I had to – I just had to give into the urge ... Don't judge me – if you were in my position you'd write this thing too! And, it's not like their underage – I waited "for 'till college"!

Fine – criticize me if you will – but don't say I didn't warn ya! Warning (just in case you forgot the first one, and decide to say I didn't warn ya): Hard Mature Rating. Don't like. Don't read.

AU

ooo

He'd often heard it though the static of the radio in the passing years, and chalked it up to nothing more than mere artistic hyperbole. He'd often heard it – but, Freddie Benson never really understood just how heavy one's shoulders could feel, sagging beneath the weight of the world.

Stella had left him.

Packed up her things, and collectedly left his dorm room. Muttering in an internal fury about how he'd never truly loved her. In their year-and-four-mouths of dating, despite all they had in common, and how much she had to give – she never could quite measure up to ... someone else.

The sad realization was – she was right. Stella was a perky vegetarian, who loved Galaxy Wars, and who'd constantly thrown compliments in his direction – as opposed to the insults of a certain ... someone else.

It didn't matter though.

Neither one of them was ever coming back.

Sam Puckett had been out his life for years.

ooo

Here she was. At the front entrance to his dorm, inside his fancy little "tech-geek" university.

Here she was. Clutching at the half-drunk bottle of scotch in her hand – a present from some high-class gambler that her Mom dated once; her only connection to reality; the only thing truly solid anymore.

Here she was. With her trembling little fingers, and her scraped up knuckles, wrapping lightly on the door.

Holding on to some hope that he would answer – and, even more hope that he wouldn't.

"Mmh? Mm-Mom ..." came the low grunt, followed by the sound of lazy footsteps. The door swings open with a creak, and for a minute the nervousness sobers her – her hand isn't touching the wooden surface anymore – he's taken away another piece of reality.

"Mom." he repeats, his eyes barely opened, his hair all tossed around in a messy, nerdy, sleepy-head kinda way that makes her want to touch it. "Mom – I told you, no more care-packages!"

"Frrrr-eddie." That's about as close to his name as she can manage, her world is spinning — and she wants to hold onto to him to keep it from going any faster.

Why'd she have to drink so much?

"Huh – Sam?" One brown iris peeks out from behind stubborn lids, and there's something of a smile on his mouth now.

She pinches her eyes shut; even the slightest glow of a streetlight outside sends a migraine shooting through her skull.

"Yeah ... Freddie." her voice comes out in a rasp.

It must be the damn liquor.

"Sam, what're you ..."

"Carly ..." she gasps, running her hand along her bangs, and feeling the sting of the sweat as it enters the gash there – the unfortunate result of a bar fight with some pervert. "Carls, tol' me! – she tol' me you'er datin' some 'Star' chick ... an' it didn' work!"

At the mention of her name, he seemed to wake a bit more.

"Yeah, it was Stella actually ..." he agreed, nodding in the most stoic manner possible, giving her a quick once-over, and wincing at her appearance.

She must look like crap – Great ...

This was workin' out wonderfully.

"I jus' wanted to ... tell ... you."

Gravity is pulling at her, tipping her forward – her heels are too light.

"Sam!" he cries, suddenly sounding shocked or ... nervous about somethin'

When did the air start smellin' so thick with Freddie-scent?

She feels suddenly relaxed – beyond the point of caring that her entire upper body is restin' on him, that her legs are useless, that her nose is breathing in the scent of a Nug-Nug: Galaxy Wars iron-on T-shirt.

Mmmh – it smells nice ... nice Fredward smell.

She pats him lightly on the shoulder in appreciation of his as-usual cleanliness, and uses all her strength to keep from sighing like a little girl when his arms wrap around her and drag her rag-doll-like body inside the dorm with an awkward spin that doesn't make her as dizzy as it should.

"Sam?" he calls, as she hears the door swing shut – she really wants to answer; but all she can manage is a dying little whimper – a near-impression of a newborn alley cat – something close to the sigh that she wanted to hide before.

She almost laughs, willing all her strength to hold herself up again – she's come here to make a point; she only just remembered.

"Yer, so dang confusin', Benson." she states, wobbling backward just a little – standing two seconds on her feet again.

"I am?" He's mockin' her – she can hear it in 'is voice, and it's 'real annoying – jus' cause she's drunk doesn't mean she's not right.

"Yeah!" she growls, pointing sternly in the direction of an object on his desk. "Your like one'a those damn cube thingies with all the colors – can't figure you out."

"A Rubik's Cube, Sam?" he suggests, allowing her view of the tempting offer that were his arms again.

"Yeah," she nods, " ... I can't figure ya out, Fred–errr-nubbs – but I can't stop tryin', I won't let you go – I luff – I love ..."

She spit it out – thorough all her drunken babble she spit it out, and now she's ... swinging for some reason – like she's five an' at the park with Melanie – an' on those ... swings.

And Sam's world smells of Freddie's dork-y T-shirt again, her lips pressed lightly on his collar bone, puckered just-so — almost resembling a kiss.

"Hell." she mutters against him, growling in anger as he begins to tremble, a sleep-thick laughter breaking from his lips.

"Benson." She moans as though in pain, head lolling to the side like a rag doll, as she suddenly finds her face in his hands.

"Sam."

It's her name.

At least she remembers that – and he said it.

... Only ... he said it kinda ... softly this time ... like ... a prayer or ... somethin'.

The clash of his teeth to the flesh of her lips – so raw, so ... unrehearsed, not at all resembling the Freddie-like ginger-ness he was known for.

Was she the rebound?

She wouldn't be the rebound!

Her upper lip – although currently pressed on his – perhaps, of it's own accord, curled tightly upward in expression of rage – he had no right to treat her like this!

Okay ... so maybe she wasn't as glamorous and ... prissy as Carls but she still had feelings.

Feelings, like ones of hunger – 'cause she hadn't eaten much but a few beer nuts in between shots – feelings, like ones of excitement when she'd seen Spitt Hammer; hardcore MMA champ; knock his opponent out cold, and insure her a hefty payment.

And, feelings like an intense bitterness at the man-dork that she ... 'luffed' – who was using her for a cheap one-night-stand after a rough breakup with some Italian floozy!

"Benson – mmph!" she half-growled against him, becoming all-the-more agitated at the snide little smirk she'd felt him make.

He thought she was enjoying this!

His tongue pooled into her mouth – hot, and wet – stretching, and making itself comfortable enough to taste hers – lapping against it gently; like a cat taking it's afternoon bath.

Soft, and slow, and just warm enough to be comfortable – going near a fire without getting too close – but yet it still managed to melt her.

"Mmm ..."

Damn it all – that sound had come from her – and her vision was rapidly blurring – eyes sweeping into her skull.

Alright. Maybe she was enjoying this.

Damn.

Damn.

Damn it all.

She was supposed to be angry – she was supposed make a point, get him to confess, make him crawl like the pathetic little Mama's-boy he was.

She was supposed to make him sorry – supposed to finally relish in the victory of cracking the complex code of the 'cube-thingie' that was Fredward.

And then, when it was all over, she was supposed to laugh at him for allowing himself to be cursed with such a God-awful name – just like old times.

She was supposed to be ... mad – she knew that much – supposed to be completely blind-sighted by rage at ... at ... this ... delicious ... creature, the one that was holding her and kissing her, and rocking her, like she'd always secretly and horrifying-ly imagined him doing during their days at Ridgeway.

"I ... broke up with her." Freddie muttered, gruffly – detaching his lips from her's and nuzzling just-slightly at that patch of skin and nerves — where jaw-line met earlobe – where he somehow knew he'd get a reaction from her. Where'd he learn that?

She lets a sigh free – breathy and rough.

He mimics it instantly, sending champagne bubbles through her knee-caps — he steadies her; a strong hand against the small of her back.

"Broke up with her." he repeats, strongly, angrily, fighting the trance. "'Cause I'm in love with you."

She pulls back – roughly, instantly – as though he had struck her; served the purpose of agitating her 'bar bruise' all-the-more - but, no ... what he'd really done was much worse.

"Freddie!" She screams, shoving him arm's-length away with as much force as the booze would allow her to maintain.

She glares at him.

His eyes wide in confusion.

"Sam ... I ...?"

" — Don't even, you ... jerk." Sam spits, the scotch had undoubtably filtered out all of the good insults for her brain — but, as it seems to have made it's impact anyway, she continues. "Don't ... don't pull the 'love card' – I'm not a ... idiot!"

"But, Sam ..."

"No!" She cries, her migraine worsening. "You–you don't luff me ... yer lying – tryin' ta use meta make you feel better."

He ... grins(?)

Whatzit that the man-dork finds so funny now?

"You're right, Sam." he shrugs, the stupid grin is gettin' bigger, and her heart is breaking – her eyes are stingin' 'real hard.

"I don't 'luff' you, Puckett."

Her fists clench – that unbearable childhood itch to slug him is returning – after so many years of being dormant, it's coming back.

He pulls her closer – and her stupid feet follow; she's like a little girl.

"I love you." Freddie mutters, his lips trailing her jaw-line as she drapes helplessly against him.

She makes a sort of 'huh'-like noise against him – and, though it seems to be lacking a question mark – he answers.

"I love you, Sam." he repeats, trailing his hand slowly along her spine as he held her – breathing in the smell of her hair like the love-struck, Carly-oogling school boy that he once was.

That annoying little twit – the one who reminds her a bit too much of her sister and who lives dormant in her mind is doing cartwheels; and she hates herself for it.

"It's always been you, Sam." Fred-dork states, and he's serious, and it's almost unreal.

His tongue – it's sliding lazily along her chin – shielded by the cover of his lips – and is working it's way up to her mouth.

She'd be bothered to stifle the moan building inside her again – that is, if it mattered anymore.

That tongue of his has somehow made it's way to her lower lip – flicking it in slow, soft circles.

Her own darted out in response to the taste of him, and their mouths clashed.

Damn, he tasted good – and, as the man-nerd already admitted to loving her, she felt no shame at this revelation – all had been burned in the fire.

The thick moisture that had been building between her thighs this entire time decided to make itself known – and she growled in response. She wanted him – that much was certain, and she wanted him ... —

"Now!" She cried, stomping down her foot, and eagerly rolling her hips toward the tempting sign of arousal that he'd made her feel.

Through Freddie's own "haze" he seemed to understand the exact meaning behind her rash urgency. "Patience ... Puckett." The tease comes out in a sort of half-sigh – and he groans her name loud and long. "You're a little tipzy." His voice a few octaves higher this time, as she continues to tease him. She always did fight dirty.

"M-Maybe ... maybe we should wait 'till the morning?" His meager attempt at trying to act 'the gentleman' as her fingers drunkenly fiddled with the tie on his pajama pants.

"Noooo!" She howls, gripping him tighter around the shoulders with her left arm, and leaning to kiss at his throat and jaw-line; stomping her foot again. "Nooow!"

God, she was cute!

A small, wet kiss to his Adam's apple, and Sam's chin rests on the blade of his shoulder. She's breathing him in, mewling lightly, as his warm hand lightly strokes at her side. Her hips start moving again, and a choked something-sound between a growl and a moan builds in Freddie's throat.

"Carry me." She sighs, making herself as limp as physically possible, and allowing her feet to leave the Earth as he places his hands just below her buttocks and scoops her up. It's a small dorm-room, and the bed is just behind them, so there isn't much carrying to me done. He places Sam down – as though she's made of glass – in the center of the mattress, and joins her there. Looming over her with one arm poised next to her slender waist, and the other working to sweep a lock of hair from her face, Freddie suddenly comes to the realization of how badly he's missed kissing her since the two years without her came and went, it was like ... going without technology; a piece of himself missing ... forever.

But she's here now! He reminded himself, laughing at the thought of her noticing his tears ... and ragging on him for it. A little drunk, and beat up, and confused – But, here.

And all mine.

The word 'mine' coiling around his tongue and releasing into the air in a gruff, needy, half-lidded whisper.

"Mine." he repeats, placing a near-chaste kiss on her mouth. "Mine." His nimble fingers undoing the buttons of the shirt she'd worn – one that looked suspiciously like his own - perhaps one of the lost, forgotten things of his that she'd never bothered to return. He'd made short work of the bra she'd worn – his heart swelling the exact moment he'd realized Sam had remembered his fondness of those that "hook in the front" – allowing him to nibble lightly at the curve of her left breast.

With a quick flick of his thumb, the fly to her jeans pops open, allowing him to slide the rough material down her hips and over her calves, taking her shoes with him. "Mine ... mine ... mine–mmph." The word dissolving in a fit of utter delight at the feel of her flesh against his lips. The vibrations in his core had started, the spastic and undeniable jerking of his insides which seemed to indicate laughter.

He was ... laughing(?) You know, he'd heard that cramming wasn't at all healthy for the brain. Maybe this was all some amazing hallucination brought on but too much studying after that all-too traumatic breakup with Star ... or was it Stella ... or ... Sandra ... or ... Kiki?

Yes. He concluded, this was all because he'd tried to put his mind to work after Natalie had dumped him. This whole thing rested completely on the proverbial shoulders of the fact that he'd been working too hard, and ... perhaps ... fallen asleep(?) No doubt bringing to life the yummy, Sam-flavored entity that lay beneath him.

Oh God. She'd mewled again as his tongue stopped sampling one particular patch of skin found at her inner thigh and began skating along the valley of her breasts. As far as insanity went ... this wasn't bad. Sam's cat-like sound turned quickly to a frustrated growl at his continued giggles. The warmth between her thighs instantly rising to clash with the evidence of his "need" as she thrust upward and wriggled, pulling away as quickly as her ministrations had started. The amused grin on Freddie's face quickly contorted itself into one of pain ... maybe he'd been playing with her for too long, his blonde-headed demon never did like being messed with after all.

Oh, God. She was moving again, sliding against him in that same heavenly circular motion, enough to give real life to his aforementioned insanity, his jaw clenched.

"Fuck, Sam." came the words, and a sly smile began to replace the pout on her lips.

"Yeah." she agreed, twisting her body slightly and gazing up at his frustrated expression with a half-lipped pair of darkening baby blues. "Fuck Sam."

He was beneath her now, the tip of his erection just barely brushing at her smooth, warm entrance. The troublesome cloth of her boxer shorts was gone – When did that happen? – and her breasts are now hanging above him ripe, and round, and there for the taking. Bouncing, and blurring to his eyes slightly as she drove her hips forward with that same, Sam-ish force he'd missed so much, the moan that was wrenched from his throat at the motion, entwined perfectly with her low growl.

"Mmmh ..." Sam sighed. A breathy and rough noise, as her head lolled slowly sideways, rolling in pleasure, as her hips – of their own accord – jerked forward a bit more, pulling Freddie further inside her and sending an all-too delicious and familiar sensation shooting up her spine. "Oooh." she purred, the sound deep in her throat, "Mama likie."

"Sam." Freddie groaned, moving in time with her thrusts, and sliding his hands gently, up her forearm, and pressing his fingertips lightly into her shoulders. He slowly begin shifting his weight to the right of the mattress, breaking Sam's concentration and causing her to moan at the loss of contact between them. Before she had time to protest, however, he had placed himself above her placing very long, very wet, and very deliberate kisses along her shoulder blade, and down between her breasts, edging himself further and further inside her entrance. "Mmh." she whimpered, as the tip of his tongue danced roughly along the base of her throat. "Mm – more."

"I love you so much, Sam." Freddie spoke the words through a set of clenched teeth, his hips sweeping forward in one forceful and deliberate motion, before he found himself completely buried inside her, easing out again in an almost painfully slow motion and pushing in, in much the same way.

A few dying whimpers strummed from Sam's throat, her body repeatedly tensing on the edge of a delicious release that seemed to enjoy taking its time. Damn. "Why ...?" she whispered harshly, "Why are you ... mmph ... moving so ... ah-so slow?"

She felt his mouth curve upward against the flesh of her neck. "So ..." he groaned, "so you feel ... everything."

He swept his hips forward – inviting another impatient mewling sound from the blonde-headed demon. "Freddie." The desperation in her voice had never been more clear. "... please."

Another light thrust came the cruel refusal. This was Freddie, sweet yet so damn sadistic at times – I've trained him well.

Sam bit back another whimper, determined to rob him of that kind of victory. She managed something of a sly look – through the torturous jolts of pleasure coursing through her – then, lowering her lips to his chin, she nipped at the flesh there and continued down his jaw-line, the force of this action growing stronger each time – leaving angry, reddening bite marks in her wake.

Oh, yes. This little plan of hers was working in wondrous ways – with every violent clashing of her teeth against his flesh, Freddie seemed to be thrusting a bit faster.

"Fuck." she breathed, against the base of his neck. Sinking her teeth into the flesh there, and rolling it painfully between them, inviting a pained hiss. as well as a low sensual groan, from his lips as he continued to thrust in and out – at a speed much better suited to her liking. "I love you." Sam mumbled, it seemed that the effect of the scotch she'd once held had completely died away now – in favor of a much more powerful intoxication – as she ran her tongue messily along the bruises she had created. "S-so good, so close." The whispers were becoming harsher and more frantic with each if their movements. "God, Freddie ... 'love you so much."

The response was something strikingly similar to the phrase, 'My Sam' – although, as he crushed his lips to hers, and sent her tumbling down into a sea of bright lights, all while the stranger that was her own voice fell into a shrieking chorus of 'Oh, yes! Oh, fuck!' – such words were dead to her ears.

"'Never leaving you again." Freddie muttered, moments later – causally licking the flesh of her neck clean of sweat, and running the nip of his nose along it, as he held her. "Never ... ever."

"... Better ... not." came the drowsy reply. And, as the tides of sleep threatened to overtake her Sam Puckett concluded that perhaps "cube-thingies" like the one who lay next to her weren't all that hard to crack after all.

ooo

And, there you have it.