Author's Note: While this is a lemon fic, I assure you that it's nothing too over-the-top or graphic. I prefer writing sex scenes that focus not only on the physical stuff, but on the emotional aspect as well. So that's what you're gonna get with this. Enjoy! ;)

Disclaimer: iCarly © Dan Schneider

So, it's Friday night, and instead of dancing my face off at some awesome party while I stuff my mouth with delicious snacks, I'm currently sitting on my living room couch, watching TV.

Just sitting here…

With my nubby boyfriend.

My head is resting comfortably against his shoulder, just like it always does whenever he comes over. He's got his arm wrapped around my waist, occasionally stroking my stomach with his hand, just like he always does.

It's sort of dorky, but then again, he is the biggest dork I know, so I'm pretty much used to it by now.

And, I'm not gonna lie, I actually kind of like it.

His body shifts a little, and I blink in confusion as I look up at him. His dark brown eyes meet my gaze, and he gives me a small smile. He then turns slightly and kisses the side of my head.

And for a split-second, I try my best not to smile, but the battle doesn't last very long at all, because honestly, I just can't fight it. My lips stretch into a wide, most likely very goofy-looking grin, but I know it doesn't even matter, because he immediately smiles right back at me the same way.

Yes, believe it or not, even I, Sam Puckett, can't stop myself from totally melting at those sweet, butterfly-exploding moments of affection. They make me smile, and they make my heart pump a little harder, and they make my stomach feel all warm and tingly, and I just freakin' love it.

I mean, as much as I enjoy coming off as this brutally tough chick who's completely grossed out by seeing couples cuddling or holding hands or swapping spit in public, I don't find it gross at all when it comes to me and my own dorktastic boyfriend.

Which makes me a total hypocrite, I know.

But I don't care.

I finally tear my gaze away from him and fix my eyes back on the TV. We're watching an episode of a terrible show that for some dumb reason, my boyfriend just loves. It's called Celebrities Underwater.

Yeah, I know, you'd think that, since we're acting all cuddly and mushy and lovey-dovey right now, we'd be watching some cheesy, teeth-rottingly sweet chick flick or something.

But no. We're not. Instead, we're watching some horrible reality show about D-list celebrities competing with each other to see who can hold their breath underwater the longest. I think the winner gets a certain amount of cash depending on how long they stay underwater, and then they can donate the money to a charity of their choice.

I honestly don't see the point in it at all. I mean, seriously, what's so fun about holding your breath underwater for a long period of time and winning some money for it, just to be forced to give it all away to some greedy little orphan kids? I tell ya, if I were a contestant on that show, I'd say screw the needy kids and the elderlies, and I'd take all the money for myself and buy a truckload of ham and bacon, or maybe even my own taser gun.

Aww, yeah…my very own taser gun…

I would have so much fun with that.

But anyway, as I was saying, this show is terrible. Honestly, the coolest thing about it is watching the celebrities almost drown. That's literally the only entertaining thing about it.

I decide to tell my boyfriend just that.

And when I do, he cocks his head at me, giving me a look that lets me know he's clearly offended that I've just insulted one of his favorite shows. I just stare up at him, taking in the mildly upset look on his face.

"What?" I ask after a while. "It's true."

"Then why are you watching it?" he demands.

"'Cause I know how much you like watching it."

Uh huh. Mama can be considerate when she wants to be. It ain't often, I'll admit, but it still happens every once in a while, whenever I'm in one of my extremely rare generous moods.

I can tell that what I just said has definitely surprised him, because his eyebrows raise slightly, but he doesn't say another word. He simply sinks back into the couch, focusing his attention back on the TV.

I try my best to focus on the show, too, but oh my God, it's just so flippin' stupid that I can barely stand to watch one more second of it.

Hmm… Looks like I'll just have to entertain myself another way…

A small smirk tugs at my lips as I slowly slide my hand across the couch and start making my way up my boyfriend's leg. I stop moving it to rest it gently on his thigh for a second. He doesn't make any sort of movement, though, so I decide to continue sliding it. I slowly run my palm over his denim jeans, making my way further up his leg…

"What are you doing?" he asks suspiciously, as if he thinks I'm up to something.

"Nothin'," I answer innocently, my smirk widening as I run my hand back down his thigh. He's still making no motion whatsoever, though. He's just sitting here, completely relaxed and unaffected by my touch.

Huh. This is nowhere near as fun as I thought it'd be.

After a while of moving my hand up and down his leg, still with absolutely no reaction from him, I eventually get bored with rubbing his leg and I stop, letting my hand simply rest on top of his knee.

Okay then. Guess I'll just have to get his attention a different way.

"Hey, babe, will you make me a sandwich?" I ask.

I look up just in time to see his eyebrows furrowing together.

"But it's your house!" he whines.

"So?"

He stares at me like I'm some kind of idiot.

"So get off your lazy butt and make your own sandwich!"

Whoa, wait a second…did he just call me lazy? Ooh, he's starting to fight a little dirty now, isn't he?

Good. Mama loves fightin' dirty.

I lift my head off his shoulder to look him right in the eyes. He blinks, but doesn't say anything.

Time for a good ol' fashioned threat.

My favorite.

"Go make me a ham sandwich," I start, leaning my face a bit closer to his. He doesn't budge, but I notice the slightest hint of a fearful spark in his eyes, and I gotta admit, it's just oh so satisfying. "Or I'll tell Gibby that you were the one who 'accidentally' broke his brand new glow-in-the-dark clackers."

His eyes widen, but after a second, he seems to catch himself, and he slaps an angry look on his face instead.

"But you're the one who broke Gibby's glow-in-the-dark clackers!"

"True," I admit, "but it's not like I did it on purpose or anything."

"You hurled them across the hallway and they snapped in half!" he practically shouts.

I shrug.

"And your point?" I ask, totally unfazed.

"My point," he snarls, "is that why should I be forced to take the fall for something you did just because I've refused to make you a sandwich?"

Ugh. He's really being difficult tonight, isn't he? If he were smart at all, he would've given in right away and done what I'd asked him to do in the first place. All this fighting is getting us nowhere.

But then again, it never does.

To be honest, the only reason I like fighting with him so much is that I just love to get him all worked up and angry. I swear, his reactions are sometimes so hilarious that I just can't help but try to push his buttons more and more until he reaches a point where he just can't take it anymore.

Which is why, being that he's already halfway on his way to getting all riled up anyway, I think I'll just push him a little bit further. Just a little.

That is…enough to push him over the edge.

"Whatever," I say, "I don't care anymore."

I abruptly stand up, and the movement is so fast that some of my hair falls across my face and spills right against my mouth. I reach up and angrily brush the loose strands aside before I start marching towards the door. When I reach it, I grab the knob and fling it open, then turn back to him, a dead serious look on my face.

"Get out."

Yep. I've done it now.

"What?" he shrieks in a voice that's like ten octaves higher than usual. He gets up from the couch and starts walking over to me. "Are you serious?"

I don't say anything, and instead, I simply gesture towards the door with my hand.

He looks at me, jaw open, eyes dark with anger, eyebrows lowered tightly…

And then he lets out a snort.

A friggin' snort!

Like he's amused by this or something!

The nerve of this dork.

"Fine," he says, his lips curving into a smirk. And then, just like that, he starts walking towards the open door.

And I'm pretty sure he would've walked right out, too, if I hadn't suddenly grabbed him by the back of the collar and whipped him around. A look of confusion flickers across his face for a brief second, but I don't give him much time to react for what I do next.

Because, really, screw it already. Mama's done playing games.

I smash my lips against his in a kiss that I swear takes all the breath right out of me, making me feel extremely dizzy…in a good way. His lips feel tense against mine at first, but then he seems to get over the shock, or whatever it is that he's feeling, and he starts kissing me back with just as much passion, his lips roughly opening and closing against mine. I feel his hands as he grabs me by the waist and pulls my body closer to his. Our chests bump together and I let out a moan right against his mouth, unable to fight this lightheaded, amazing feeling that's pulsing through me.

"Why…" he mumbles between the kiss, and I can feel him gasping for some air through the open corners of my mouth as he tries to keep talking. "…were you…" Our lips press deeper against each other's as my arms slide around his neck. "…messing…" Oh, God, he tastes so good. "…with me…" Like vanilla or something. "…like that?"

I breathe in deeply through my nose, and holy chiz, he smells even better. The scent of his cologne is light and clean, but at the same time a little rugged, and oh my God…it's…just…

Ahh. I don't even know. I just freakin' love it.

"'Cause…" I breathe against his lips, "…you're…" He nips the bottom of my lip. "…so much…" I nip back lightly. "…fun…" Wow, it's really hard to talk and make out at the same time. "…to mess with."

Once I finish saying that, I tear my lips away from his, panting hard. The look on his face is deeply confused with a tinge of disappointment, and it's so adorable that I have to resist the strong urge to just throw myself at him again right at that very second.

But, hey, I ain't no animal, you get me? Mama's got some class.

At least enough class to know when to control myself.

I let my arms slip off his neck before I take a moment to close the door. The sounds coming from the TV are totally being drowned out by the sounds of our loud and heavy breathing. I turn back towards him, trying to calm down my breathing. His brown eyes are dark and glazed over, and maybe even a little unfocused. All I know is that now, the dark look in his eyes has absolutely nothing to do with anger. Not even close.

"What up with that look, Fredface?" I ask in my usual condescending tone, just to see if I can snap him out of it or something.

But it doesn't work. He just keeps staring at me, and since I doubt he's gonna say anything anytime soon, I take his silence as an opportunity to walk back over to the couch. I plop down on it, pretending to watch the TV again, when really, I'm just waiting for him to say something. Luckily, he soon follows me and quietly walks to the couch. His knee brushes against mine as he sits, and immediately, I feel my heart freeze as a tingling feeling sweeps through my whole body.

And, I gotta say, I definitely don't hate the feeling.

Our eyes lock for the millionth time tonight, and it's like everything around us suddenly freezes.

And it's just me and him.

Sam and Freddie.

The next thing I know, he dives towards me — and, trust me, I know I'm one irresistible Mama, but geez, someone's an awfully eager little nub — and his lips are on mine again. Only this kiss is somehow even more passionate than the other one, and it doesn't take long before my back goes sinking deep into the couch as he pushes himself right on top of me.

Not that I'm complaining.

I reach up and grip onto his shoulders, hard, tugging him down even closer to me. My heart is racing now, and my senses are quickly drowning to a point where I'm aware of absolutely nothing other than him, me, and the sounds of our lips smacking together.

Just as my hands start sliding into his too-perfect, ridiculously soft brown hair, he suddenly rips his lips away from mine.

What the fudge?

I open my eyes and stare up at him, hoping that the 'what the fudge?' message is clearly written on my face for him to see. He looks at me all shyly, and I have to admit that the look is beyond adorable.

But that's waaay besides the point right now.

I feel his weight lift off of me as he slowly sits up, straightening his back awkwardly against the couch. I sit up too, and now there's this weird, suffocating and nervous tension between us that I swear has never happened before. I sink my teeth into my lip absentmindedly, watching as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Uh…" he starts, his voice all small and unsure. His hand falls to his side as he looks at me. "Were we just—"

Heavily making out?

"Yes."

He barely takes a breath before he decides to ask me another question.

"And was…was I just—"

On top of you?

"Yes."

He's looking away from me now, staring blankly at the TV that's still on for some reason. I don't know what's going on through his mind right now, but whatever it is, he seems to be seriously concerned about it, judging by the apprehensive look on his face. I take a moment to reach over to the coffee table, grab the remote and click off the TV. I toss it back on the table, just as he lets out a long gush of air through his slightly parted lips, like he's deflating or something.

"Okay," he says, like he's only now finally accepting it. "And, um, was it—you know…was it, uh…"

This time I wait patiently for him to spit it out.

"Was it…going…somewhere…?"

I feel my eyes widen and my heart do some kind of weird flip thing inside my chest.

Okay…lemme just think for a sec…

Gotta choose my next words carefully…

"Do you…" I pause, my words lingering in the air between us. He finally looks at me again, brown eyes shimmering with anticipation.

All right, well…here goes nothing.

I gently lean towards him, brushing my hand against his thigh, before I whisper in the most seductive sounding voice I can muster:

"…want it…to go somewhere…Freddison?"

Oh, God.

Since when did it get to be like, a million and three freaking degrees in here? I think my palms are starting to sweat. Yep. They definitely are. I can feel the sweat seeping through my skin, radiating against the smooth denim material of his jeans.

By the way, I only added the nickname just now to try to make things kinda, sorta, somehow a little less awkward between us. But that doesn't really seem to be working at all.

And, God, why is he taking so long to answer me? That ain't a good sign, is it?

Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Maybe I should punch him in the arm and insult him to relieve some of this tension.

Yes. I think that's the best thing for me to do.

That is, until he unexpectedly grazes his hand underneath my chin, causing me to shiver out of nowhere. I look into his eyes, finding myself getting lost in them. His breath is warm, and my heart is still, and it's at that moment that I realize just how close his face is from mine. 'Cause I can feel his breath near my lips and whoa, cheese sticks…I feel like I'm about to pass out or something.

"Do you," he murmurs smoothly, in that deep voice of his, "Princess Puckett?"

My heart stops.

"What?" I ask.

Did he seriously just turn the tables on me? He's not supposed to do that! He's…he's Frednub! He's supposed to be all embarrassed and unsure and apologizing when it comes to this kind of stuff! Not all smooth and confident and sexy with those gorgeous eyes and those delicious lips of his.

Aww, fudge racquet. Did I just call Freddie sexy?

What is wrong with me?

Ugh. I guess this is the result of my strong, unfulfilled feelings of sexual frustration that have been secretly building up inside me for the past six months or so.

In other words, pretty much since the day we started going out.

Not that I'd ever admit that out loud. Seriously, how embarrassing would that be? I'd rather chew off my own foot than admit that I've been having forbidden fantasies about me and Fredducini going at it like two frisky little bunnies or something.

"I think…" he starts, snapping me right out of my sick thoughts. His hand slides across my jaw and into my hair. "…that you want it…" He starts leaning in even closer to me. I can feel his warm breath tickling my skin as he talks in a low, even more seductive voice. "…just as much…" My breath catches inside my throat. "…as I want it." He kisses me full on the lips right then and there, before I can even utter a response.

And I give in right away because, who am I kidding? I do want it.

I want him.

And, wow, this kiss is so much slower and deeper than the ones from earlier. I can feel his other hand snaking into my hair, tangling into my long blonde curls. My heart swoons, and I just can't stop myself from melting right into his touch. His chest is pressing gently against mine, and I take it as a sign to start reclining into the couch again. My head rests comfortably on one of the couch pillows as his chest hovers over mine.

Mmm, yeah. Mama likes this. Mama likes this a lot.

I draw my leg up slowly, rubbing it along the side of his body, before I impulsively and boldly decide to fling it over his back and wrap it tightly around his waist. He moans once I do this, and the sound of it rumbles against my lips and oh, yes.

Did I mention how much Mama likey?

I finally slide one of my hands up into his hair, gliding my fingers through the silky soft strands. I tug on his hair a little harder and—holy hot sauce, there's his tongue! It's warm and wet and tracing across my bottom lip, and I know he's just waiting for me to open my mouth a little wider so he can be let in.

So I do just that.

And his tongue immediately slides right into my mouth, meeting my own tongue in a heated tangle of moisture and taste buds. His tongue slowly strokes against mine, before rolling along my teeth. It's rough and rigid, and it's making my whole mouth tingle and want more all at the same time.

But then, all of a sudden, he pulls away from me and sits up.

And, I swear, the loudest growl of sexual frustration tears from my throat as I immediately bolt upward and glare at him.

"Why'd you stop?" I ask through my groan of anger and disappointment.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, before he finally looks at me.

"I…I don't know," he says all sheepishly. "I mean…" He sighs like he's defeated and drops his head for a second, then picks it back up to look at me again. "Are you, like…totally 100 percent sure you wanna do this?"

Uh oh. Where is this heading?

"I mean, what if we do it, and you don't like it?" he asks.

Wait, what?

"…Or, what if, after we do it, things suddenly get all weird and awkward between us, and then eventually we break up, and we can't even be in the same room together?"

Ohhhh boy. Is that seriously what's buggin' him?

"…Or," he continues, and I feel like at this point, he's mostly talking to himself than he is to me. He's not even looking at me anymore. He's just babbling nonsense. "What if I do something wrong, 'cause you know I've never actually gone this far with a girl before, and so if we actually do it, and I mess up somehow, I'll feel like…"

Okay, yeah. I know exactly what he needs.

A little confidence boostin'.

Time to turn up the charm.

I reach out and gently grab him by the face, turning his head towards me so that he's forced to look at me.

"…I'm…"

And his train of thought is finally broken once our eyes lock. His cheeks are cupped snugly in my hands, and they feel warm and smooth against my palms, and oh God, his lips are right there, so close…

So…deliciously…inviting…

Ahh. Gotta stay focused.

"I want you to quit yapping for a second and just listen to me," I say firmly, 'cause Mama definitely ain't messin' around right now. "Okay?"

He says nothing. All he's doing now is staring at me intently with this sort of puppy dog look that's completely new, yet somehow weirdly familiar, which makes no sense, but then again, our whole relationship basically makes no sense.

I swallow, parting my lips a little, and then somehow, the words just come spilling out of my mouth before I can even stop them.

"I want you, Freddie."

His eyes widen slightly. Probably because I just called him 'Freddie.'

See, that's the thing, I know just exactly when to call him that. It's not often, obviously, but when I do call him by his actual name, well…I guess I just know how happy it makes him.

"Like, really badly," my mouth stupidly adds. "Like, more than a triple-decker ham sandwich topped with bacon and drizzled with mustard badly."

I lightly stroke my thumbs across his cheeks to try to relax him even more.

"And if you screw something up, I won't care," I say honestly. "Because you know I've never done any of this stuff before either."

Oh, boy. I think I'm starting to do a little too much talking. Time to wrap this chiz up.

"Now, stop worrying already and take off your shirt so Mama can finally get to the good stuff."

And with that, I lean forward, capturing his lips in a deep, deep kiss that he wastes no time in returning. I moan into his mouth, letting him know just how much I like it. I eventually let go of his face and allow my hands to start wandering across his body. They roam down his hard chest, until I let them slip to the hem of his navy blue polo shirt. I tug on it once, hoping he'll get the message with that alone.

I want you off. Now.

He breaks the kiss and looks right at me, panting lightly as his hands travel down to where mine are. I release my grip on his shirt, because it looks like he obviously wants to do this himself. I watch with growing anticipation as he quickly lifts his shirt, yanking it over his head and throwing it on the floor behind him.

Ooh, yeah. There it is. There they are. I've been dying to see those glorious beauties for such a long time…

Freddie's abs.

His muscular, smokin' hot abs.

I gotta give him props here. I really do. This kid's seriously got one nice body. Tan skin and a nice little six pack going on, not to mention the teeny-tiny bit of chest hair right in the center…

Mmmm. 18-year-old Freddie's abs.

Must…touch…