Summary: "Robin groaned aloud and banged the back of his head against the door, fisting his hands against his eyes as if he could rub the images and fantasies away."
Rating: T
Pairing: Robin/Raven (sort of)
AN: Out of boredom, I decided to post this old, craptacular drabble thing. It's brief, stupid, and slightly out of character, but, meh. I won't be continuing it. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
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"Ah… sorry, Robin," Raven said absently as she passed him by, apologizing for laying her hand atop his as they both reached for the dishtowel.
He looked over his shoulder at her, smiling at her distant eyes. "No problem. Oh, here, let me."
She was reaching for a mug on the top shelf of the cabinet but it was just out of her reach. Stepping near her, he placed a steadying hand on the small of her back and reached over her head to hook his fingers around the chipped blue handle of her favorite tea mug, stepping back and handing it to her.
"Oh, thanks. Would you like some?" She smiled fleetingly at him, and he returned a warmer one, glad that her gaze was once again focused on the here and now.
"No, that's all right. I'm just going to finish the dishes and get back to my research." He moved to step past her at the exact moment as she stepped towards the stove and they collided, and his hands reached out and caught her around the shoulders. "Ha, sorry. I'm apparently very clumsy today."
She smiled again, ironically this time, and stepped back to allow him to get to the sink. "You, anything but graceful? Preposterous."
He laughed and sank his hands into the dishwater, and they bantered back and forth as he scrubbed plates and silverware and she boiled her tea water.
When he finished drying the last plate, he glanced over to see her place the tea bag in her mug and smiled, but it vanished when her elbow banged the teakettle and knocked it towards the edge of the stove. She reached out instinctively to catch it, but the lid clattered to the floor and scalding water splashed her, soaking the front of her leotard and drawing a sharp gasp from her mouth.
The kettle fell loudly to the floor, but Robin ignored it, reacting to the wince on Raven's face. He grabbed the cool washcloth from the sink and crossed the kitchen floor in a blink, ignoring Raven's puzzled look when he jerked the front of her uniform from her skin and shoved his hand, washcloth and all, down the front, making her gasp again.
"That should keep it from scalding," he said brusquely, by way of explanation. "Go to the bathroom and peel that off quickly so you don't burn."
Raven stood for a moment, nodded, and left the kitchen swiftly.
Robin stood for a moment more, letting his heart beat calm to its normal pace, and then he, too made his exit.
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Robin closed the door to his bedroom behind him and fell back against it heavily, exhaling loudly.
His hands were shaking.
Noticing this, Robin clenched them into fists, swallowing thickly.
He could pretend he was over-adrenalized, that the shock he'd gotten from Raven's near injury was what had him so unbalanced.
But he'd be lying. And his New Year's resolution had been to try to be more honest with himself.
No, his heart was not so noble that concern for Raven, his friend and teammate, was what had his blood rushing and his palms tingling.
It was much, much more primitive than that. Dirtier.
Want.
He had had his hand down Raven's shirt. It had only been a moment, only just long enough to scrape the backs of his knuckles over her collarbones and against the gentle swell of her upper chest. But that was enough. More than enough.
He'd been behaving himself admirably, more than admirably the entire morning, acting with perfect gentleman's manners every time Raven so absently brushed his hand, or bumped against him in the cramped confines of the kitchen. He hadn't given in to the desire to catch her hand and not let go when they both reached for the dishtowel. He hadn't dragged her close to get a better feel for her body against his when they'd collided, but stood her carefully back on her own feet.
And, damn it, he had acted with perfect honor when she'd splashed that water on herself. He didn't take advantage of the situation, didn't give in to the impulses that brief contact with her skin had roused. However much he'd wanted to, he'd sent her to clean herself up, and had not offered to help. He hadn't followed her into the privacy of the bathroom and locked the door behind them, helping her undress, tend the little burn himself…
Robin groaned aloud and banged the back of his head against the door, fisting his hands against his eyes as if he could rub the images and fantasies away.
It wasn't right, thinking of her like this. She was his teammate, his friend. He was responsible for her. It was akin to being a dirty old man.
But, he reflected wryly, his pulse still high and right hand still tingling, telling himself that didn't help him want her less.
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AN: Well, there ya go. Keep looking out for Chapters Three of Awkward Entanglements and Three Little Words. Talk at you lovely folks later.
Abbie