Defending Intentions - leave me sore (2)
Jan. 15th, 2011 10:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ingoodsentencesTitle: Defending Intentions
Chapter: (2) leave me sore
Author: thegraduate09
Words: 831
Fandom: iCarly
Pairing: Sam/Freddie
Rating: M. (for this chapter)
Summary:Yeah... it's getting less funny.
Author's Note: Sequel to "Therapy." Slightly more grown up material, and set a few months after the end of Therapy.
Sam gets home from work the next day to an outraged Freddie, “You told Carly?!”
His face is literally red - or at least, a dark shade of pink, his fists were even clenched at his sides, and she slows in hanging up her coat, “What?”
“You told Carly. You told her I couldn’t -” This time, it is not even close to a question.
Sam turns to him, “No. I never said that.”
He points a finger at her, “But you did tell her!”
“I told her we were having - issues.” She’s honestly trying to be pacifying, even though it feels wrong, and she’s honestly failing. “It’s Carly. Is there anything we don’t tell her?”
“Yes! This we don’t tell her, this you don’t tell her. It’s my problem, not yours, and it’s not something you share!” He turns, storms out of the room and she follows, sighing.
“Oh, come on, Freddie. This is completely a ‘we’ problem, it affects me too.”
The glare he sends her way informs her this was the wrong thing to say just seconds before the door slammed in her face does.
“Freddie, come on! I’m sorry, okay?” At least she’s better at apologizing, if she’s not any better at anything else.
The click of the lock is her answer, and she curses herself for leaving her lock picks in the nightstand. It’s been a while since she’s had to get through this door. It’s the hollow, cheap sort, and she considers just busting through it - but there are paper clips in the other room, and that’s much kinda on her shoulder and wallet. It takes her longer than it should to unlock the door with the paper clips, she’s gotten rusty, but at least she’s still capable of beating her mother’s time.
He gives her a dirty look once she’s in the room - she won’t say she isn’t a little delighted, it’s more feeling than there’s been here for a while - and goes to close the bathroom door and repeat the whole thing. She races forward, wedges her foot in the door only to have him keep trying to close it.
“Ow!” She says, more out of surprise than pain, but it’s a win because he wavers just long enough for her to push her way in.
She lifts herself up onto the sink, can’t resist and smiles at him a little, “Go on.”
He shakes his head, yanks open the shower curtain hard enough to nearly yank it down.
She bites her lip, swallows, yeah, she loves this more than she should, “Come on. There’s no way you’re done bitching at me.”
Silence. Apparently she’s not pushing hard enough yet.
She hops down from the sink, leans against it, crosses her arms, “At least I didn’t tell your mother?”
Success. He spins toward her, mouth hanging open, slams his fist down on the sink to her left, “When will you stop?!”
She thinks, oh dear god yes. She says, “When we’ve fought through this.”
“It doesn’t even matter that I don’t want to?”
She takes a step forward, shakes her head, “Bullshit.”
“Just because you don’t like what I say doesn’t mean you get to call bullshit.”
She rolls her eyes, “Like you don’t jump at every single chance to teach me a lesson.”
He stares at her like he’s confused, like this isn’t just like them.
She falters slightly, “One free shot, Freddie. Now or never,” hops back up on the sink.
“You are such a bitch.”
“You can’t waste your free shot on that!” She exclaims, pressing her foot against his thigh - he can’t look that angry and not touch her, it’s just not - right.
He chuckles, but in the unamused contradictory sort of way, and finally, finally traps her with a fist on either side of her knees, her heart is pounding, “Can’t do anything right, can I?”
She pulls him in with her legs, braces herself with her hands, “You can do everything right, Freddie.”
He sighs, “Sam.”
“Please.” She settles her fingers on his belt, vindicated, he’s enjoyed this too, sets her teeth lightly against his jaw, prays something like ‘finally oh god please’ over and over, “You know what it does to me when you’re all angry and rough with me.”
…
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Sam exclaims, a little louder than she meant to, and he goes to take a step back but her legs are still around his waist, “That’s never not worked.”
“Sam...”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me, but I really think it’ll just go away with time.”
“Do you really want to wait?”
Chapter: (2) leave me sore
Author: thegraduate09
Words: 831
Fandom: iCarly
Pairing: Sam/Freddie
Rating: M. (for this chapter)
Summary:Yeah... it's getting less funny.
Author's Note: Sequel to "Therapy." Slightly more grown up material, and set a few months after the end of Therapy.
Sam gets home from work the next day to an outraged Freddie, “You told Carly?!”
His face is literally red - or at least, a dark shade of pink, his fists were even clenched at his sides, and she slows in hanging up her coat, “What?”
“You told Carly. You told her I couldn’t -” This time, it is not even close to a question.
Sam turns to him, “No. I never said that.”
He points a finger at her, “But you did tell her!”
“I told her we were having - issues.” She’s honestly trying to be pacifying, even though it feels wrong, and she’s honestly failing. “It’s Carly. Is there anything we don’t tell her?”
“Yes! This we don’t tell her, this you don’t tell her. It’s my problem, not yours, and it’s not something you share!” He turns, storms out of the room and she follows, sighing.
“Oh, come on, Freddie. This is completely a ‘we’ problem, it affects me too.”
The glare he sends her way informs her this was the wrong thing to say just seconds before the door slammed in her face does.
“Freddie, come on! I’m sorry, okay?” At least she’s better at apologizing, if she’s not any better at anything else.
The click of the lock is her answer, and she curses herself for leaving her lock picks in the nightstand. It’s been a while since she’s had to get through this door. It’s the hollow, cheap sort, and she considers just busting through it - but there are paper clips in the other room, and that’s much kinda on her shoulder and wallet. It takes her longer than it should to unlock the door with the paper clips, she’s gotten rusty, but at least she’s still capable of beating her mother’s time.
He gives her a dirty look once she’s in the room - she won’t say she isn’t a little delighted, it’s more feeling than there’s been here for a while - and goes to close the bathroom door and repeat the whole thing. She races forward, wedges her foot in the door only to have him keep trying to close it.
“Ow!” She says, more out of surprise than pain, but it’s a win because he wavers just long enough for her to push her way in.
She lifts herself up onto the sink, can’t resist and smiles at him a little, “Go on.”
He shakes his head, yanks open the shower curtain hard enough to nearly yank it down.
She bites her lip, swallows, yeah, she loves this more than she should, “Come on. There’s no way you’re done bitching at me.”
Silence. Apparently she’s not pushing hard enough yet.
She hops down from the sink, leans against it, crosses her arms, “At least I didn’t tell your mother?”
Success. He spins toward her, mouth hanging open, slams his fist down on the sink to her left, “When will you stop?!”
She thinks, oh dear god yes. She says, “When we’ve fought through this.”
“It doesn’t even matter that I don’t want to?”
She takes a step forward, shakes her head, “Bullshit.”
“Just because you don’t like what I say doesn’t mean you get to call bullshit.”
She rolls her eyes, “Like you don’t jump at every single chance to teach me a lesson.”
He stares at her like he’s confused, like this isn’t just like them.
She falters slightly, “One free shot, Freddie. Now or never,” hops back up on the sink.
“You are such a bitch.”
“You can’t waste your free shot on that!” She exclaims, pressing her foot against his thigh - he can’t look that angry and not touch her, it’s just not - right.
He chuckles, but in the unamused contradictory sort of way, and finally, finally traps her with a fist on either side of her knees, her heart is pounding, “Can’t do anything right, can I?”
She pulls him in with her legs, braces herself with her hands, “You can do everything right, Freddie.”
He sighs, “Sam.”
“Please.” She settles her fingers on his belt, vindicated, he’s enjoyed this too, sets her teeth lightly against his jaw, prays something like ‘finally oh god please’ over and over, “You know what it does to me when you’re all angry and rough with me.”
…
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Sam exclaims, a little louder than she meant to, and he goes to take a step back but her legs are still around his waist, “That’s never not worked.”
“Sam...”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me, but I really think it’ll just go away with time.”
“Do you really want to wait?”
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