I do not own anything. T for language. Set on the 1st of July 2009, between Seasons 4 and 5. Hope you enjoy.
Caught
When she comes into his apartment, 1920s jazz music is blaring and he's got his back to her, humming cheerfully as he spins around.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, you're here," he goes over to her, smiling, and takes her hand, "Let's dance,"
"Um, why?"
"Because," he wraps his arms around her back, swaying her with him, "I like dancing with you. They say that dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal desire. This is precursor to the very," he winks exaggeratedly, "long time we'll be horizontal later this evening,"
"Precursor?" she snorts, mocking.
"Robin Scherbatsky, are you insinuating that I cannot participate in foreplay?" Barney glares at her indignantly, hands on hips- but his face softens and his voice drops an octave as he adds, "I think we both know from last night that I can under-the-table foreplay with the best of 'em,"
She blushes, remembering the coolness of his fingers on her thigh the evening before. They'd wandered up and down her leg for an hour and a half- but Robin hadn't been able to throw herself on him, or the others would know; but she couldn't snap at him to stop, or the others would know. So she'd had to sit there getting more and more livid at him and more and more turned on by him every second. It had taken every ounce of Robin's self-control not to tear at Barney's shirt and drag him into wild, angry sex right there in the booth.
"You are- I-" she tries to defend herself, but he cuts her off, chuckling.
"Admit it, Scherbatsky- I make you crazy,"
He folds him arms and puffs his chest out, drawing himself up to his full height and tilting his hips towards her. The smirk on his face makes her want to slap him. She's never seen him look so cocky.
"If by crazy you mean crazy-pissed-off-want-to-burn-your-suits, they yeah, you do,"
The worst part is knowing that he knows that she knows that that isn't the truth. As if his ego needs any more feeding. God, this guy is impossible.
Barney laughs and takes her in his arms again, pressing close; she can feel the contrasting contours of his body against hers. His hands on her waist are unexpectedly tender as they move together against the music. As much as he's irritating Robin, there's something inescapably alluring about being beside Barney like this, and his little-boy excitement for dancing is drawing her in (his enthusiasm is infectious. He could make Victoria Beckham smile).
"See," he murmurs, and although they're too close for Robin to see his face, she can picture the horrible, sexy, arrogant, victorious smile on Barney's lips, "I. Can. Make. You. Weak. At. The. Knees. And. You. Know. There's. Nothing. You. Can. Do,"
He accompanies each syllable with the tiniest of hip- thrusts. His bones graze hers and any she had integrity to remain pissed off at him is rapidly being quelled by the lust rising in her stomach. Again, he's right; if her arms weren't slung around his shoulders Robin probably would have melted onto the floor by now.
"I…hate you…so much," she manages, breathless and dizzy.
"Wrong. You love me. You love me, and I'm the best shag you've ever had, and we're going to go into my bedroom and I'm going to-"
She latches her mouth onto his before he can launch into one of his ludicrously explicit stories (she's never sure if he's actually done the thing he talks about, or if he's seen them in porn, or if he's making them up).
It's not even what he says which turn her (and, frankly, him) on; it's his voice. Even if he was reading the bus timetable, the silky gruffness coming from far back of Barney's throat could make it sound hot.
From the moment they'd met, everything about Barney Stinson had spelt sex and fun and illicit pleasures. The way he walked, sat, laughed, drank, spoke, smoked.
But he's dangerous. He's unreliable and unpredictable, and a pathological liar. This- this thing they're doing- is dangerous.
She can't keep away. Literally. She'd fought her feelings for him for months, but they'd gotten to a point where she couldn't keep them in any longer. Robin kind of feels the same way now; she can't contain her desire, especially with Barney making low, sexy guttural, grunts as his mouth slithers across her face. It isn't often that she allows lust to over-rule the inherent need to best him- but this time she can't resist. One of her hands is feeling its way around Barney's belt and the other's grasping his tie as she kisses the dip between his collarbones. She hauls him onto the sofa by his lapels, and he clambers on top of her, laughing as he and begins to pull at her blouse buttons with his teeth.
It's official- Barney Stinson makes her crazy.
Afterwards, he's draped half-on top of her, her fingers dancing on his shoulder blade while they both get their breath back.
"Hey, Scherbatsky?"
"Hmm?"
"Guess what?"
"Yeah?"
Robin has never hated anyone more in her life than she does in the moment when Barney Stinson props his chin up on her chest, fixes his shining blue eyes on hers smiling the smuggest smile she's ever seen, and says,
"Gotcha,"
Fin.
Thanks for reading. Whatever you thought, reviews are much appreciated. Have a lovely day :)
