The long arm of the law
There's a hammering on the door. "Police, open up…"
Barney scrambles up from the couch, the girl beneath him kicking out her long legs, ungainly in her haste to get to her feet.
"Shit!" He gasps, throwing her the silk blouse that's draped over the table. He pulls up his trousers, buckles his belt and barks at her to get decent.
The door shudders and he fumbles with the lock. It swings in on him the moment he frees it, sending him stumbling back, propelled backwards by the person who bursts into his living room.
She's dressed as a cop, sure, if you can call it dressed. She's wearing aviator shades and her hair is pulled back in a pony-tail and… is she actually chewing…? She shoved a gun in his face and screams at the bimbo standing next to him.
"Take a hike bitch!"
Barney sinks to his knees as the chick runs out of the apartment, her shoes, purse and panties bundled up together in her hands.
"Robin?" He gulps and gives her a half grin. A guilty grin.
"Mr Stinson… you're under arrest from crimes against woman-kind. Get up…" She grabs his arm and all he can think about is "where did she get that flak jacket?" and "is that a nerf-ball thing going on down there?" as she backs him towards the bedroom. The back of his legs bump against the bed and he falls back, crawling backwards across the mattress. She's standing, feet apart, gun pointing straight at his crotch and she looks pretty-damn bad ass.
So he does what he always does, of course. He grins and holds out his wrists, one over the other. "I'm not looking for trouble, officer. Cuff me and I'll come quietly. Although you won't be coming quietly. What up!" He gives her a wink.
She grins and stalks around the bed, swinging her hips and lowering the gun. She holsters it and pulls out a baton instead. His eyes boggle.
"I'm gonna have to interrogate you, sugar," she drawls, pulling off the flack jacket. Her breast practically pop out of it. She's wearing a black lace bra and he lets out a strangled moan of appreciation.
"Interrogate away…"
"Who in the hell was that floozy?" She asks him. She sounds pissed. He tries to sit up and she leaps on to the bed, straddling him, pushing him down with one palm flat against his bare chest. Her hands are a little cold. Somehow that gets him riled even more than he already is.
"She's just some… girl…" How's he supposed to talk when she's inching up her skirt like- Christ… she'd not wearing any-
He gulps. Her hands are on his fly. The rasp of his zipper as she pulls it down seems unnaturally loud.
"You know, Stinson… You can't out run the long arm of the law…"
"What are you going to do with that night-stick, officer Scherbatsky?" He asks. She grins.
"I don't think you're in any position to protest, you cheating bastard," she laughs.
It's a game, he knows. But he wonders just how much there is to this and whether sometimes she isn't just a tiny bit jealous? But it doesn't stop her going out on all those dates with other guys. It doesn't stop her flaunting it in his face when she turns up at the bar with some new dude.
"Do you see me protesting?" He asks, "It was an innocent question!" He smirks a her. "Hey, if you go easy on me, I can make it worth your while." He quirks an eyebrow. "There's a bottle of champagne on ice in the refrigerator…"
"Trying to bribe an officer...?" Robin chuckles, low in her throat, and snaps a pair of handcuffs round his wrists, clipping him to the headboard. "Just so you don't go anywhere…" She winks and shimmies into the other room. He watches her go, watches her ass, the line of her upper thighs where they disappear under that short skirt.
What a woman.
The bimbo? Totally worth it for the entertainment factor. But it's Scherbatsky that he'd rather spend the night with.
A couple of minutes later, she emerges, popping the cork with one hand and jumping back on the bed, letting the champagne bubble up, covering her breasts and dripping down on to his chest. He laughs, shifting against the cuffs. She's so… inventive. He loves that about her. He loves that she always surprises him, even now, months after they first started doing this.
He remembers the first time… when she dressed up as a nurse when he was holed up in rehab after the bus accident. That was some serious physical therapy…
She's licking at the pool of champagne, her tongue lapping across his skin before pouring some of the fizzy liquid into his mouth, drizzling it over his chin and neck. Then she attacks him, smelling of grapes and cigarettes and night air and he's struggling in earnest because he wants to touch her.
He knows better than to ask to be released. Instead he tones down his reactions, forcing his limbs to relax, breathing steadily. She looks up, sharply and he gives her a challenging stare. He's proud of himself when she breaks first, removing his cuffs and throwing them over her shoulder.
"So…?" He asks her, because she deserves something from him, "you gonna use that night-stick?" She pulls out a sachet of lube from the pocket of her mini-skirt and runs the tip of the stick over his thigh.
"Awesome…!" He laughs.