A Little Protein...
A little project idioticonion and I have been working on the last couple of days... a trifecta of sorts, which may or may not have a few cuddles. Me = Robin, IO = Barney.
On Friday morning, Robin comes over to Barney's apartment so they can go out for breakfast, bro-style... just as he comes home from a run, all sweaty. Yeah.
Robin stands in front of Barney's building, pressing the buzzer. It's been over a minute now, and he still hasn't returned the buzz to unlock the door and let her up. She checks her watch. It's a little earlier than they had agreed upon, but she was finished with work and now she's starving.
For food, of course. "Deakfast."
She presses the buzzer again and grins at the word, the mix of dinner/breakfast Barney had suggested, and wonders where they're going to find a place that will make steak this early in the day. Although if anyone can find it, it's probably Barney. She straightens her skirt and frowns, wondering if maybe he never came home last night. Or maybe he's in the shower... the image of that pops unexpectedly into her head and she pushes it aside. Today is about food. Just food. She needs to stop pouncing on him every time they're in the same room together. She's been too distracted by the benefits part of the whole friends-with-benefits thing.
She sighs. If he ever buzzes her into the building and they can finally leave, she's going to start with a giant mimosa.
Barney bounds up the steps, almost running right into Robin in the doorway.
"Hey!" He says in surprise - she's early, very early, and his heart is thumping steadily. He gets tunnel vision when he's running, which is why he didn't see her standing there. And he's been over-focused this morning - pounding out five miles of grass and sidewalk, needing the endorphins after three days of wall-to-wall stress at work.
The door clicks, opening without him touching it, at the same moment that she turns and notices him standing there.
"Oh sorry, I--" she starts, thinking she's in the way of some other resident of the building. But when the person doesn't walk in when she stands aside, she does a double take. Her mouth falls open slightly.
He's-- well, he looks--
He's breathing hard, obviously from finishing his run, and his shirt is wet with perspiration... in fact, almost all of him is tinged with a fine layer of sweat. He almost looks... rugged. Just the fact that he's wearing athletic gear instead of the usual suit she sees him in makes him look like a different person.
"Barney!" She drops her purse, flustered. "What are you...? I mean... hey, am I too early? I can come back later."
He frowns a little, wondering why she's going all goof-ball on him, and then he realises that she's only just got off work and she's sleep deprived and she's probably in the goof-of-the-week zone. "Nah, I'm good. Come up? I just need a shower then we can bro-out deakfast style!" He grins, squinting slightly in the sunlight, his hands on his hips, his breathing quickly returning to normal.
Then he tilts his head, heading inside.
He heads for the elevator, completely nonchalant, and she takes a moment as she picks up her purse and follows him to collect herself. Okay, so he just needs a shower. Once again, the image of him soaped up and slick under a cloud of steam inserts itself in her imagination, and she coughs and shakes it away. On the elevator, he stretches his arms and she presses herself back against the wall, watching him. The hair at the nape of his neck is soaked, his skin slightly flushed with exertion. Just how hard had he been running?
She manages to trip over her own feet when they come off the elevator at his floor. He catches her a gives her an odd look. "Oof. I'm fine." Behind his back, she rolls her eyes at herself. Get a grip, Robin. Back to bro-hood, remember?
He looks over his shoulder, concerned. She's obviously more tired than he realised? He's been doing the same kind of thing the last few days, what with "Washington" and jet-lag and stress that he's just rather not think about at all. He recognises the signs in her. "Hey, you wanna take a nap while I shower? I can even catch up on some work if you need a little more shut eye?" He doesn't even feel that hungry any more. He can't remember the last time he ate.
When they get into his apartment, he strides through, heading for the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water, drinking half in one go and pouring the rest over his hair. He probably stinks like a mule. He can practically feel the steam rise up from his skin - "sure, that's attractive, Stinson!" He thinks, stripping off his wet t-shirt.
She thinks he might be asking her a question about something, but it's impossible to tell for sure when all she can see is that he just poured water all over his...
It's dripping down his hair and face in rivets, darkening his blonde locks and plastering them to his forehead, making his T-shirt cling to his chest like he just walked in to the locker room from a really rough, sweaty game of...
Robin swallows hard as he reaches around himself and pulls the shirt straight off, revealing a perfectly tanned chest, still rising and falling quickly to catch up with the end of his workout. "Scherbatsky?" he's saying, waving a hand slightly. "You listening?"
Her eyes snap up from the sheen of sweat on his abs to his face. "Hmmm?" She takes a step toward him, realizing too late that his briefcase is directly in front of her. It crashes into the coffeetable and she tries to catch the papers that go flying.
He darts around the bar and is by her side in an instant, his reactions all souped-up with adrenalin and caffeine. "Hey!" he says, now really concerned as he sits her down on the leather couch, pushing her back onto it. "That's it, Scherbatsky. You're taking a break!" He thinks her face looks pale and a little pinched as he hovers over her, cold droplets of water falling from his hair onto her neck and chest, making her flinch.
"Shit! Sorry!" He looks over his shoulder at the upended briefcase, trying to remember exactly what he had in there, knowing that he doesn't want her getting so much as a glance at *any* of those papers. But he's torn between wanting to make sure she's okay and cleaning up.
She presses her fingers under her legs and sits on her hands, feeling her face burn with embarrassment. Could she act any more spastic? He's dripping all over her and every drop is sends a shudder through her. She can't help noting the way his running pants hug his bare hips, how he smells not exactly like he's come from a workout, but like... well, like a man. Like she's some unevolved helpless female and he's the goddamn rugged savior.
His eyes are darting back and forth, concerned between her and the messed-up papers on the coffeetable and floor, so she looks away. He's clearly unaware what he's doing to her, and it's best to keep it that way. Friends, she repeats to herself. Breakfast.
He touches her elbow and she jumps, nearly pulls away at how hot his fingers feel, how they leave a streak of cool water on her skin.
He cocks his head. She's jumpy, awkward. Is she still pissed at him for yelling at her the other night? He thought they were good.
"Look, I'm. Gonna." There's something in her eyes - her wide, deep blue eyes, a hunger there that confuses him. He's buzzed, pepped, he needs that shower - hot as hell then ice cold to wake him up. But she's *looking*, staring at him, examining him and he wonders if it's a turn off, her seeing him like this-? Dishevelled and suited-down. Not exactly "fresh" from his run. He wonders if this is spoiling the illusion for her - that he somehow springs straight from bed, fully-formed, clad in bespoke tailoring with not a hair out of place.
But this is him, after a week from hell, after being squeezed by work, but a pressure that's almost been unbearable. And if she really does want to be his friend, as well as occasionally having awesome sex with him, then she's gonna have to deal!
He furrows his brow and shakes his head at her a little, a "what's up with you?" sort of gesture, and at the tiny movement, he showers her with more water. She frees one hand and wipes the droplets on her cheek away, slowly, watching a drop of water trail from his chest toward his waist. He makes an apologetic face and points in the direction of a shower, muttering something about a towel for her.
And she can't help it. It's just reflex. She reaches up, stretching out a finger, and brushes the drop of water just above his navel. She panics slightly (okay Robin, pull back now, that's enough), but finds herself letting her fingers trail down his damp stomach, tugging gently at his waistline, wanting to spread her hands over his chest, drag her tongue all over...
He looks almost as shocked as he feels, frozen for a moment, and then she throws caution to the wind. She takes advantage of his stunned reaction, taking hold of his waist and nearly throwing him down on the couch next to her. Before she realizes what she's done, she's licking up his abs toward his chest, the salty sweetness hot on her tongue.
His *is* shocked. Momentarily stunned, would be a better description. But with her tongue on his chest, his lets out a confused/elated bark of laughter, raising his hands as she attacks him, surrendering. "Hey! Okay! Okay!" He giggles as her tongue flicks across one nipple, swollen and sensitive from the abrasive material of his sweat-soaked t-shirt.
Her mouth is so hot - scorching - against his flesh. He can feel the chill as his body cools down. It feels like she's sucking the heat of out of him with each lick, with each tiny stroke of her tongue, and he's hard before he knows it, hard and ready and he grabs her side to steady her, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast.
His chest rumbles under her lips when he laughs, and she presses tiny kisses across his skin until she reaches his other nipple. She streaks her tongue across it hard, then sucks it lazily, and she's suddenly aware that she could be naked right now, if she'd been thinking. He's watching her with an amused grin, and she rips her dress over her head in a rush, accidentally whipping him in the face with it. He blinks, a hand moving from her side to his eye, and she can't help laughing against his mouth. "Sorry..."
She sits back on the couch, struggles out of her panties, and then stretches herself back over him, enjoying the feel of leather under her bare knees. He's reaching for her, but she scoots back and slides both hands down his chest, sliding over sweat and the quickly drying-water, until she reaches his pants. She tugs them down, freeing his erection, and shoves a hand into the pocket. She rolls her eyes a bit at the expected condom she was searching for, and holds it up, and raises her eyebrows at him. "You expect a lot out of your workouts, hmm?"
He grins impishly. "Hey, always be prepared, Scherbatsky!" He winks at her, but his nipples burn and she's kind-of taking his breath away by how hot she is right now, not just the ripping off her clothes thing, but the way she's all over him like a rash, like she's as desperate and pent-up as he is.
Truth be told, he didn't even know the condom was in there, as he hasn't gotten laid at the company gym for a while - too many complications for his liking. But she's not to know that, and he has a feeling she gets off on the idea that he's a bad boy.
And he is a bad boy.
He's gonna show her just how bad he is.
She lets out of tiny giggle, shakes her head at him, and rips open the condom. After pinching the tip and rolling it slowly over him, she throws him a smirk and dips her head, dragging her tongue up the underside of his penis. She loves the expression on his face, the widened eyes and slight hitch of breath, so much that she almost wants to suck him off right here.
But he's naked and wet and she wants him to fuck her. Wants to fuck him. And she's not gonna wait.
Crawling over him again, she positions herself over him, slowly, teasingly. Balancing with a hand over the back of the couch, she slides a hand between them, touches herself, rubs her clit and lets out a moan for his benefit. Then she takes ahold of him (he's growing harder by the second), and drags the tip of his erection over her clit, sucking air sharply through her teeth. "Just need a little more... mmphh." Leans down to lick one last drop of water from his chest. "Do you want me?" she murmurs, wiggling slightly over him.
He makes a kind of strangled, half-gargling sound as she rubs herself against him - hot, slick and she's got that mischievous smirk on her face; she's challenging him. So he reaches out, both hands on her hips, shifting his groin suddenly so that she jolts forward a tiny bit, just enough so that she can feel the friction, just as he feels it flood right through him. He's rock-hard now - granite-in-velvet-in-latex and he's more than ready. But he grins, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
A high-pitched sound emits from her throat as he guides her hips, and she can't wait. She bears down on him, takes him inside, crying out as she leans slightly forward to feel him thrust hard against her. Her head falls forward, something sparking behind her eyes. It's so good, so good with a slight edge of pain at the intrusion, she can't move for a minute. Then she feels his fingers digging into her hips, and she begins to rock, torturous pleasure swirling in her stomach, breath coming in quick gasps.
He grits his teeth… crap, it's been too long… he should have nailed that girl in the bar yesterday… and no, don't think of that, or Robin's boobs jiggling as she moves, or the way she bites her lip… no, think of baseball… or grandma… no grandpa - that's better… he can do this… he can… oh FUCK and what's she doing now? She's shimmying her hips and clenching around him and she's no idea… no idea… no idea…
He moans, a plea, fighting for control because he wants her to tip him over the edge but he wants to stay here, inside her, inside her…
He thrusts, a single brutal movement, because he can't stand it.
Her spine snaps taut as he thrusts into her, hits her right where she needs it, oh GOD, and he grunts a little and his hair is clinging wet to his forehead and damn if he doesn't steal her breath a little. She lifts her hips, slides to the edge, then bites her lip hard as she drives down on him again, then again, and she's there, feeling him pulse inside her, until she loses her rhythm and shakes hard around him, gasping as he tugs her hips down hard. Somewhere in the crash, she looks up, sees the tip of his tongue on his lip, feels everything burn up inside her, consumed. "B... Ba..." she tries to stop it, but his name escapes her lips.
It's sweet it's sweet it's sweet, it's so sweet. his name, her voice. She stutters and his eyes roll back because this is it. it. hearing her say it. His teeth snap in the spasm that follows and he can't tell where he starts and she ends because everything is bright, like the morning sun over the wing of the plane he was in a few hours before, like the light streaming through the window, illuminating her face, making a halo around her head and oh GOD.
Slowly, he's aware of her breathing, her gasps, his own hammering heart and he smiles, laughs even, because he feels so good. This is such a high.
She's amazing.
When she opens her eyes, she's lying on him, one knee digging into the crevice between his side and the couch and it feels like he's laughing a little under her. She tries to think, gain some perspective maybe, but she's got that water-in-your-ears feeling and everything seems muted, hazy. When she finally lifts her chin, looks up into his face, something catches in her heart, how he's looking at her with such affection. She wants to say something-- something funny, something to make him laugh again, to make him like her-- but all she can think is oh god, do you know what you do to me?
The words want to spill out, trip over her tongue, she's actually bracing herself to say *some*thing, but she's afraid of what he'll say back. He'll either make a joke, rock your world, baby? or say something sweet, and that always unhinges her, so she closes her mouth and lifts herself off him, blinking at the morning glare on the window.
He sees her close up a little, retreat from the afterglow, but he's gotten used to it by now so he guesses that's the way she is. It makes him a little sad, because he sees himself in her, sees himself with a hundred different women, cutting lose, cutting free without a second thought and he knows how they must have felt.
Still… he yawns and stretches. "So… you gonna let me take that shower Scherbatsky? Or are you gonna jump my bones again?"
Grins. "Or maybe jump my bones *in* the shower… Offer's there if you want it?"
He levers himself off the sofa, springing up like a cat and quickly gathering all the stray paperwork she upended. "Jesus, Robin… make a mess, will ya?" He chuckles.
She reaches for her clothes, suddenly feeling her face burn though she can't quite pin her finger on why. Maybe because a second ago she let herself be blinded by sex and almost crossed a line she knows she shouldn't cross.
And how does he do it? He's picking up papers, smiling, making a joke, and she's still unable to even say anything. She looks around for her underwear, fumbling for something, anything, to say in response, wondering why she can't control herself around him, because if she hadn't felt the need to jump him again, they'd be out to breakfast and she wouldn't feel like a knotted-up yo-yo.
For Christ's sake, there hadn't even been any kissing this time. Not really, anyway. There hadn't been a bed or much foreplay or anything resembling anything more than what it was, a physical reaction to a soaking wet, good looking friend. So get a grip, she tells herself. Would a shower be such a bad thing?
He gathers up his sweatpants and drenched T-shirt, striding unabashed across the room, right past her and dropping them both into the washer. He winks at her, wondering why she's just standing there gaping at him before heading for the bathroom.
"But hey… we'll have to share a towel! And by share, I mean you get it after me!" He laughs, knowing that's expected, knowing that Lily totally believed his one-towel, one-pillow bit. For once he doesn't care that a chick he's brought back to his place can easily see there are two pillows and a soft down comforter on his bed, because Robin wouldn't fall for his bullshit anyways. She way too smart.
He steps into the bathroom, his back aching a little from the run, his thigh giving him the usual trouble where he snapped his femur last summer.
Her mouth snaps shut as he walks out and toward the bathroom, and she gives herself one more moment to feel unbalanced. Once he's out of the room, not blinding her with his stupid abs and soaking hair and all that damn sweaty virility, she shakes it off and narrows her eyes. Robin Scherbatsky does not stand around feeling flustered and confused. Robin Scherbatsky is totally cool and knows her boundaries. Trespassers, beware. She marches back to the bathroom, shoves him aside as he's reaching for the faucet handle, and throws him a look. "I'm using that towel first," she says, turning the blast of hot water up. "I'm the girl. Girls win." Then she tugs her dress back off and drapes it over his head, laughing.
He laughs, more relaxed because she's loosened up again, and she look happier. He hates it when she closes up on him and he wishes he could tell her. But she'd probably get paranoid, he knows he would.
He balls the dress and tosses it out of the bathroom, pushing her under the spray with a wicked grin. "You like to win, Scherbatsky…"
Grabs a bottle of shower gel and squirts her with it, getting the sticky green soap over her breasts and belly.
She looks down at the soap he's sprayed, drags her fingers through it. "I don't just like to win," she says, pulling him under the spray of water. She scrubs her hands together and begins washing his chest, pressing her lips to his ear. "I *have* to win." She rakes her fingers gently over his chest hair, steps back for the water to fall between them. Her eyes fall on the line of bath bottles on the shower ledge. "Holy crap... and you make fun of Ted for all his hair products? Are these all for you?"
He shrugs with a grin. "Hey, I have a weakness for new stuff. Never even open half of 'em!" He laughs, tilting back his head and letting the water wash away the suds before reaching out and gently caressing her stomach, working the splatter of soap into a lather before sliding one hand around her waist and across the small of her back. She's slick, slippery, and Christ she has the most amazing boobs…
He's horny again. How can he be horny again? His brain is half fucked from jet lag and he's beaten his body into the ground with that stupid run and yet his balls are pulsing and his dick is twitching…
She's like some kind of sex goddess. She's killing him. Sex vampire?
Hehe. Vampires are awesome.
She likes how this feels, warm and close under the water, his hand around her waist... it's almost-- comfortable. Robin links one arm around his neck and reaches out with the other, turning a bottle around to read it. "Aubrey Organics Honeysuckle Shampoo... dude, this is so GIRLY!" She turns to look at him, arm still hooked around his neck, and it's obvious he's not listening. He's staring off over her shoulder smiling about something else. "Hey, are you listening?" She grins, presses her breasts up against him, slides over soapy foam and skin. "You want me to wash your hair with the honeysuckle?"
"Sure… knock yourself out!" He chuckles, drawing it out, long and dirty because this feels like they're filming porn. It's a game, and he gets that. But she tugs something inside him - it's an itch he can't scratch.
His hands sweep forward of their own accord, playing over her breasts, giving on a gentle squeeze. Her lips are very near his and he knows that he could easily kiss her - but that's now what this is about. It'll ruin it somehow. Too much intimacy.
She gives him a second to feel her up, almost laughing because it all feels silly and fun and that's what this is supposed to be, and then she slips away and pours the shampoo on her hands. She lathers it up and lifts it to her nose, breathing in the flowery scent. "Mmm," she says. "You should let me have this, if you're never going to use it. My shampoo's boring." She steps back in to him, letting him trail a hand down her waist and cup her ass, and she smiles at him as she scrubs the shampoo into his hair.
She scratches her fingers through it, almost massaging his scalp, pushing his hair up and down and laughing as it sticks up in a spiky mess. Her hands slide down, thumbs behind his ears so she's holding his head in her hands, and he blinks twice at her, a lazy half-smile on his face. Shampoo slides down his forehead, but he doesn't appear to notice. "Better close your eyes," she says.
He closes his eyes real tight, like he's six again and James is washing his hair. He used to hate anyone touching his hair, almost to the point of a phobia, so it's a little weird to have Robin doing it. But her fingers feel so good against his scalp and he ass feels so firm in his hand that he relaxes into it. "It does smell like girl. I'll never get laid if I use this stuff…"
The words are out of his mouth before he can censor them. And the second he's said them, it feels weird. It shouldn't feel weird. He's got the right to get laid with who and when he wants.
He starts to have a minor freak out, behind his tightly shut eyelids.
She contemplates that for a second, pulling him back under the spray to wash the shampoo out. "I'll tell you a little secret about girls," she says finally. "They're less concerned with how frilly your hair smells and more concerned with whether you're actually listening to the things they say." She runs a hand across his forehead, wipes away the last of the soap. "Even the dumb ones."
She takes a breath, watches his face for a second.
"Anyway, this seems like a strange time to be concerned about getting laid. In case you haven't noticed, I'm kinda naked here. And I like the way your hair smells."
He sags with relief, that she's either not noticed, or just let him get away with that jerk-off remark. He gives her a crooked, half-apologetic smile that says "Hey, I'm just a dumb dude" and blinks the water out of his eyes.
"That's cos you're awesome…" He chuckles. "And 50% lesbian. Make that 60% You're a dude trapped in a woman's body…" He winks. "Hot woman… not complaining here…"
He pulls her close to him. "And hey, if you wanna dress me up, make me a little more frilly… I'm not sayin' no!"
She nearly wraps her arms around his waist, caught up in his good mood, but it feels too much like cuddling, so instead she puts a hand over his mouth and glares at him. "Okay, as flattering as it is to be called a dude in a woman's body, I'm just going to advise you to keep your mouth shut for a minute, mmmkay?" He smiles against her fingers. She looks down to see he's aroused, and raises her eyebrows at him. "I've gotta take care of something, okay?"
She's never really liked doing it, but they're in the shower, and it all seems pretty clean, and she's feeling frisky... she doesn't look up to see his reaction when she gets in her knees, just wraps a hand around his dick and swirls her tongue over the tip.
He almost tips over, his hands scrambling against the wall behind him as she goes down on him. He stares down at her, mouth hanging loosely open, then he grimaces as he feels her mouth, luke-warm against this dick, her lips pressing into the head, her tongue tickling it. Then his toes curl under because her fist is moving and it feels… feels… He groans, wanting to talk, to quip, to joke about this, just to show he's in control, but dear GOD he doesn't want her to stop so he bites his tongue and stays silent.
She licks him playfully at first, along the side of his penis and then under the shaft, hearing him make tiny groaning sounds like he's afraid to move. Then she puts both her hands around him, strokes hard, and takes him into her mouth. She plays her mouth slowly over him, humming in the back of her throat when she feels him jerk, pulse on her tongue. She looks up at him through the shower spray and nearly laughs at the desperate look on his face, clearly trying not to come too fast. She swirls her tongue over the head again, gives him a pointed look.
"I *always* win, Stinson," she says. Then she sucks hard.
"Aaaafffffuuuggggccccceeeeehhhh!!" He cries out, incoherently, his voice pitched way too high. She's winning, ohshitjesuschrist! And he can't hold it… hold it… he buries the fingers of one hand in her hair, holding on to the back of her head and he comes, hating/loving/hating/loving it because she too good, it's unfair and-
His thoughts tumble over each other and he just lets out a single, tiny sound, lost in the roar of the water.
When she feels him spasm, come in her mouth, she tries to hang on to him. He jerks uncontrollably at first, but then his hand is in her hair and he's steadying himself as she finishes him off. She likes it, likes the power, likes knowing she can undo him like he does her, and she's got the taste of him on her tongue to prove it.
He drops his head back against the shower wall and she takes his hips in her hands, smoothing over water droplets. She presses a kiss, lazy and wet, just under his navel, where he's smooth and hard and trembling.
Then she stands and turns off the faucet, lets him recover while she reaches for a towel.
"There's gotta be something in the Bro Code against that," she says as she exits, throwing him a smirk.
He's breathing heavy and kind of half-grinning in shock. "I-" He clears his throat, moving from a wobbly falsetto to his normal baritone. "I'll add something… it's not a situation that… comes up… much…" He chuckles, just standing there, his mind a little blown. He's feeling wiped out, the last 48 hours… the last *week * having finally caught up with him in style. His legs feel wobbly, like he can barely stand, but he manages it out of the shower, shouldering the secret catch in the wall that opens a cupboard to reveal a stack of fresh towel. Gives her a wink, but he's almost shaking with exhaustion.
"Hmm... I'd hope not. But the Bro Code should probably cover its bases..."
When she's dried off, she finds her dress just outside the doorway and tugs it on (seriously Robin, do not-- do NOT-- take this off again). Then she furrows her brow, watching him move slowly, drying himself, wincing and rubbing his thigh at one point (old bus accident injury, she worries?). She hesitates for a moment.
"Dude... when's the last time you slept?"
His eyes flick over hers with a slight shake of his head.
"You promised," she says gently, "you promised us all you'd get more sleep."
He feels a jolt of guilt, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and he looks up, startled. "I d-don't- didn't- I did that when- How do you expect-" He kind of runs out of words, giving up completely because talking is just too hard and he rubs the towel over his hair and limps into the bedroom, rooting around for a pair of silk boxers and pulling them on. He feels numb, everything between his ears feels numb, like he's floating. But he struggles to keep it together because he promised to take her out.
Damn Marshall and his "no pills or you get slapped" rule. Damn him to hell!
He wonders if he can sneak off and take something while Robin's back is turned.
Robin follows him into his room, taking in the immaculate space and noting the fact that he really does have more than one pillow (ha! She knew it). She thinks about what to say, doesn't want to seem like she's lecturing him, but also doesn't want to see him taking speed and crashing hard again. "I know your job is... stressful," she finishes lamely, "but man, you can't keep going like this." His eyes are so-- tired, why didn't she notice before? Worry twists in her stomach. Why hasn't she paid more attention since California?
She reaches out, touches his wrist gently. "We could take a nap right now...?" As incentive, she sits on the edge of the bed, almost laughing because it feels like training one of her puppies, showing him what to do.
He stares at her for a beat, because the words she's saying don't seem to be translating into actual English in his head. But her tone is soft and casual and she's smiling so sweetly that he tentatively moves forward to sit down on the bed beside her. He blinks, and what she's saying slowly slides into place, like great icebergs shifting around in his head and he nods wearily. "Yeah, maybe… a quick power nap. Because… you know…" He wants her to stay, needs her to stay, wants to reach out for her and hold her close, but he knows that'll scare her off so he just looks at her with an uncertain, slightly dejected look. "…we gotta get that steak. B-man needs his protein…"
She nods, smiling. "Well that's the thing about New York," she says, swinging her legs up behind him and crawling over to the pillow on the other side. "You can get your protein any time of day. Not just in the morning." He's twisting back to look at her, still looking a bit like a sleepy puppy who doesn't want to settle down, so she lies on her side, hugs the pillow with a laugh, see how nice this is? She pats the bedspread in the space next to her, an invitation. "Even GNB execs take power naps, I bet."
He lets out a sigh, and collapses back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Then he turns onto his side, closing his eyes briefly. Jesus, he can feel the world greying out. If he'd even tried going outside he'd probably have collapsed! He opens his eyes, feeling a tug of worry, knowing that California was a wake-up call that he seems to have ignored completely. He bites his bottom lip, then he sees her expression. "Kinda jealous of that pillow right now…" He says with a lopsided smirk.
She laughs at first, a knee-jerk reaction, as if what he's said is some kind of come on. Then she instantly feels guilty because his voice is so tired, and he looks almost anxious, like everything-- California, GNB, Shannon, them-- is hitting him all at once, and she wants to hug him. Like a little kid. Or like her best friend.
He closes his eyes and she swallows, reaching out her fingers, pulling them back, reaching them out again. She sighs finally, hating herself for even questioning this, because the guy clearly needs... some kind of reassurance, some kind of comfort, and not the sex kind.
She scooches over a bit, runs her palm up his bare arm, and hugs him.
He feels her, but she seems so far away that she's almost like a dream. He sighs, gently, because even a dream-Robin has the power to relax him, to ease the tension, to warm his insides and pull out all the bile, and sharpness and complexity in his life and just give him some peace.
He's half-asleep already, but he lifts one hand, resting it on her hip, feeling the material of her dress beneath his fingers, and how warm and solid and real she feels beneath that. She's his anchor, she's his protector, enveloping him and keeping him safe from the world.
-
On Friday morning, Robin comes over to Barney's apartment so they can go out for breakfast, bro-style... just as he comes home from a run, all sweaty. Yeah.
Robin stands in front of Barney's building, pressing the buzzer. It's been over a minute now, and he still hasn't returned the buzz to unlock the door and let her up. She checks her watch. It's a little earlier than they had agreed upon, but she was finished with work and now she's starving.
For food, of course. "Deakfast."
She presses the buzzer again and grins at the word, the mix of dinner/breakfast Barney had suggested, and wonders where they're going to find a place that will make steak this early in the day. Although if anyone can find it, it's probably Barney. She straightens her skirt and frowns, wondering if maybe he never came home last night. Or maybe he's in the shower... the image of that pops unexpectedly into her head and she pushes it aside. Today is about food. Just food. She needs to stop pouncing on him every time they're in the same room together. She's been too distracted by the benefits part of the whole friends-with-benefits thing.
She sighs. If he ever buzzes her into the building and they can finally leave, she's going to start with a giant mimosa.
Barney bounds up the steps, almost running right into Robin in the doorway.
"Hey!" He says in surprise - she's early, very early, and his heart is thumping steadily. He gets tunnel vision when he's running, which is why he didn't see her standing there. And he's been over-focused this morning - pounding out five miles of grass and sidewalk, needing the endorphins after three days of wall-to-wall stress at work.
The door clicks, opening without him touching it, at the same moment that she turns and notices him standing there.
"Oh sorry, I--" she starts, thinking she's in the way of some other resident of the building. But when the person doesn't walk in when she stands aside, she does a double take. Her mouth falls open slightly.
He's-- well, he looks--
He's breathing hard, obviously from finishing his run, and his shirt is wet with perspiration... in fact, almost all of him is tinged with a fine layer of sweat. He almost looks... rugged. Just the fact that he's wearing athletic gear instead of the usual suit she sees him in makes him look like a different person.
"Barney!" She drops her purse, flustered. "What are you...? I mean... hey, am I too early? I can come back later."
He frowns a little, wondering why she's going all goof-ball on him, and then he realises that she's only just got off work and she's sleep deprived and she's probably in the goof-of-the-week zone. "Nah, I'm good. Come up? I just need a shower then we can bro-out deakfast style!" He grins, squinting slightly in the sunlight, his hands on his hips, his breathing quickly returning to normal.
Then he tilts his head, heading inside.
He heads for the elevator, completely nonchalant, and she takes a moment as she picks up her purse and follows him to collect herself. Okay, so he just needs a shower. Once again, the image of him soaped up and slick under a cloud of steam inserts itself in her imagination, and she coughs and shakes it away. On the elevator, he stretches his arms and she presses herself back against the wall, watching him. The hair at the nape of his neck is soaked, his skin slightly flushed with exertion. Just how hard had he been running?
She manages to trip over her own feet when they come off the elevator at his floor. He catches her a gives her an odd look. "Oof. I'm fine." Behind his back, she rolls her eyes at herself. Get a grip, Robin. Back to bro-hood, remember?
He looks over his shoulder, concerned. She's obviously more tired than he realised? He's been doing the same kind of thing the last few days, what with "Washington" and jet-lag and stress that he's just rather not think about at all. He recognises the signs in her. "Hey, you wanna take a nap while I shower? I can even catch up on some work if you need a little more shut eye?" He doesn't even feel that hungry any more. He can't remember the last time he ate.
When they get into his apartment, he strides through, heading for the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water, drinking half in one go and pouring the rest over his hair. He probably stinks like a mule. He can practically feel the steam rise up from his skin - "sure, that's attractive, Stinson!" He thinks, stripping off his wet t-shirt.
She thinks he might be asking her a question about something, but it's impossible to tell for sure when all she can see is that he just poured water all over his...
It's dripping down his hair and face in rivets, darkening his blonde locks and plastering them to his forehead, making his T-shirt cling to his chest like he just walked in to the locker room from a really rough, sweaty game of...
Robin swallows hard as he reaches around himself and pulls the shirt straight off, revealing a perfectly tanned chest, still rising and falling quickly to catch up with the end of his workout. "Scherbatsky?" he's saying, waving a hand slightly. "You listening?"
Her eyes snap up from the sheen of sweat on his abs to his face. "Hmmm?" She takes a step toward him, realizing too late that his briefcase is directly in front of her. It crashes into the coffeetable and she tries to catch the papers that go flying.
He darts around the bar and is by her side in an instant, his reactions all souped-up with adrenalin and caffeine. "Hey!" he says, now really concerned as he sits her down on the leather couch, pushing her back onto it. "That's it, Scherbatsky. You're taking a break!" He thinks her face looks pale and a little pinched as he hovers over her, cold droplets of water falling from his hair onto her neck and chest, making her flinch.
"Shit! Sorry!" He looks over his shoulder at the upended briefcase, trying to remember exactly what he had in there, knowing that he doesn't want her getting so much as a glance at *any* of those papers. But he's torn between wanting to make sure she's okay and cleaning up.
She presses her fingers under her legs and sits on her hands, feeling her face burn with embarrassment. Could she act any more spastic? He's dripping all over her and every drop is sends a shudder through her. She can't help noting the way his running pants hug his bare hips, how he smells not exactly like he's come from a workout, but like... well, like a man. Like she's some unevolved helpless female and he's the goddamn rugged savior.
His eyes are darting back and forth, concerned between her and the messed-up papers on the coffeetable and floor, so she looks away. He's clearly unaware what he's doing to her, and it's best to keep it that way. Friends, she repeats to herself. Breakfast.
He touches her elbow and she jumps, nearly pulls away at how hot his fingers feel, how they leave a streak of cool water on her skin.
He cocks his head. She's jumpy, awkward. Is she still pissed at him for yelling at her the other night? He thought they were good.
"Look, I'm. Gonna." There's something in her eyes - her wide, deep blue eyes, a hunger there that confuses him. He's buzzed, pepped, he needs that shower - hot as hell then ice cold to wake him up. But she's *looking*, staring at him, examining him and he wonders if it's a turn off, her seeing him like this-? Dishevelled and suited-down. Not exactly "fresh" from his run. He wonders if this is spoiling the illusion for her - that he somehow springs straight from bed, fully-formed, clad in bespoke tailoring with not a hair out of place.
But this is him, after a week from hell, after being squeezed by work, but a pressure that's almost been unbearable. And if she really does want to be his friend, as well as occasionally having awesome sex with him, then she's gonna have to deal!
He furrows his brow and shakes his head at her a little, a "what's up with you?" sort of gesture, and at the tiny movement, he showers her with more water. She frees one hand and wipes the droplets on her cheek away, slowly, watching a drop of water trail from his chest toward his waist. He makes an apologetic face and points in the direction of a shower, muttering something about a towel for her.
And she can't help it. It's just reflex. She reaches up, stretching out a finger, and brushes the drop of water just above his navel. She panics slightly (okay Robin, pull back now, that's enough), but finds herself letting her fingers trail down his damp stomach, tugging gently at his waistline, wanting to spread her hands over his chest, drag her tongue all over...
He looks almost as shocked as he feels, frozen for a moment, and then she throws caution to the wind. She takes advantage of his stunned reaction, taking hold of his waist and nearly throwing him down on the couch next to her. Before she realizes what she's done, she's licking up his abs toward his chest, the salty sweetness hot on her tongue.
His *is* shocked. Momentarily stunned, would be a better description. But with her tongue on his chest, his lets out a confused/elated bark of laughter, raising his hands as she attacks him, surrendering. "Hey! Okay! Okay!" He giggles as her tongue flicks across one nipple, swollen and sensitive from the abrasive material of his sweat-soaked t-shirt.
Her mouth is so hot - scorching - against his flesh. He can feel the chill as his body cools down. It feels like she's sucking the heat of out of him with each lick, with each tiny stroke of her tongue, and he's hard before he knows it, hard and ready and he grabs her side to steady her, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast.
His chest rumbles under her lips when he laughs, and she presses tiny kisses across his skin until she reaches his other nipple. She streaks her tongue across it hard, then sucks it lazily, and she's suddenly aware that she could be naked right now, if she'd been thinking. He's watching her with an amused grin, and she rips her dress over her head in a rush, accidentally whipping him in the face with it. He blinks, a hand moving from her side to his eye, and she can't help laughing against his mouth. "Sorry..."
She sits back on the couch, struggles out of her panties, and then stretches herself back over him, enjoying the feel of leather under her bare knees. He's reaching for her, but she scoots back and slides both hands down his chest, sliding over sweat and the quickly drying-water, until she reaches his pants. She tugs them down, freeing his erection, and shoves a hand into the pocket. She rolls her eyes a bit at the expected condom she was searching for, and holds it up, and raises her eyebrows at him. "You expect a lot out of your workouts, hmm?"
He grins impishly. "Hey, always be prepared, Scherbatsky!" He winks at her, but his nipples burn and she's kind-of taking his breath away by how hot she is right now, not just the ripping off her clothes thing, but the way she's all over him like a rash, like she's as desperate and pent-up as he is.
Truth be told, he didn't even know the condom was in there, as he hasn't gotten laid at the company gym for a while - too many complications for his liking. But she's not to know that, and he has a feeling she gets off on the idea that he's a bad boy.
And he is a bad boy.
He's gonna show her just how bad he is.
She lets out of tiny giggle, shakes her head at him, and rips open the condom. After pinching the tip and rolling it slowly over him, she throws him a smirk and dips her head, dragging her tongue up the underside of his penis. She loves the expression on his face, the widened eyes and slight hitch of breath, so much that she almost wants to suck him off right here.
But he's naked and wet and she wants him to fuck her. Wants to fuck him. And she's not gonna wait.
Crawling over him again, she positions herself over him, slowly, teasingly. Balancing with a hand over the back of the couch, she slides a hand between them, touches herself, rubs her clit and lets out a moan for his benefit. Then she takes ahold of him (he's growing harder by the second), and drags the tip of his erection over her clit, sucking air sharply through her teeth. "Just need a little more... mmphh." Leans down to lick one last drop of water from his chest. "Do you want me?" she murmurs, wiggling slightly over him.
He makes a kind of strangled, half-gargling sound as she rubs herself against him - hot, slick and she's got that mischievous smirk on her face; she's challenging him. So he reaches out, both hands on her hips, shifting his groin suddenly so that she jolts forward a tiny bit, just enough so that she can feel the friction, just as he feels it flood right through him. He's rock-hard now - granite-in-velvet-in-latex and he's more than ready. But he grins, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
A high-pitched sound emits from her throat as he guides her hips, and she can't wait. She bears down on him, takes him inside, crying out as she leans slightly forward to feel him thrust hard against her. Her head falls forward, something sparking behind her eyes. It's so good, so good with a slight edge of pain at the intrusion, she can't move for a minute. Then she feels his fingers digging into her hips, and she begins to rock, torturous pleasure swirling in her stomach, breath coming in quick gasps.
He grits his teeth… crap, it's been too long… he should have nailed that girl in the bar yesterday… and no, don't think of that, or Robin's boobs jiggling as she moves, or the way she bites her lip… no, think of baseball… or grandma… no grandpa - that's better… he can do this… he can… oh FUCK and what's she doing now? She's shimmying her hips and clenching around him and she's no idea… no idea… no idea…
He moans, a plea, fighting for control because he wants her to tip him over the edge but he wants to stay here, inside her, inside her…
He thrusts, a single brutal movement, because he can't stand it.
Her spine snaps taut as he thrusts into her, hits her right where she needs it, oh GOD, and he grunts a little and his hair is clinging wet to his forehead and damn if he doesn't steal her breath a little. She lifts her hips, slides to the edge, then bites her lip hard as she drives down on him again, then again, and she's there, feeling him pulse inside her, until she loses her rhythm and shakes hard around him, gasping as he tugs her hips down hard. Somewhere in the crash, she looks up, sees the tip of his tongue on his lip, feels everything burn up inside her, consumed. "B... Ba..." she tries to stop it, but his name escapes her lips.
It's sweet it's sweet it's sweet, it's so sweet. his name, her voice. She stutters and his eyes roll back because this is it. it. hearing her say it. His teeth snap in the spasm that follows and he can't tell where he starts and she ends because everything is bright, like the morning sun over the wing of the plane he was in a few hours before, like the light streaming through the window, illuminating her face, making a halo around her head and oh GOD.
Slowly, he's aware of her breathing, her gasps, his own hammering heart and he smiles, laughs even, because he feels so good. This is such a high.
She's amazing.
When she opens her eyes, she's lying on him, one knee digging into the crevice between his side and the couch and it feels like he's laughing a little under her. She tries to think, gain some perspective maybe, but she's got that water-in-your-ears feeling and everything seems muted, hazy. When she finally lifts her chin, looks up into his face, something catches in her heart, how he's looking at her with such affection. She wants to say something-- something funny, something to make him laugh again, to make him like her-- but all she can think is oh god, do you know what you do to me?
The words want to spill out, trip over her tongue, she's actually bracing herself to say *some*thing, but she's afraid of what he'll say back. He'll either make a joke, rock your world, baby? or say something sweet, and that always unhinges her, so she closes her mouth and lifts herself off him, blinking at the morning glare on the window.
He sees her close up a little, retreat from the afterglow, but he's gotten used to it by now so he guesses that's the way she is. It makes him a little sad, because he sees himself in her, sees himself with a hundred different women, cutting lose, cutting free without a second thought and he knows how they must have felt.
Still… he yawns and stretches. "So… you gonna let me take that shower Scherbatsky? Or are you gonna jump my bones again?"
Grins. "Or maybe jump my bones *in* the shower… Offer's there if you want it?"
He levers himself off the sofa, springing up like a cat and quickly gathering all the stray paperwork she upended. "Jesus, Robin… make a mess, will ya?" He chuckles.
She reaches for her clothes, suddenly feeling her face burn though she can't quite pin her finger on why. Maybe because a second ago she let herself be blinded by sex and almost crossed a line she knows she shouldn't cross.
And how does he do it? He's picking up papers, smiling, making a joke, and she's still unable to even say anything. She looks around for her underwear, fumbling for something, anything, to say in response, wondering why she can't control herself around him, because if she hadn't felt the need to jump him again, they'd be out to breakfast and she wouldn't feel like a knotted-up yo-yo.
For Christ's sake, there hadn't even been any kissing this time. Not really, anyway. There hadn't been a bed or much foreplay or anything resembling anything more than what it was, a physical reaction to a soaking wet, good looking friend. So get a grip, she tells herself. Would a shower be such a bad thing?
He gathers up his sweatpants and drenched T-shirt, striding unabashed across the room, right past her and dropping them both into the washer. He winks at her, wondering why she's just standing there gaping at him before heading for the bathroom.
"But hey… we'll have to share a towel! And by share, I mean you get it after me!" He laughs, knowing that's expected, knowing that Lily totally believed his one-towel, one-pillow bit. For once he doesn't care that a chick he's brought back to his place can easily see there are two pillows and a soft down comforter on his bed, because Robin wouldn't fall for his bullshit anyways. She way too smart.
He steps into the bathroom, his back aching a little from the run, his thigh giving him the usual trouble where he snapped his femur last summer.
Her mouth snaps shut as he walks out and toward the bathroom, and she gives herself one more moment to feel unbalanced. Once he's out of the room, not blinding her with his stupid abs and soaking hair and all that damn sweaty virility, she shakes it off and narrows her eyes. Robin Scherbatsky does not stand around feeling flustered and confused. Robin Scherbatsky is totally cool and knows her boundaries. Trespassers, beware. She marches back to the bathroom, shoves him aside as he's reaching for the faucet handle, and throws him a look. "I'm using that towel first," she says, turning the blast of hot water up. "I'm the girl. Girls win." Then she tugs her dress back off and drapes it over his head, laughing.
He laughs, more relaxed because she's loosened up again, and she look happier. He hates it when she closes up on him and he wishes he could tell her. But she'd probably get paranoid, he knows he would.
He balls the dress and tosses it out of the bathroom, pushing her under the spray with a wicked grin. "You like to win, Scherbatsky…"
Grabs a bottle of shower gel and squirts her with it, getting the sticky green soap over her breasts and belly.
She looks down at the soap he's sprayed, drags her fingers through it. "I don't just like to win," she says, pulling him under the spray of water. She scrubs her hands together and begins washing his chest, pressing her lips to his ear. "I *have* to win." She rakes her fingers gently over his chest hair, steps back for the water to fall between them. Her eyes fall on the line of bath bottles on the shower ledge. "Holy crap... and you make fun of Ted for all his hair products? Are these all for you?"
He shrugs with a grin. "Hey, I have a weakness for new stuff. Never even open half of 'em!" He laughs, tilting back his head and letting the water wash away the suds before reaching out and gently caressing her stomach, working the splatter of soap into a lather before sliding one hand around her waist and across the small of her back. She's slick, slippery, and Christ she has the most amazing boobs…
He's horny again. How can he be horny again? His brain is half fucked from jet lag and he's beaten his body into the ground with that stupid run and yet his balls are pulsing and his dick is twitching…
She's like some kind of sex goddess. She's killing him. Sex vampire?
Hehe. Vampires are awesome.
She likes how this feels, warm and close under the water, his hand around her waist... it's almost-- comfortable. Robin links one arm around his neck and reaches out with the other, turning a bottle around to read it. "Aubrey Organics Honeysuckle Shampoo... dude, this is so GIRLY!" She turns to look at him, arm still hooked around his neck, and it's obvious he's not listening. He's staring off over her shoulder smiling about something else. "Hey, are you listening?" She grins, presses her breasts up against him, slides over soapy foam and skin. "You want me to wash your hair with the honeysuckle?"
"Sure… knock yourself out!" He chuckles, drawing it out, long and dirty because this feels like they're filming porn. It's a game, and he gets that. But she tugs something inside him - it's an itch he can't scratch.
His hands sweep forward of their own accord, playing over her breasts, giving on a gentle squeeze. Her lips are very near his and he knows that he could easily kiss her - but that's now what this is about. It'll ruin it somehow. Too much intimacy.
She gives him a second to feel her up, almost laughing because it all feels silly and fun and that's what this is supposed to be, and then she slips away and pours the shampoo on her hands. She lathers it up and lifts it to her nose, breathing in the flowery scent. "Mmm," she says. "You should let me have this, if you're never going to use it. My shampoo's boring." She steps back in to him, letting him trail a hand down her waist and cup her ass, and she smiles at him as she scrubs the shampoo into his hair.
She scratches her fingers through it, almost massaging his scalp, pushing his hair up and down and laughing as it sticks up in a spiky mess. Her hands slide down, thumbs behind his ears so she's holding his head in her hands, and he blinks twice at her, a lazy half-smile on his face. Shampoo slides down his forehead, but he doesn't appear to notice. "Better close your eyes," she says.
He closes his eyes real tight, like he's six again and James is washing his hair. He used to hate anyone touching his hair, almost to the point of a phobia, so it's a little weird to have Robin doing it. But her fingers feel so good against his scalp and he ass feels so firm in his hand that he relaxes into it. "It does smell like girl. I'll never get laid if I use this stuff…"
The words are out of his mouth before he can censor them. And the second he's said them, it feels weird. It shouldn't feel weird. He's got the right to get laid with who and when he wants.
He starts to have a minor freak out, behind his tightly shut eyelids.
She contemplates that for a second, pulling him back under the spray to wash the shampoo out. "I'll tell you a little secret about girls," she says finally. "They're less concerned with how frilly your hair smells and more concerned with whether you're actually listening to the things they say." She runs a hand across his forehead, wipes away the last of the soap. "Even the dumb ones."
She takes a breath, watches his face for a second.
"Anyway, this seems like a strange time to be concerned about getting laid. In case you haven't noticed, I'm kinda naked here. And I like the way your hair smells."
He sags with relief, that she's either not noticed, or just let him get away with that jerk-off remark. He gives her a crooked, half-apologetic smile that says "Hey, I'm just a dumb dude" and blinks the water out of his eyes.
"That's cos you're awesome…" He chuckles. "And 50% lesbian. Make that 60% You're a dude trapped in a woman's body…" He winks. "Hot woman… not complaining here…"
He pulls her close to him. "And hey, if you wanna dress me up, make me a little more frilly… I'm not sayin' no!"
She nearly wraps her arms around his waist, caught up in his good mood, but it feels too much like cuddling, so instead she puts a hand over his mouth and glares at him. "Okay, as flattering as it is to be called a dude in a woman's body, I'm just going to advise you to keep your mouth shut for a minute, mmmkay?" He smiles against her fingers. She looks down to see he's aroused, and raises her eyebrows at him. "I've gotta take care of something, okay?"
She's never really liked doing it, but they're in the shower, and it all seems pretty clean, and she's feeling frisky... she doesn't look up to see his reaction when she gets in her knees, just wraps a hand around his dick and swirls her tongue over the tip.
He almost tips over, his hands scrambling against the wall behind him as she goes down on him. He stares down at her, mouth hanging loosely open, then he grimaces as he feels her mouth, luke-warm against this dick, her lips pressing into the head, her tongue tickling it. Then his toes curl under because her fist is moving and it feels… feels… He groans, wanting to talk, to quip, to joke about this, just to show he's in control, but dear GOD he doesn't want her to stop so he bites his tongue and stays silent.
She licks him playfully at first, along the side of his penis and then under the shaft, hearing him make tiny groaning sounds like he's afraid to move. Then she puts both her hands around him, strokes hard, and takes him into her mouth. She plays her mouth slowly over him, humming in the back of her throat when she feels him jerk, pulse on her tongue. She looks up at him through the shower spray and nearly laughs at the desperate look on his face, clearly trying not to come too fast. She swirls her tongue over the head again, gives him a pointed look.
"I *always* win, Stinson," she says. Then she sucks hard.
"Aaaafffffuuuggggccccceeeeehhhh!!" He cries out, incoherently, his voice pitched way too high. She's winning, ohshitjesuschrist! And he can't hold it… hold it… he buries the fingers of one hand in her hair, holding on to the back of her head and he comes, hating/loving/hating/loving it because she too good, it's unfair and-
His thoughts tumble over each other and he just lets out a single, tiny sound, lost in the roar of the water.
When she feels him spasm, come in her mouth, she tries to hang on to him. He jerks uncontrollably at first, but then his hand is in her hair and he's steadying himself as she finishes him off. She likes it, likes the power, likes knowing she can undo him like he does her, and she's got the taste of him on her tongue to prove it.
He drops his head back against the shower wall and she takes his hips in her hands, smoothing over water droplets. She presses a kiss, lazy and wet, just under his navel, where he's smooth and hard and trembling.
Then she stands and turns off the faucet, lets him recover while she reaches for a towel.
"There's gotta be something in the Bro Code against that," she says as she exits, throwing him a smirk.
He's breathing heavy and kind of half-grinning in shock. "I-" He clears his throat, moving from a wobbly falsetto to his normal baritone. "I'll add something… it's not a situation that… comes up… much…" He chuckles, just standing there, his mind a little blown. He's feeling wiped out, the last 48 hours… the last *week * having finally caught up with him in style. His legs feel wobbly, like he can barely stand, but he manages it out of the shower, shouldering the secret catch in the wall that opens a cupboard to reveal a stack of fresh towel. Gives her a wink, but he's almost shaking with exhaustion.
"Hmm... I'd hope not. But the Bro Code should probably cover its bases..."
When she's dried off, she finds her dress just outside the doorway and tugs it on (seriously Robin, do not-- do NOT-- take this off again). Then she furrows her brow, watching him move slowly, drying himself, wincing and rubbing his thigh at one point (old bus accident injury, she worries?). She hesitates for a moment.
"Dude... when's the last time you slept?"
His eyes flick over hers with a slight shake of his head.
"You promised," she says gently, "you promised us all you'd get more sleep."
He feels a jolt of guilt, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and he looks up, startled. "I d-don't- didn't- I did that when- How do you expect-" He kind of runs out of words, giving up completely because talking is just too hard and he rubs the towel over his hair and limps into the bedroom, rooting around for a pair of silk boxers and pulling them on. He feels numb, everything between his ears feels numb, like he's floating. But he struggles to keep it together because he promised to take her out.
Damn Marshall and his "no pills or you get slapped" rule. Damn him to hell!
He wonders if he can sneak off and take something while Robin's back is turned.
Robin follows him into his room, taking in the immaculate space and noting the fact that he really does have more than one pillow (ha! She knew it). She thinks about what to say, doesn't want to seem like she's lecturing him, but also doesn't want to see him taking speed and crashing hard again. "I know your job is... stressful," she finishes lamely, "but man, you can't keep going like this." His eyes are so-- tired, why didn't she notice before? Worry twists in her stomach. Why hasn't she paid more attention since California?
She reaches out, touches his wrist gently. "We could take a nap right now...?" As incentive, she sits on the edge of the bed, almost laughing because it feels like training one of her puppies, showing him what to do.
He stares at her for a beat, because the words she's saying don't seem to be translating into actual English in his head. But her tone is soft and casual and she's smiling so sweetly that he tentatively moves forward to sit down on the bed beside her. He blinks, and what she's saying slowly slides into place, like great icebergs shifting around in his head and he nods wearily. "Yeah, maybe… a quick power nap. Because… you know…" He wants her to stay, needs her to stay, wants to reach out for her and hold her close, but he knows that'll scare her off so he just looks at her with an uncertain, slightly dejected look. "…we gotta get that steak. B-man needs his protein…"
She nods, smiling. "Well that's the thing about New York," she says, swinging her legs up behind him and crawling over to the pillow on the other side. "You can get your protein any time of day. Not just in the morning." He's twisting back to look at her, still looking a bit like a sleepy puppy who doesn't want to settle down, so she lies on her side, hugs the pillow with a laugh, see how nice this is? She pats the bedspread in the space next to her, an invitation. "Even GNB execs take power naps, I bet."
He lets out a sigh, and collapses back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Then he turns onto his side, closing his eyes briefly. Jesus, he can feel the world greying out. If he'd even tried going outside he'd probably have collapsed! He opens his eyes, feeling a tug of worry, knowing that California was a wake-up call that he seems to have ignored completely. He bites his bottom lip, then he sees her expression. "Kinda jealous of that pillow right now…" He says with a lopsided smirk.
She laughs at first, a knee-jerk reaction, as if what he's said is some kind of come on. Then she instantly feels guilty because his voice is so tired, and he looks almost anxious, like everything-- California, GNB, Shannon, them-- is hitting him all at once, and she wants to hug him. Like a little kid. Or like her best friend.
He closes his eyes and she swallows, reaching out her fingers, pulling them back, reaching them out again. She sighs finally, hating herself for even questioning this, because the guy clearly needs... some kind of reassurance, some kind of comfort, and not the sex kind.
She scooches over a bit, runs her palm up his bare arm, and hugs him.
He feels her, but she seems so far away that she's almost like a dream. He sighs, gently, because even a dream-Robin has the power to relax him, to ease the tension, to warm his insides and pull out all the bile, and sharpness and complexity in his life and just give him some peace.
He's half-asleep already, but he lifts one hand, resting it on her hip, feeling the material of her dress beneath his fingers, and how warm and solid and real she feels beneath that. She's his anchor, she's his protector, enveloping him and keeping him safe from the world.
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