Rated hard T for drug use, swearing, various states of undress and mild groping.

A/N: I'm trying to work through the numerous half finished one shots that are taking up valuable space on my hard drive in an attempt to get my inspiration pumping again. I've been a little discouraged by this fandom (the blame resting on the actual show) and I'm trying to write my way back into adoring it again. Title from the beautiful song of the same name by the amazing Tilly and the Wall.

Falling Without Knowing

Freddie is on his feet and out of the classroom door as soon as the final bell rings, navigating a weaving path through the sea of students spilling from every door. Someone shouts hi at him, and it sounds like Gibby or possibly Reuben but he ignores whoever it is because stopping to have a polite conversation will only slow down his escape and Freddie wants out of the building as quick and as painlessly as possible. The school is like a sauna, hot to a deadly degree, and all Freddie wants to do is get to the air conditioned haven of his car and fall asleep for an indefinite period of time

He hasn't seen Sam all day and it isn't that much of a surprise anymore because whenever the rain decides to give way to the sun for a few blissful days she is out in the open basking in the heat rather than wasting her precious time writing papers, running laps or conducting disastrous science experiments. Freddie doesn't blame her for doing this, he'd be off doing the same if he could get away with it, but he knows that as soon as the school day is over he'll get a phone call from her asking him to join her wherever she happens to have ended up this time. It is predictable, it is becoming a bit of a routine and he enjoys the constant surprises she presents him with more than he should.

As if on cue his phone vibrates against his thigh and he slides it from his jeans pocket as he power walks out of the school entrance and makes his way across the parking lot, smiling when he sees the name on the display.

"Sam! How're you today, Miss Ditch-a-lot?"

'Shut up. Where are you, Fredhead?'

"On my way to my car, you know, because I actually bothered to turn up today unlike someone else I know."

'Whatever. Come meet me behind the bandstand on the park. I'm bored and I am in dire need of some company. Hurry up.'

She hangs up before he can tell her that he'll be there in about ten minutes and this doesn't bother him like it used to, having gotten used to her dismal of using formalities such as 'hello' and 'goodbye'. Sam's all bluntness and cynicism in contrast to Freddie's intelligence and kindness and they manage to balance each other out with their stark differences. He's heard his mother say on more than one occasion that they almost make a normal teenager between the two of them.

Unlocking his car and throwing his phone on the dashboard, Freddie collapses into the comfort of the drivers seat and immediately starts the engine, stretching his arms over his head as the cool blast of the air con washes over him. He retrieves his sunglasses from the glove box, sliding them over his eyes and he sits for several minutes staring out of the window screen, temporarily zoning out. It is only when he sees Carly tottering across the tarmac in a pair of stupidly high sandals, making a beeline straight for his car that he comes to his senses, throwing the car into drive and peeling out of the parking space to make his getaway. He chances a glance at his rear view mirror as he's turning onto the main road and he can see Carly stamping her feet and throwing her arms around head, clearly yelling abuse at him for leaving her to get the school bus home.

Okay, so maybe Carly is in the dark regarding the little after school meetings he and Sam have on the days she doesn't turn up.

What she doesn't know can't hurt her.

Twelve minutes later Freddie is pulling up alongside Sam's empty truck and he can't help wondering how long she has been here. No one ever comes to this side of the large park anymore due to it becoming overgrown and derelict and it clicks that she's come here to be alone, to be undisturbed except for his company because she never doubts his inability to say no to her when she tells him to come find her.

Freddie gets out of his car and makes his way to the location Sam told him to meet her by following the narrow dirt path that cuts through the large expanse of trees, taking a sharp left and he scarcely avoids tripping over a log before ducking beneath some low hanging branches. In no time he's standing beside the rotting wooden structure that used to be a beautiful bandstand, facing the small patch of grass behind it and Sam is sitting to one side, her back against a rock. She's wearing a tank top that exposes her midriff, the t-shirt she had previously been wearing thrown three feet away from her, and she has her face turned up towards the sky, eyes closed against the blinding sun. Freddie takes the opportunity to drink in her appearance, eyes lingering on her smooth neck, her round breasts that are peeking from the neckline of her shirt, her taut stomach and his breath hitches in his throat. The sun is reflecting off her hair to make it appear blonder than usual and her lips are slightly open, swollen and stained red, and there's a light sheen of sweat coating her shoulders and upper chest. He's rooted to the spot, mesmerised by her appearance and he mentally kicks himself for not accepting her offer to bunk off together that morning because he's missed the chance to spend the day staring at her all spread out and incredibly inviting.

Sam opens her eyes, blinking against the sunlight, and she smirks at the sight of Freddie with his mouth agape and his eyes wide.

"Are you alright? You look sorta, startled."

"Sorry, I was spacing. How long have you been out here sunning it up?" Freddie asks, striding across the grass to take a seat next to the blonde, avoiding sitting too close too soon.

"I don't know, like, since noon. I had been sun bathing naked in my back yard until Frothy decided my face was the perfect place to take a nap," she replies with a shrug, using her arms to move herself into a more upright sitting position.

"I hope you've savoured your time soaking up the sun while I've been inside learning crap I'm never going to need to know once I've graduated. It must be awesome being Sam Puckett, slacker extraordinaire."

"Yeah, it's fucking amazing," she laughs, flashing him a grin before changing the subject. "So, how was school?"

"Bullshit," Freddie responds, rubbing his palms over his jaw line. "I have no idea how it is possible for me to get to the end of this month without killing Mr. Howard, killing myself or Mr. Howard killing me. I loathe that man with every inch of my being."

"Want me to do some butter sock swinging and eyelash fluttering to get the asshole to lay off you a little? Anyway, we'll be saying hasta la vista to that hell hole before we know it." Sam wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes hard in a way he assumes is meant to be vaguely sympathetic.

"It's okay. Why give the man an excuse to put us both in detention and invent new ways to torture us? Anyway, have you done anything besides topping up your tan today? Beat up any hobos? Sent any abusive and mildly offensive emails to your sister? Did you break into my apartment again to redecorate and reorganise my entire kitchen?" Freddie reels off the list of possible daily activities while trying to ignore how Sam's hand feels like it is burning him through his thin button up shirt, branding him with her hand print.

"Nope, but thanks for the ideas. I do however have something that I think will make your day a little brighter, aside from my ever exuberant presence."

Please be a handjob, or least a kiss is the first thought that enters Freddie's mind despite the chances of either of these actually happening being next to none. Sam is more than a little oblivious to his raging attraction towards her and her idea of making his day better is a sucker punch to the gut. He can live with that because at least it involves her touching him.

"And what would that be?"

She doesn't answer him. Instead she removes her arm from around his shoulders –much to his disappointment– and she roots around the left hand front pocket of her mid-thigh length denim skirt, coming out clutching a plastic bag and a small metal smoking pipe. How she is able to keep anything in her pockets when her skirt is skin tight is beyond him.

"I had a feeling you would be needing this today and nothing beats getting stoned while sprawled out in such glorious weather. The summer is made for getting high," Sam remarks, shaking the baggie in front of Freddie's face and he watches the small ball of dried cannabis flowers slide from one corner of the bag to the other, not bothering to ask who she managed to score it off this time.

That is a question best left unasked.

Neither of them are strangers to smoking a bowl or two, Sam being the one who coerced Freddie into doing it the first time under the bleachers during their junior year, but they cannot be classified as full on potheads either. They use it for recreational purposes, use it as a way to unwind after a particularly stressful week at school, and it is simply a welcome bonus when they get a little touchy feely after a couple of hits, Sam's head on Freddie's shoulder, her fingers trailing up his chest while he laughs deeply, his arm secured around her waist to prevent her from moving away and leaving him cold.

"Ah, where would I be without you, Puckett?"

"You'd be at home in the middle of having a tick bath and you'd bored out of your pretty little skull, Benson," she teases, tapping him on the end of his nose and removing his sunglasses, beaming in a way that is contagious when his eyes meet hers.

Freddie watches with the fascination he always displays at these times as Sam breaks up the pot with her nimble fingers, packing the smaller pieces into the bowl head. Her fingers work fast at pulling apart and pushing in, the rings she has on every finger of her right hand glinting magically in the bright light, and he finds himself imagining her digits curling around the back of his neck, grabbing a hold of his chin and guiding him in for a kiss.

Sam finishes packing the bowl, a wild grin lingering on her face as she begins to search for a lighter, feeling down the front of her skirt to see if she left it in one of the shallow pockets. She doesn't find it there and Freddie does nothing to help her as she balances the pipe between two fingers on one hand and she props her body up with an elbow to check her back pockets with her spare hand. Her fingers curl around her purple plastic lighter, gripping it tight in her fist as she removes her hand, and Freddie is too preoccupied with watching her skirt hitch up her bare thighs that he doesn't react until it is too late when the pipe falls from Sam's hold, turning upside down as it lands on the ground and scattering the majority of the weed amongst the long grass.

They both groan simultaneously when it hits the floor, Sam muttering a mantra of fuck, shit, bollocks and Freddie exclaiming awwww, man!

"Fuck, there is no way in hell I can recover it from all this dirt," Sam says, picking through the blades of grass anyway, but her attempt is futile because every time she runs her fingernails through the same patch of grass she only makes the task more impossible.

"I'm sorry Freddie," she sighs in defeat and he is momentarily shocked by her apology that he doesn't respond. He has been told on more than one occasion that Samantha Puckett does not do apologies, not for anything, ever.

"Don't worry about it. Technically it was yours anyway so really, it's fine. We can still have a nice time without it."

"No. I wanted to make your afternoon better than your shitfest of a morning and I've screwed it up 'cos I'm a clumsy bitch."

She throws herself back against the rock, her disgruntled pout faltering to wince in pain when her shoulder slams into the hard surface, and she crosses her arms over her chest which leaves Freddie unable to find the words to tell her that just seeing her, being with her has made his day a thousand times better that it had been. It is borderline adorable how worked up she has gotten herself over the accident and he places a gentle hand on her knee as he leans forward to pick up the pipe, pressing two digits over the bowl head to preserve any leftover pot, if there is any.

"Look, there's a tiny amount left that hasn't spilled out," Freddie states, showing Sam the dregs of weed sitting in the bowl, "Is there anything left in the bag?"

Sam picks up the baggie from where she'd discarded it and examines it before saying, "A little. We could try to smoke what is left and see if we can get anything off it. You pack it this time. We can't afford for me to drop it twice in a row."

Freddie nods, taking the pipe and cannabis from Sam's outstretched hands and carefully repacks the pipe with what is left over but it barely fills half the bowl head. He runs a finger around the inside of the plastic bag and deposits the few leaves that stick to his fingertips with the rest of the weed with a sigh, not an annoyed sigh, more of a disappointed sigh.

"No chance of us getting stoned off that, unless..." Sam remarks after Freddie has offered her the pipe, both of them careful not to drop it.

"What?" Freddie presses, intrigued over the idea Sam seems reluctant to divulge.

"Freddie, do you know what blowbacks are?"

Freddie just stares at her, his furrowed brow an indication of his confusion. He has no clue what a blowback is or does or whatever and he isn't sure if he likes the sound of it. If it involves any kind of violence inflicted on him by Sam then he is having no part in it.

"No? Okay then. I take a hit, cup my hands over your nose and mouth and exhale into your open mouth so that we share it. It is somewhat like a second hand high, only we'll take it in turns doing the blowing," Sam explains, hands cupped over her mouth to demonstrate what she is going to do and Freddie tries not to dwell on how she inches closer to him, leaning forward so he can see straight down the front of her tank top when he looks sideways out the corner of his eye.

"Won't we end up..."Freddie makes indescribable hand motions, trying to convey his concern over any potential kissing with his wild gestures and luckily Sam isn't an idiot (despite most people automatically assuming she is), picking up on what he is trying to ask her.

"God no, they'll be no making out, accidental or otherwise. Our lips won't touch," Sam laughs, like it isn't something they've done before, even if it was around four years ago and was nothing more than an experiment, lasting barely eight or so seconds.

Feeling moderately reassured Freddie tells himself that he can do this and that he won't chicken out like the wimp he is often made out to be. He will not lean too far on purpose, he will not pucker his lips in anticipation for a kiss he'll never get and he will most definitely keep his hands to himself when he isn't using them to bring Sam's head closer to his.

"I can't believe you've never done this before," Sam comments, smiling at him in a way that screams of pity for his sheltered life. The only way he keeps his recreational activity from his mother is the showers Sam lets him have at her place after they've gotten high, laughing when Freddie can't get his shirt over his head and he tries not to overreact when Sam has to help him unbutton his pants.

"Have you?" Freddie asks, curious over who Sam has been this close with. He didn't even know she got high with anyone else.

"Once with Wendy while skipping gym class, but I don't like to talk about it. Now, move closer."

Freddie slides closer to Sam until they're touching at the shoulders, hips and knees and he can feel his shirt sticking to Sam's uncovered hip due to the overwhelming heat. Her scent engulfs him, a mixture of sweat and something sugary, possibly Fat Cakes, and it causes his mind to briefly cloud over with lust before he violently shakes himself out of it and focuses back on the task at hand. He observes Sam placing the pipe between her full lips, flicking her lighter three times before the pot lights and he's gotten high with her enough times to know that she takes one long hit and holds it in for seven seconds before letting it out.

Sam's face comes towards his and it is all happening way too fast, from the way her fingers are clutching the sides of his head to the way their foreheads are pressing together involuntarily. She exhales to pass the smoke into his mouth and he inhales greedily, their lips so close that Freddie is certain that he can taste her vanilla lip balm, and she's pulling back as quick as she dove in, leaving him with little chance to savour the moment like he had planned on doing.

He eventually breathes out, the smoke curling from his lips and opens his eyes that he didn't notice had drifted closed during his new experience to see Sam smiling at him, eyes twinkling mischievously.

"That worked better than I thought it would."

"Good. Sometimes the smoke doesn't transfer right and instead of getting high you just end up really pissed off. Your go, Fredducini."

Freddie removes the pipe from Sam's grip and tries his best to mimic her previous actions. He inhales, takes her face in his shaking hands and when he exhales five seconds later they're both looking into each others eyes, blue on brown, and it has to be the most intimate act he has ever been a part of.

When they pull back Sam reaches across his body, slotting her hand into the grove above Freddie's hipbone to steady herself and she manoeuvres her body into his lap, both her hands coming to rest in the centre of his chest and he can feel sweat instantly pooling beneath her touch.

"Take off your shirt," Sam whispers, voice hoarse after finally releasing the second hand smoke from her lungs into his face and she doesn't wait for his response as her fingers make short work of undoing his top buttons. Part of him wants to ask her what she is doing (even though it is obvious) while the other part of him doesn't want to in case she changes her mind and climbs out of his lap, pretending she never straddled him.

"Are you trying to get me naked, Samantha?" Freddie makes no effort to hide the suggestiveness of his words, having decided to play along and match her every move, already feeling his surroundings melting into a hazy palette of yellows, blues and greens after two hits.

"Of course I'm not," she laughs, head thrown back and it takes every ounce of self control left in Freddie's body not to launch his lips at her deliciously available throat, instead focusing on helping Sam unbutton the rest of his shirt and he peels it off his sticky arms as her eyes roam over his upper body in a way that would make him feel embarrassed if he weren't edging towards being utterly blazed.

"So," Freddie chokes out, passing the pipe back to Sam who seems more interested in staring at his chest and drawing swirling patterns on it with her fingertips, the slight drag of her fingernails feeling alarmingly soothing. For a brief second Freddie is convinced he sees a look flash in Sam's eyes that he knows is also in his own eyes, but he dismisses it, blaming it on wishful thinking, blaming it on the drugs making him imagine things that aren't there.

They share three more hits and are close to being completely stoned because Sam always buys quality weed to ensure they get high as quickly and as effortlessly as possible. After each blowback they've been subconsciously moving closer and now their chests have melted together, Sam's shirt plastered to Freddie's wet skin.

"I think you should remove your shirt too. It isn't fair that our states of undress are not equal. We both definitely need to be topless right now."

"Topless? What, you not only want me out of my top but you also want me out of my bra?"

Freddie's eyes widen, his mouth doing a remarkably good impression of a fish out of water and Sam grin wickedly in a way that tells him she's winding him up something rotten. She pulls her damp tank top over her head and slaps him around the face several times with the removed garment while calling him an absolute idiot and telling him I was kidding around, you moron, I was twisting your words.

Sam relights the pipe once she's stopped calling Freddie names and she knows that this is going to be their last hit due to the charred leaves in the bottom of the bowl. She inhales deeply, the taste of resin hitting the back of her throat and she leans in close to Freddie one last time, trying to make this one last, holding the smoke in her lungs until it burns and her lips turn a faint shade of blue at the edges. She blows into Freddie's waiting mouth and maybe she digs her fingernails into his cheeks with slightly too much force and maybe she feels Freddie push into her touch, but she doesn't care, too stoned to be concerned over their actions. Neither of them pulls back, lips so close to touching and she still doesn't pull back when Freddie's hands slide up and over her shoulders and down her thin arms, taking her bra straps down to the crooks of her elbows with the swift movement.

"I can feel it kicking in," Sam breaks the silence, her lips fleetingly brushing against Freddie's as she speaks and Sam pretends not to be aware of how Freddie's grip on her wrists tightens.

"Yeah," Freddie drawls, basking in the closeness that he has does not know if he'll experience again, with or without the aid of drugs. What he wants, what he needs is within his reach, so close he can taste it and there is very little preventing him from jumping in at the deep end and going for it, damn the consequences he'll have to face following his actions.

"Hmm, we'd better be going soon. You need to clean up before you go home," Sam whispers but she makes no move to do as she says.

"You've gotta move before I can," Freddie replies in a similarly hushed tone, bringing a hand up to Sam's face and brushing away the loose hairs that are stuck to her forehead and cheeks.

"I'm too comfy. I'm too fucking lazy."

"I guess we're stuck here then."

Freddie can't take it anymore, their conversation having dried up and he has to do something, has to make the first move before he goes crazy and implodes from the feelings expanding inside his chest. Sam's hands have moved, one now running aimlessly through his tussled hair while the other one traces along his sharp collar bone and her feather light touch is affecting him in ways he'll never be able to fully vocalise.

She often leaves him speechless.

His lips find Sam's for a languid kiss, lips barely moving as they let out simultaneous ragged breaths. They don't move, lips still touching and it registers for them that they're on the same page, they always have been and they always will be.

Since Freddie was the one to initiate the kiss Sam decides to push it a step further and slowly moves her lips, heart fit to burst when Freddie's move back in synchronisation to hers. It is delicate, similar to their first kiss all those years ago until Freddie's tongue grazes across Sam's lips and she opens her mouth to accommodate him with no hesitation. She meets his tongue with fervour, twinning it with her own and she gasps into his mouth when Freddie runs his hands across her stomach, continuing upwards over her breasts and he dips a finger inside one of the lace cups, sending her sensory responses into overdrive.

Sam vaguely recalls a lecture in health class about the effects of marijuana and they include increased sensitivity and lack of judgement but she pushes this thought from her mind as she trails her lips over Freddie's jaw and down his throat, latching onto his neck and alternating between sucking, licking and biting because there is no chance of Freddie coming out of this without at least a few bruises of her infliction. He lets out a low throaty moan that only pushes her to quicken her lips and they both feel heat pooling in their lower abdomens, the kind of heat that spreads throughout their bodies like wildfire. Sam also remembers from the health class lecture that marijuana amplifies your libido and she keeps this in mind as she drops her hands into Freddie's lap, making a failed effort at trying to pop the button of his pants.

"Sam..." Freddie stutters, taking her hands in his and placing them around his neck out of harms way.

She shuts him up with another kiss, running her tongue along the roof of Freddie's mouth because she doesn't want him to have come to his senses already, doesn't want him to ask her to stop, and she's relieved when he meets her kiss with one of a similar vigour and she could stay like this for a lifetime, kissing Freddie, without a single complaint.

"Did you know you taste fantastic?" Freddie mumbles against Sam's shoulder when they have to stop for fear of passing out from lack of oxygen to the brain.

"No, but it is great to know that the combined flavours of low fat Fat Cakes, strawberry and kiwi smoothie and weed tickles your fancy."

They both laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and Freddie lifts his head from Sam's shoulder to look at her eyes, to search them for any signs of lamenting over the activities that have plunged them into unfamiliar territory, but all he sees is two inky black pools full of lust and want and need and seduction, a direction reflection of his own emotions.

"Are you just gonna keep staring at me all afternoon?" Sam uses the hand on Freddie's shoulder to give him a hard shove, only she underestimates her strength and Freddie falls onto his side, taking her down with him, and the two of them frolic in the grass until Sam gets the upper hand and pins Freddie down with a thigh either side of his ribcage.

"Yes, I'm worried you're going to disappear," Freddie murmurs, looking up at Sam through the thin layer of dark hair that has fallen in his face and there is the possibility that his cheeks and nose turn a faint shade of crimson but she doesn't pick him up on it.

"I'm not a hallucination, stupid. I'm as real as it gets," she states, moving his hands from her hips and forcibly placing them on her breasts. "See, all real."

"Did you plan on seducing me from the get go?" Freddie asks, palming the flesh in his hands and finding delight in the groan Sam emits in response to his touch, her mouth falling open to allow him to trail a hand upwards and rub the pad of his thumb over her moist bottom lip.

"Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't." She quirks an eyebrow at him and nips his offending thumb with her front incisors.

"Can I kiss you again?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

Freddie surges upwards to reconnect their lips and Sam sighs with contentment into the hard slant of his open mouth against hers, tongues in each others mouths and they're back to kissing in the way that they're well on the way to perfecting, the hard ruthlessness of their movements making them want to turn themselves inside out for wanting more.

They're falling without knowing, bodies light but with heavy aches in their chests, and they are too caught up in bottling up every taste, committing to memory every connection of lips, tongues and teeth to open their eyes see what they've become, what they're still becoming.

A/N #2: Just in case it wasn't obvious Sam and Freddie are in their final year of high school. I know the events are a little (very) OOC but I'm going to pull out my artistic license card for this fic. I can write about what I want and yes, I used smoking pot as a plot device to get to hot making out. I've tried to convey that they aren't full blown potheads and smoke occasionally, but I don't know if that came across or not. Sorry if the subject matter/OOC-ness offends anybody.
By the way, I do not condone drug taking of any kind, even if it does lead to making out. Don't ruin your lives, kids.