They're on hour three of what Barney will later title the "2008 Bro Sex Fest of Mutual Awesome" when she collapses against him, panting and more than a little giddy. She chuckles against his skin, salty and slick, and kisses him, her hair damp with sweat. He reaches up, brushes her hair away from her neck, plants kisses on it. "That was...inspired," she says. He just grins.
"Hey, expect the best, get the best."
"I'll be ready soon. Just got to give me a minute here," she mumbles, but it's peaking 3 a.m. and she's kind of halfway to exhausted. He doesn't say anything as she half-slides off him, still clinging to him. Her hair brushes against his chest as she does so, but when she finally settles, he plants kisses on the top of her head.
"It's okay to sleep, you know."
She feigns a gasp, uses it to mask a yawn. "I thought you were all about...rocking and rolling all night."
He arches an eyebrow. "KISS," he chuckles. "Nice." He raises a hand. Wiggles the fingers in anticipation, eyes eagerly awaiting her nervous ones to settle on them.
"Rain check," she says, yawning for real this time.
He strokes her hair as she sleepily draws patterns on his chest with her fingertips. He has the look of a man who knows that this is a fleeting moment. But this doesn't happen. This is Barney, for God's sake. He doesn't do this thing that they've settled into. This is--this is nonconsensual spooning! Isn't this a crime in metropolitan areas like New York? She would protest if she weren't so tired. Really, she would.
She burrows against him further (for the sake of keeping warm, really; she wouldn't do it otherwise, honestly) and he just lets it happen, never stops stroking her hair. His fingertips linger, brush softly against her scalp. It's kind of comforting. (Oh, god, did she just say that? About Barney? Is the universe not in sync today?) "Robin?"
"Mmm."
He shakes his head then, a slight motion against the pillow. "Never mind, forget it."
"Mmkay."
She falls asleep warm, in his arms, smelling the distinct Eau de Barney that's almost musky and lingers in the air. Oh, God, she's practically become a bad Sandra Bullock movie. Please, God, just give her a minute so she can puke along the side of the road.
This is Barney. And her. This is her and Barney of all people. They should be the ones who are more like a bad Vince Vaughn movie and, ugh, she should really stop with the analogies.
She drifts to sleep and, in the morning, this'll all be over. It never happened. It never happened. When her feet touch the cold hardwood floor of her bedroom tomorrow morning, gravity will pull her back to earth.
Gravity is not responsible for people falling in love. Einstein said it. It must be true. The floor will fix everything. Really. She believes it this time. Honestly.