this does she take him into her mouth, as far as she can.

"Oh, fuck!" It's all Freddie can do not to thrust himself down her throat. It's such a confusing and pleasurable feeling—her hand is cold as she inelegantly twists it around, and her mouth is so unbelievably warm and soft and wet, her tongue roving along the underside of him—and what she lacks in grace she more than makes up for in enthusiasm.

Freddie closes his eyes and allows himself to simply feel.

His head is swimming, though he tries not to notice. His chest, loins and legs are burning like they never have before, and he briefly wonders if he should be concerned.

But mostly his attention is trained on Sam's mouth. She keeps changing her movements before he can get used to whatever she's doing, approaching her task in a different way every few seconds. She slides him in and out of her mouth; she licks a stripe down his length; she places wet, suckling kisses along the side of him; she traces her tongue around the head, all the while stroking with her hand. It's hot and it's cold and it's supple and it's electric, and the overload of sensation is maddening.

He wrenches her off of him, his hands gripping her upper arms, and moves her back onto the bed like he had her before. He lays her down and crawls his way up her body until his face hovers above hers, and he takes a minute to search her eyes. They watch him, heavy-lidded.

"If you don't stop me now," he says gruffly, "I don't think I'll be able to stop." His gaze glides possessively over her body, which is heaving with every one of her desperate breaths. All for him.

He knows he's far gone. There's absolutely no way he isn't glaringly aware of that fact. His vision has tunneled, his mouth is dry, his lips are mostly numb and his brain feels like it's sloshing about the inside of his skull. There are only two immediate courses of action that he can see: pass out, or fuck Sam. And he really wants to fuck Sam.

Nevermind that he knows he shouldn't because, if he did, then he would technically be taking advantage of her. But anyway, wasn't she doing the exact same thing by seducing him in his drunken state and being so damn biddable in letting him have his way with her?

There's probably something faulty in that rationalization, but Freddie can't be bothered to suss it out right now. He's beginning to get accustomed to his body taking over for his brain, the mind-plunder becoming more blatant with every passing second.

Reason? What reason? Who needs reason when you have Samantha Fucking Puckett ready and willing and wanting beneath you?

With difficulty, he makes himself wait for her response.

She heard what he said. She's just trying really hard to get her brain to function.

To her surprise, his statement doesn't put her off, and neither does it make her feel objectified or whatever shit she figures she's supposed to feel since she has always boasted about being a tough chick who doesn't take status-quo crap from anybody. Should she be put off? Or should she be pleased that she apparently turns Freddie 'I Use My Head' Benson primal?

All she knows is that she really, really wants him to fuck her. Screw being uptight and proud. The weight of him on top of her, the warm scent that's coming off of him in waves, the hard gravel in his voice, it all screams 'male' and she just freaking wants to be taken over.

She doesn't waste any time psychoanalyzing herself before she says, "Fuck me," in a voice that's so sultry, she finds it hard to believe it came from her own mouth. When did she become so wanton? Whatever, who cares.

Freddie sort of growls at her and then slips his fingers inside her once again, two at the same time, and none too gently. And it's glorious friction. It's not so much that it hurts her (though there is a bit of pain) but just enough to make her want more. He pumps his hand, and she forgets that anything else exists apart from the freaking hand and its damn fingers going in and out of her. She would notice the pain except she's so utterly stimulated right now that it hardly matters.

She whimpers and angles her hips up a bit in an attempt to gain more of that delicious friction. He pumps into her harder, but it just isn't enough. Freddie's fingers feel great, but they're not what she's aching for. No, that would be the length of searing heat that is currently burning against her thigh.

"Freddie," she says, and it's almost a whine. "Please."

He had been watching his fingers disappear into her, but he looks up when she says 'Please.' God, he never knew such a polite word could sound so damn bawdy. So she had asked him to fuck her? He hadn't imagined that? Oh, good.

But he has to double check. "Please, what?" he asks, a bit surprised at how husky his voice sounds.

He hasn't stopped the movement of his hand, and Sam looks to be having trouble responding to his question. She's still tipping her hips upward, searching it seems. Freddie removes his fingers from her and sits back on his haunches, placing a hand on each of her hips and pushing down so she stays flat on the bed. He looms over her a little. "Say it," he commands.

Sam's breathing is shaky. "Fuck me," she says, pleading. The words would sound pathetic, except that Freddie so desperately wants this just as much as she does. It's starting to become painful.

He dashes off the side of the bed while his brain is still sensible enough to think 'Condom' and nearly upends his bedside table in search of the contraceptive. It's a good thing their anniversary is so soon, or else he wouldn't even have any.

His return to Sam takes entirely too long. She's sitting up now, leaning back against the shelf behind his bed, touching herself. Christ, is she trying to make him come prematurely?

He kneels in front of her and spreads her legs farther apart, pushing her hand away from her center and replacing it with his own. Her hands now idle, she takes the square foil from him, ripping it open and rolling the condom onto his length. It's tight but pliant, and he wonders how her pussy would compare.

He places his hands where the backs of her legs meet her ass and lifts her, bracing her between his body and the shelf space; she plants the heels of her hands on the bottommost edge. She's so warm against him as he angles his hips and pushes inside her.

He hears her wail, but he almost can't concentrate past the clenching of her inner walls at his intrusion. If he'd been asked his name at that moment, it would have taken him a few seconds to respond.

He swallows hard, not moving, trying to calm his body and get his eyes to refocus. It won't do if he finishes now without having made her come first. He desperately wants to see her come. He wants to hear what kind of noise she makes at the height of her pleasure. He wants to witness every single sound and flutter of muscle and know that he's the cause of it all. He wants her to want this, want him, again and again. And so he steels himself, lest he ruin it.

Sam's eyes look wet as she moves her hands to his shoulders, her legs wrapping tightly around him, and he can feel her nails digging into his traps as she slowly starts to roll her hips. It's exquisite torture.

He groans, and some switch inside him flips. He has to take her. He has to mark her. He has to make her his. She can't have any doubt about who she belongs to.

He bends his neck and takes a heaving breast into his mouth, sucking on it sharply, bringing forth another cry (though this time not in pain). He pulls his head back and regards the plum-colored mark he left. "Mine," he whispers.

He adjusts his grip, holding onto her backside, and thrusts into her. Once, twice. Sam gasps each time. Her eyes are closed, and there's a frown on her brow like she's trying to decipher what she's feeling, but her nipples are hard and she's still rolling her hips, so the pain must be receding. Freddie continues moving in and out of her at a steady pace, and gradually, her expression begins to relax, her head tilting back and her lips parting for breath.

He shifts his hold again, lifting her legs higher around him, and drives into her with a little more force. Her reaction is a bit startling. She howls a high-pitched 'Oh!' and arches, the motion traveling quickly down her body like a wave and ending in a thrust against Freddie's hips. He's pretty sure her fingernails break skin. And that does it.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's shoving into her repeatedly, grasping her so firmly that he's sure he'll leave bruises. Her eyes are wide open now, staring him in the face as he fucks her like he can't get far enough inside her.

He should feel bad about this. He should slow down. He should be gentler. He should touch her tenderly and make love to her. Why couldn't he control himself? Shit, but she's clutching him so tightly…

Things were falling off the shelf. It's a good thing it's built into the wall, or else it might have fallen too. The frown is back on Sam's brow, but this time she doesn't look unsure of what she's feeling. Her mouth is gaping, lips pink in arousal, and she's sucking in air in hitches. Freddie can see it in her eyes that she's close. He is as well.

He reaches between them and rubs his thumb over where he thinks her clit is, desperate to make her climax. She screams, and he feels her clench around him. He has a moment of pride before his orgasm hits him like a storm.

He grinds out something unintelligible, his throat constricting, but he keeps moving, thrusting and rubbing. Sam is moaning lewdly and pulling in every one of his thrusts with her legs. A blush has made its way across her chest, up her neck and into her cheeks, and her pupils have dilated so widely that her irises have become mere rings around the black circles.

Freddie feels her flutter around him, a scream of utter pleasure leaving her lips, and he thinks she looks so stunning like this. Like sheer abandon in pink skin and golden curls. He tries to keep moving into her as she rides out her orgasm, but he begins to feel sluggish, as if a drug were beginning to take hold in his muscles, turning them slack and making him sleepy.

His body collapses, and he slides out of Sam, sprawling on the bed and gasping for breath.

Sam joins him at his side, sated and aching. This is what she wanted, what she had denied herself for so long and finally had the courage to pursue.

Admittedly, she hadn't expected Freddie to be so forceful, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't love it. He felt so good inside her, and the way he held her body made her think of how strong he's become.

She gazes at him, her eyelids heavy. His own are closed, and she's not sure if he's fallen asleep. His penis has gone soft, and so Sam removes the condom, tying it closed and dropping it over the side of the bed. She doesn't want it to come off while they're sleeping and get semen all over the sheets.

She runs a hand lazily over his body, studying his torso, his chest, his shoulders, his face. He really is growing into a man. Her man. The only man she would ever let inside her, would ever allow to dominate her. The only one to whom she would ever grant the privilege.

She wonders briefly if this whole thing was a mistake but decides quickly that it wasn't. It was a long time coming, to be honest.

She feels her eyes start to close and snuggles up closer to Freddie, embracing him with an arm and a leg and placing a kiss onto his chest.

No. No, this was definitely not a mistake.

A/N: Well. That was quite… sexy. No other way to describe it, really. It was a sex scene, and you all knew that was what it was going to be when you went into it. But the way I figure it, in hindsight (in "The Past and Pending"), Sam and Freddie look on this situation in all seriousness; however, while it's happening, they just go with it. Those two are super into each other. I tried to write some thoughtful parts into this, but honestly, how much thinking really goes on when you're inebriated and horny?

The sexy-ass verse at the beginning is from "Degausser" by Brand New.

Thoughts? Comments? Incoherent babble? Please review!