those summer weeks 7/?
Title: those summer weeks.
Fandom: iCarly
Characters/Pairings: Carly, Freddie, Spencer, Sam, Carly/Freddie
Rating: this fic is now rated M.
Warnings: sexual scenes, language, angst, not-happy people.
Summary: It's summer. Things change, and things continue to be.
Author Notes: Yeah, I finally wrote a sex-scene. I felt Carly and Freddie needed that kind of comfort, and I'm not too uncomfortable with it. This is for anysa, who insisted on moar secks. I love that girl. Check her out; she's awesome: kapindorkburger
--
Carly Shay was born to care.
She was made to love, manufactured to soothe, meant to heal.
But she had no idea how to deal with this.
--
Freddie sat and stared at the wall.
It was white.
He blinked.
White again.
Home was so empty now.
--
He didn't cry.
Not one single tear.
He seemed to be numb, frozen, not accepting.
Carly sat with him every day for hours, holding his hand. Sometimes she let him rest his head in her lap and she would smooth his hair
back, over and over again.
She could almost understand it. Her mother died when she was small, and she vaguely remembered the denial, the wondering where momma went, the pain in her chest.
Sometimes, if he fell asleep, she would hear him murmur something incoherent, but before she could figure out what he'd said he would wake, or curl up into a ball even further, and she would resume stroking his hair blankly.
--
She started staying nights, too, when he began to whimper and tug on her wrist if she got up to leave.
He was getting worse.
One night he started awake, sitting bolt upright in bed.
"Mom?" he said, speaking clearly for the first time in four days. "Mom? Where are you?"
His eyes were half-open, and he blindly, frantically, ran his hands over the sheets; searching.
Carly put a hand on his arm, alarmed.
"Freddie? Freddie, hush, go back to sleep," she urged quietly, trying to pull him down again. "It's OK, everything's OK."
"But, mom," he whispered. He clambered out of bed. "Where's my mom?"
Carly bit her lip. "She's - Freddie, come back to bed, please come back to bed-"
"But where is she?" he demanded, talking to no-one. "Mom? Mom?"
Carly desperately fought the burning behind her eyes, the tears, the weakness.
"She's gone, Freddie," she mumbled.
"Gone?" he asked, and his expression was so pitiful she wanted to throw her arms around him and never let go. "Where did she go?"
She couldn't.
She couldn't say it.
"She's gone to a conference," she blurted, getting out of bed as well and going over to him. "Her parenting conference, remember?"
She could make out his blink. He nodded dumbly.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, she said."
"Yeah? It's fine, everything's fine," Carly said, forcing a smile. She patted his arm. "Come on, back to bed."
He plodded towards the bed again, and it wasn't long before she was holding him tightly in her arms, and her tears were dripping steadily into his hair.
--
Spencer knew Carly was breaking, shattering.
She was always taking care of Freddie, pouring all of her love into her smiles, her embraces, her forehead-kisses.
And he sat like a statue, and looked at a wall all day.
He could tell Carly was at her breaking point, her last tether, teetering on the cliff.
He was so proud of her, but she needed to be taken care of too.
--
The Bensons' door was open.
Spencer looked at the photos on the wall of the hallway; mostly Freddie as a little kid, some of him and his mom. Spencer stuffed his hands in his pockets and went through to the living room.
"Carly?" he called.
"In here," she called back, her voice carrying from the door on the left.
He found her in Freddie's room, sitting on his bed while he typed fervently at his computer next to her.
She was watching her boyfriend; her eyes never left him. Her hand was looped under his elbow, but he didn't seem to notice.
She looked exhausted, and his heart went out for her.
"Hey, Carly. Hi there, Freddie," he said, feeling too tall and out-of-place.
Her eyes finally looked away from Freddie (who didn't respond to the greeting, only frowned and muttered something to himself) and gazed at him.
"Hi, Spencer," she said softly. "What are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to see," he replied uneasily. "how you are, what you're up to..."
"Oh," she said. She glanced at Freddie's laptop screen. "Freddie's doing - math, I think, and I'm just sitting with him."
She smiled wearily, and Spencer wanted to hug her.
"Do you guys want to go to the Groovy Smoothie or something?" he asked. Carly's eyes brightened and she pulled at the material on Freddie's elbow.
"Freddie? Freddie, do you want to go to the Groovy Smoothie?"
His head turned slowly, until he was looking blankly down at her.
"Um," he began, his voice sort of hoarse. "Yeah, that sounds good."
"Great," Spencer said, feeling a little better. "Carly, do you want to call Sam?"
Carly beamed and leaned back so she could wrestle her phone from her jeans pocket. She wriggled her hips a little, and Spencer saw Freddie swallow as he watched her.
A feeling of uneasiness swelled inside him, and he knew he needed to talk to Carly later.
--
Sam nervously pushed open the door of the shop, her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders in an ocean of curls, as of old.
She saw the three of them at a table and went over, greeting them quietly. She slid onto the stool next to Freddie, not quite sure what to say to him. He was staring into space.
"Hi, Freddie," she mumbled, giving him a rare smile. He looked up and offered her one too.
She could not even imagine how he must be feeling. She wanted to say something, but she noticed Carly was watching her warily and kept her mouth shut.
Spencer pointed his finger at her. "Strawberry Splat?"
She nodded, tapping her fingers on the table. Freddie fiddled with his phone, his expression still vacant. She could tell he was holding Carly's hand under the table, and another smile itched at the corner of her mouth.
Carly played with her, furtively glancing towards the boy next to her every minute or so. She looked worried, and tired, and pained, and Sam felt a tug on her heart at how much Carly must love Freddie.
--
Carly would not let go of Freddie's hand.
She dragged him into his room; pulled him down onto his bed, and stared at him determinedly.
"Freddie," she said quietly. "Freddie, you're not well."
He frowned. "I'm fine."
"Freddie," she tried, steeling herself. "Your mom died four days ago, and you're not eating, you're not doing anything, I know you didn't touch your smoothie earlier."
His eyes flashed, but he remained silent.
"Please, just, please, Freddie, I know you're hurting, I know, but please, please just cry or shout or something, please." She begged, clasping both his hands.
His eyes narrowed, and anger filled them.
"You have no idea," he said quietly, dangerously.
"I do," she said. "My mom died too, Freddie."
"You didn't know her as long," he said, his voice getting louder. "She didn't raise you. She didn't do everything for you."
"She still loved me," Carly retorted, hurt. "And I loved her."
"But she left you when you were small," he said. "If people love you, they don't leave you."
"Yes they do!" she cried. "They do, Freddie, she's still here, she still loves you!"
"Where is she then?" he yelled. "Where is she?"
She stepped closer to him, glaring up at him. "She's here!" she shouted, jabbing a finger in his chest, by his heart. "She'll always be there. And my mom; she'll be here too, always."
She rested her hand over her heart, too. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, for a few moments.
And then he pulled on her hand and kissed her, hard.
She responded immediately, raking her hands up over his chest and feeling it shuddering beneath them. She was lifted up, her legs wrapping around his hips, and they fell backwards onto his bed, kissing feverishly.
His lips detached from hers and began to trail down her neck. "Sorry," he choked. "So sorry."
She gasped when his teeth grazed the skin at her collarbone, her answer the moan that escaped past her hitching breaths.
She could feel his tears on her skin, and his fingertips smoothing over her ribs, and suddenly she was aching for him, desperate for his touch.
She groaned, reaching for his shirt and pulling it impatiently over his head. He, in turn, found the hem of her top and pulled it upwards. Her hair was a mess, but she knew he liked it better that way.
He kissed her lips again, assaulting them with his teeth and tongue. She whimpered, her breath coming in sobs. Their tears mixed as her nose pressed into his cheek (like it always did), and it wasn't long before he was unzipping her jeans and pushing them down her legs, his hands ghosting over her thighs and sending bolts of electricity towards the place between her legs he'd only recently discovered.
"Freddie," she mumbled. "Freddie, I love you, so much."
He was crying, her skin drenched with salt water. He cradled her face.
"I love you," he said, his voice haltering as his breath caught. "I love you, Carly, I fucking love you."
She bit her lip, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as he undid his jeans and took them off, and then when he turned to face her again she kissed him again.
His hands ran up her sides, gently cupping her, his sobs stabbing into her mouth. She moaned and ground her hips up into his. He hissed and let one hand trail downwards, dipping dangerously.
She bit down on his bottom lip as his fingers swiped over her, stifling a cry when they delved deeper.
"Freddie," she said breathlessly. "Freddie, please."
He felt her tugging at his underwear, and he helped her shove them down over his hips. He kissed her again, and laid her back down, hovering over her. She was crying, he was crying, and this wasn't going to make anything better, but it offered something like comfort for a brief moment or two.
He moved, and she raised her hips, and she let out something like a whimper, and he fell in love with her all over again.
She was flushed pink, her eyelids fluttering as her hips met his. He felt sweat trickling down over his body, and saw a droplet making its way down her chest. He bent and licked it, making her gasp and pull on the hair at the bottom of his neck.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, where her sweat-matted hair stuck to her skin. She smelled wonderful; like her perfume, like fresh, clean skin, like home.
She did something incredible with her muscles down there and he groaned. He could feel it building; and knew by her shorter breaths that she was close too.
She scraped her fingernails across his chest, leaving marks in his skin.
He began to slow, knowing she was tired, and he was still almost there, nearly there...
She cried out, suddenly, her head flying back and her back arching. The sight of her was mesmerising, and he stared and stared until he too groaned loudly and spent himself.
She had not stopped weeping silently, and neither had he.
--