Barney rolls on to his back. His heart is pounding, flanks slick with perspiration. He's a thoroughbred after winning a race. He stretches his arms above his head and covers his mouth as he yawns. He's feeling pretty good.
Then she says, "Is that it?"
He glances over at her, a tiny frown pinching his eyebrows together. "Huh?"
"Nothing…" She says, sitting up. She's gorgeous, with plenty of boob - just his type. He must have misheard her.
"I mean…" she continues, shifting across the bed. "I guess I expected… never mind."
She goes to get up and he reaches out, his fingers clamping around her wrist, preventing her from moving.
"Explain yourself, woman!" He demands. The temperature in the room drops a few degrees. She's sulking, he tells himself, but she looks so non-committal and perhaps a little irritated that he won't let her go.
"I thought you'd be better…" She says, wrenching herself away from him.
She didn't enjoy it then?
"Hey, bebe… If you didn't get off on this…" He gestures casually at his own body, fingers sweeping from chest to groin, "then you've only got yourself to blame. This is a one-time only deal." And does he care, particularly, if she didn't enjoy it? He tells himself that he doesn't, but it bothers him that all she does is smile.
"Right…" She says. She even has the balls to smirk.
Now he's pissed.
"Only…" She continues, reaching for her clothes. "I can see why it's a one time only deal."
He narrows his eyes. He's kind of tempted to show her who's boss, to drag her back on to the bed and… but he waves his hand because he just wants her out of there. "Whatever!" He says, as snarkily as he can.
She slides on her panties - she's elegant and she's a little older than he usually likes them. She's not as stupid or vapid as he needs her to be and perhaps that's the problem..
Somewhere, deep beneath his layers of awesomeness and self-confidence and self-delusion, it occurs to him that shouldn't make him feel better. But it does.
It isn't until his front door clicks shut that he starts to feel the unease creeping over him.
*--*--*
He tells himself he's being stupid, psyching himself out. He calls James, worried about getting The Yips again. His foundations are crumbling a little. He has to initiate emergency launch before he finds himself standing on a landslide.
Okay, he knows he's a good kisser (a great kisser, an awesome kisser) and so he works on that for a while. There's a girl, a short, fiery red hair (he can't wait to find out if the cuffs match the collar) with a killer figure. She's got full lips, which is what makes him zero in on her. Ted is surprised that he finds his target so quickly. Sometimes there are two or three slaps before one of them lets him get to second base.
He begins with a soft touch, brushing her jaw line with his lips, nibbling her earlobe, nuzzling the corner of her mouth. His fingers flutter against her ribs, not cupping her breast until he feels her relax into the kiss. He does this by the numbers, mechanically. It's a well rehearsed routine, a choreographed ballet.
He takes his time after that, feeling for her reaction, gauging what she'll be like in bed once she submits to him. Will she'll be lively, possibly a little bit kinky? Will she'll be adventurous? Will she be submissive?
She'll be… boring…
He shocks himself that he thinks those things. It's always been about the chase, the kill, the moving on.
Done. Done. On to the next one.
The women line up, he shoots them down.
They line up again, he reloads. Over and over.
They're lucky to be with him because he's good at what he does. He's slick, he's rehearsed and he's straight to the point. There's no confusion or uncertainty with him.
Barney Stinson: Awesome lay. Does exactly what it says on the tin.
And sex is great. Sex is fun. Sex is…
Another tickle at the back of his mind - whispers of memories of half-caught expressions, half-heard conversations; reactions of the women that he's blotted out of his mind.
Marshall's Constitutional Law Professor. (Demanding)
That chick, Stacey. Three years ago. (Frigid)
Robin…
Difficult.
The red-haired chick pulls away.
Why is he doing this to himself? Self-doubt is the absolute enemy of the hard-on but he'll not let it defeat him. It's time to let the large organ between his ears do the work. He's Barney Stinson. He has made women crawl on their knees for a chance to sleep with him. And he won't fall prey to whatever the fuck this nagging feeling is trying to be.
His hand lashes out, grabbing the red head around the waist, and the charming grin pushes itself back into place. He's a shark, sensing the taste of sweet blood in the water and there's nothing to stop him from devouring it, from devouring her.
Piercing green eyes lock on to his, expecting to be impressed. He knows because the circuits in his brain are going into an overdrive. "Did I tell you about the time I saved a dying man while trapped in an elevator…?"
Her mouth drops, forming an 'O'. It boosts his confidence, and he pushes forward. It's time to reel her in. Hook. "It was during my first year of residency at St. Frances."
She closes the gap between them, thighs resting on either side of his leg. Her tongue darts out, running along the soft flesh of her bottom lip. "You must have been terrified." Line.
His fingers tangle in her hair, red strands contrasting against his pale skin. He can feel her tremble, feel her quiver. The frigid women of this world don't stand a chance against the greatest lothario to ever live. Cue exaggerated sigh: "And now, I'm chief resident. It's a hard gig but I've never let a single man die. I'm kinda like a god in the OR." Sinker.
She smiles, subtle but it's clearly a sign of how horny this makes her. She leans in, her lips brushing against his ear. "I'm going into the ladies room to powder my nose." It's an invitation. An open invitation.
She disappears, and he takes a moment to compose himself, mostly by downing the remaining contents of his gin and tonic. Then he glides through the bar, pausing to give a thumbs up to a tasty Asian-American girl in Satan-red pumps. He makes a mental note to manipulate her into coming home with him. He bets he could convince her with the starving artist line. Very Kate Winslet-Leo DiCaprio in Titanic. Only instead of an ugly ass necklace, she'll be wearing his legs around her neck. What up.
He pushes the bathroom door open and the hot red-head jumps into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. He can feel how wet and slick she is and it makes him flinch. Dirty slut's gonna stain his suit.
Finally, she adjusts her position and his zippers clicks open, her thong is pushed to one side and in seconds she's bouncing against him, up and down on his cock. His muscles strain from the holding her upright and his hands struggle to keep a grip on her ass. The silk fabric of her skirt is slippery. He wouldn't have this problem with the Asian cutlet. She was wearing leather… Red leather. Red leather framing black lace garters. He bets she's nasty in the bedroom. He pegs her for a whips and chains kinda girl.
Red-head moans loudly, her thighs clenching. It's enough to make him come. And he paints the pinkness of her insides with thick, milky spurts. He just catches the look of disappointment in her eyes and it's crystal clear that something didn't go her way.
"What's up, baby?" Barney asks. He can barely bring himself to feign concern. Done. Finished. Next.
"You have the attention span of a goldfish." She says.
Then he gets a weird sense of prescience, as if he knows what's coming, and something shifts within him because the odds are not in his favour.
She adjusts her skirt and pulls out her lipstick, painting her lips a cherry red and stalking out the door she turns and says. "I've had better."
Shit.
He glances into the mirror and he sees something unfamiliar reflected back at him. Tired guy, faint grey circles under the eyes, unfocussed, messed around by feelings.
Suddenly, he knows just who is to blame.
Robin's gonna pay. Robin's gonna pay for making him feel less than he should. It sparks an idea. He can do better than Asian chick. He can do Robin. That would fix everything.
*--*--*
He watches her, as she shifts on the bench opposite him and thrusts out her rack, pouting, primping, flicking her hair. She's flirting but there's no one to flirt with because she thinks she's in safe company.
She's wrong.
Robin turns and smiles at Ted and their friend grins broadly, leans back in his seat and lets out a huge sigh. It's his turn to buy drinks but Lily and Marshall cry off, excusing themselves that this is their limit on a school night. Barney waits for them all to leave before he makes his move. It's noisy in the bar. It's easy to feign difficulty hearing her. Mask firmly in place, he slides smoothly into the booth beside Robin, fingers dropping casually onto her thigh, keeping eye contact. She's half his already, a little drunk, a little desperate, a little horny.
Just his type.
They've never done this before - not the classic seduction. The last time was all about her, looking for comfort, her stepping into his space like a rabbit bounding into a steel trap. Tonight, he needs to hunt.
He leans in when she laughs, uses every excuse he can for physical contact. The back of his hand strokes up and down her thigh and she barely even notices because he's telling her a joke, staring deep into her eyes, telling her that Ted's hooked up with a chick at the bar and complaining that they'll never get their drink.
Her gaze flickers over to check his story and he uses the opportunity to move in a fraction further so that when she looks back, her nose almost brushes his. He's grinning, openly, eagerly, not one hint of his intentions although he can read hers a mile away.
She wants someone, anyone, doesn't care who.
Why shouldn't it be him?
"Wanna go upstairs?" She asks him? The question is loaded, her wide-eyed stare alone is enough to get him hard but he steels himself.
"Meh…" He says, shrugging, like he just doesn't care.
"Come on… let's leave Ted, go play some guitar hero?" She suggests.
He smirks and rolls his eyes. "Okay then…" Like it's an effort, like she's persuading him.
As he follows her up three flights of stairs, all he's thinking about is how long each item of clothing will take to remove. Top, three seconds. Skirt, twelve seconds - twenty if there's a button. Bra, eight seconds is the record.
He wants her bare, on her back and screaming his name in five minutes, no more. Because he needs this. He just wants it over, wants her out of his system as quickly as possible.
Done. Finished.
Next!
*--*--*
But that's not how Robin plays the game. He's been carelessly skipping over the signs: The darkening eyes, the devilish smirk. And the second they walk through the door, he's the one flat on his back, arms and legs akimbo on the leather sofa.
In less than two seconds, he can feel the weight of her ass pressing against his thighs, the squeeze of her legs making him feel like a bottle of warm champagne that could pop at any second. His cock lurches, twitching and jumping against the fabric of his trousers. Her fingers manipulate the knot in his tie, pulling it off his neck, and she rubs herself against him, clearly knowing what makes him writhe and squirm. And if she keeps this up, he fears he might spray his load all over himself like a damn prepubescent.
"Scherbatsky," Barney murmurs. "This doesn't look like Guitar Hero."
Robin tenses, giggles, pressing her hand against Barney's cheek. Her thumb traces the outer rim of his ear, down his chiselled jaw line, to the small hollow where his neck meets his collarbone. "You're a smart boy, Stinson. Shouldn't take you long to figure out why you're up here."
The warmth of her palm leaves his face, and he can feel each button of his shirt being slid open, her fingers gliding over the smooth expanse of his chest. Her concept of time, of need, of desire is not the same as his. The agonizing process pisses him off.
"Come on, baby," Barney hisses, thrusting his hips forward, letting her know of his desperate interest. "Don't got all day."
A soft but dangerous smile curls the corners of Robin's lips. She presses the tips of her fingers to the pale bow of his mouth. "Don't worry, lover boy. Mama knows what you like."
She slides off his lap, crouching in between his thighs. She breathes onto the bulge of his pants, hot air drifting through the fabric. It makes him ache, gets him harder, makes him feel like his going to explode. She presses her lips to his cock, running her tongue over the dark fabric of his suit. He barely even notices that his pants have come undone, until she's trying to tug them off. He lifts his ass off the couch, making it easier and she crumples them into a ball, tossing them into a far corner of the living room. It's a three pointer, for sure.
He moans, feeling her tongue sweep across the bulbous head of his cock, smearing pre-come on her lips like its cherry brand lip gloss. Then she dips below, laving across the underside, teasing the pulsing veins. Her right hand encircles the base of his cock, twisting and tugging as she sucks him. He scoots forward on the couch, and a cool breeze hits his balls, doubling the sensations he's already feeling. His breath hitches when a sly finger brushes against the sensitive spot lurking just between where her tongue is now and his pucker. She squeezes his shaft a little harder and he can feel her teeth, scraping across his tender flesh. Doesn't take long before he feels his balls fill and draw upwards. But before he can come, she pulls away, giving his sac a sharp tug, stealing away the razor sharp edge of his climax.
"Robin," Barney grunts. "What the hell did you do that for?"
She straddles his waist again and he can feel the moisture of her thong pressed against his dick. She's wet, hot for him, and yet, she denies him. Denies him what he needs to get over this damn hump.
"You're using me, Barney," she whispers, nipping at his earlobe with blunt teeth. She rotates her hips, using his raging hard-on to stimulate her pussy. But she doesn't let him inside. "To get over some screwed up issue of yours."
Barney blinks rapidly. How the fuck did she figure him out so fast? "I'm not…"
Robin purrs low in her throat, brushing her clit on the tip of his cock. She's panting, whimpering, moaning, nearing her orgasm. "Because. You're. An. Asshole."
She shudders as her bliss hits her, pressing her body tight to his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And you think you can do better. But let me tell you something, I am not second best. I am the best. The best you've ever had. The best you WILL ever have.
In three seconds, she's off his lap, straightening her skirt and finger combing her dark hair. Barney gulps, feeling stoned and speechless. His prick still aches, hurts, and it feels like she's just thrown ice on it.
And he hates knowing she's right. Hates knowing that she's probably going to walk out that door and find someone who's a better lay, a better man than he is. And as much as he hates to admit it, he bets she'll be better for it too.