Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly and this is not real. This is just my idea of what could be the aftermath of 'iTwins'

Boy Code

There is one rule in the boy code that is more important than all of the others put together and doubled by four thousand, even more important than not dating/kissing/sleeping with the ex-girlfriend of your best friend. It is so important that if you break it you are punishing yourself to torture at the hands of at least one livid female, if not two. The rule is that you never kiss one girl and then kiss her sister – it doesn't matter if the time between the kisses is hours, days, weeks or months – because in the end you are sentencing yourself to a nasty and very bloody death. It is worse when the sisters you kiss are identical twins and you only kissed the second twin because you were on a date trying to prove that both twins were the same menacing and abrasive blonde-headed torment-machine.

It takes Carly two days to burst Freddie's 'I finally won against Sam' bubble full of cockiness and an expanding ego (mainly because he is pissing her off to the extent that she can't keep her damn mouth shut) by showing him a selection of photographs she stole from Sam's house while she was busy hitting her sister repeatedly over the head with a sweeping brush in the basement. She was apparently trying to knock some sense into Melanie because only "the blind and seriously mentally retarded would kiss Freddie Benson". The photos show the twins age two with matching pink romper suits and curly honey coloured hair, the twins age eight with Sam pulling her younger-by-twelve-minutes sisters hair and biting her cheek, the twins age fourteen and complete polar opposites – preppy and tom boy – and finally age sixteen, a photo taken four days ago, Melanie weeping into her hands because Sam called her fat.

Freddie wants to doubt it, wants to point out that they're fake photographs but he knows that Sam can't use Photoshop except for putting an ugly teachers face on the body of the rhino and the only person she knows who can use the photo manipulating programme to make convincing images is him.

The realisation that Sam and Melanie are two different people, fully fledged blood relations with the same DNA and everything, hits him square in the gut and he excuses himself from Carly's apartment to promptly throw up in a casserole dish in the privacy of his kitchen.

He has broken the most significant rule of the boy code and he is going to have to start counting his remaining days as a teenage boy who doesn't need the help of a hospital machine to breathe and nurses to feed him liquids through tubes inserted down his throat. He's going to be jumpy, constantly looking over his shoulder for a frightening blonde with fists ready to beat him black and blue and he contemplates throwing himself off the roof of the Bushwell Plaza to make everything a hell of a lot easier for himself.

To be blunt, he's doomed.

It takes Sam two weeks to explode and when she does, boy, does she explode.

She's banging on the door of Freddie's apartment – thankfully his mother is at work – and he is watching her through the peep hole. Her face is flushed an unflattering shade of red, her hair is tied back in a ponytail but sections of hair are falling from the elastic band to hang messy at the sides of her face, and she isn't even dressed properly, still in the purple tank top and black shorts she uses to sleep in. He is petrified because he has been on the wrong end of Sam's wrath enough times over the past three years to know what happens, but this is entirely different. This is serious and he is beginning to wish his mother did have the panic room installed like she said she would simply because it would give him somewhere to hide and fear for his life.

On the brightside, at least Sam doesn't have a gun.

"I know you're in there, dishrag! Open up the mother effing door or I'll kick it down!"

He does not doubt her threat for a second, knowing she has more than enough strength to kick his door down because she has forced herself into the Shay's apartment by ripping the chain lock from the doorframe more times than he'd like to remember, usually because she was looking for him so she could beat him up.

"If I let you in will you at least explain why you're so pissed before you pummel the life out of me?" Freddie tries to reason with her even though he knows his attempts are futile.

"No I freaking well won't, Benson!"

That is all it takes, Freddie trying to be diplomatic and civil towards Sam, for the door to come crashing into him and he finds himself forced against the wall behind him with a huge lump of wood pinning him down. He thinks he hears Sam roar but it could be the knock to the head causing him to hear things. He isn't left struggling under the door for long because a hand with deathly long fingernails – the only sign that Sam is in any way girly – that have craved chunks of flesh from him one too many times shoots out to grab his arm and he is dragged into his front room, her grip bruising.

Sam pushes him onto the couch and she stands glaring in front of him, hands on hips, and if looks could kill he'd be dead several times over.

"Why did you kiss her?" she hisses, sounding too disgusted to even say Melanie's name, but Freddie has to bite his bottom lip between his teeth because he cannot take her seriously when her tank top has ridden up to expose her midriff and her shorts are sitting too low on her hips.

Freddie opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out because his throat has closed up in panic. She slaps him clean across the face, the sharp sound of skin meeting skin echoing around the room before she is screaming, "Answer me!"

"I didn't. She kissed me."

"You're a liar Fredweirdo. 'It' just described to me over the phone in graphic detail how you leaned in and initiated the kiss, how your lips felt against hers, your hands on her hips and urgh, it made me wanna puke," she makes retching sounds to illustrate her point.

He cocks an eyebrow at her in typical Freddie fashion, wondering why she is getting so worked up and flustered over the situation. Surely she should be pounding him to a pulp right now because she said she wouldn't attempt to discuss anything.

"She's the liar! At least you two have something in common. You're both compulsive liars," he bites back, standing up from the couch and she doesn't make an attempt to push him back down, her hands balled into fists at her sides, "Why are you so bothered about me kissing your damn sister? Just because we kissed that one time and swore to never do it again does not mean you own me or my lips, Samantha."

Freddie doesn't know why he said that because he knows that kissing another girls sister is pretty a big deal, but he thought Sam was above all of that "oh my goodness, you kissed my sister, you're a bastard" business he associates with girls who hold a far too large opinion of themselves. Why should she care? It isn't like she likes Freddie or anything...

Well, damn! That'd explain everything.

"I'm not bothered, I'm, uh, I'm pissed because you probably gave 'it' swine flu and because, because then I'll catch it and I'll die tragically and I'll never get to torture you again," she rambles endlessly, digging herself a hole so deep that she can't see out of it.

"I don't have swine flu!" he yells because he thinks she is ridiculous, taking a step closer to Sam because her delayed physical abuse is making him more confident.

"But why did you kiss her? You thought she was me in disguise for heavens sake, a-and you're so stupid, Freddork," she says, voice dropping several decibels and she sounds almost defeated.

"That's it, you idiot. I thought she was you, doesn't that mean anything to you? I thought I was kissing you!" he shouts in retaliation, giving up on trying to be subtle and dodging the subject.

She stares at him incredulously for a few seconds that feel like minutes before she huffs with her hands back on her hips and says, "What?"

He wants to bash her over the head with a really heavy hard-covered book because she can be so dim at times.

"Oh, fucking hell Sam! The only reason I didn't push Melanie away as soon as she tilted her head to kiss me was because I thought you were pretending to be your sister. Sam, I thought I was kissing you and I enjoyed it because I thought she was you. For crying out loud, I kissed her because I wanted to kiss you again, y'know, before I freaked out and tried to make a run for it."

He doesn't wait for a reply, not wanting to hear the words that are forming in her head come out of her mouth, stepping forward and cupping her face in his hands before her mind can catch up with his tirade. He looks into her eyes and can see the nervousness that was in them several months ago, but this time he doesn't wait for her to rudely instruct him to lean, doesn't wait for her permission because this is for him, for her too if she wants it, and nothing she can do is going to stop him.

He kisses her and it is a whole new sensation to the first one they shared in January. There isn't the hesitancy this time, it is more dominant and slightly forceful from the pressure of his lips, and it only takes her a heartbeat before she is falling into synchronisation with him, kissing back unlike before when she had sat there unmoving and off-putting. Her hands move to his hips, pulling him closer to her and he traces her closed lips with his tongue, daring for the entrance she grants him.

They fall back onto the couch that Sam had pushed Freddie onto not five minutes ago, still attached at the lips as their hands do some serious exploring. He knows that what they're doing has the potential to turn dangerous, to go from ecstasy to awkward in the matter of seconds, but right now he doesn't care, wanting to deal with the consequences of his actions after they've stopped furiously making out in his front room.

The need for air is too strong and they eventually pull apart and it gives Sam the fraction of a second she needs for confusion to flash across her facial features and to try and bring up their previous topic of conversation before Freddie blindsided her with a kiss.

"But Freddie --"

"Just shut up and let me kiss you again."

And he does, over and over and over again until their lips are swollen, sore and cherry red, until his mother comes home and screams bloody murder because her son is being sexually assaulted by a blonde-headed demon.

Freddie Benson may have violated the boy code, but he didn't suffer as much as he should have. That is unless suffering is now known as being smothered in hot kisses as he half-lies on top of a jealous Sam Puckett and having the dainty hands of the fiery blonde go to places he never thought they would venture.

If this is suffering, Freddie wants all he can get and then some more.