Wednesday, 2ndSeptember 2009.

"I read this article at work," she says when they've snuck outside of MacLaren's together for a cigarette (it's seven-thirty, still light and there are people coming and going, so its honestly just a cigarette and nothing more), "Which said that Bond would actually be shit in bed,"

"James Bond?" he asks incredulously.

"Yup,"

"Have you ever seen a Bond movie in your life? He's a sex machine! He gets like six girls per movie,"

"And that's unrealistic because he'd only be a mediocre-at-best lay; not the sex god the movies pretend he is,"

"Bond would be amazing in bed. I'd hook up with him. He's Bond," Barney emphatically says.

"Great to know that you fantasise about guys, Barney. And no, he wouldn't be amazing," she says, holding up her cigarette "Too many of these,"

"Eh?"

"He's an alcoholic chain-smoker. That's death to all boners after a while. The study we reported on worked out that he'd almost certainly have some sort of erectile dysfun-"

"God! Don't mention that in front of me!" Barney shudders.

"Cos you're scared that one day it'll happen?" she taunts him.

"Pfft, no way. I'll still be able to bone you senseless when we're sixty," he scoffs- then catches himself. Woah, where the hell did that come from? Barney balks momentarily in alarm, then shakes his head and continues hurriedly, "And- ergh!- just don't mention that in front of any guy. It's...offputting. Especially thinking about James Bond in that way,"

"I kid you not; in real life 007 smokes and boozes too much to be able to get it up consistently,"

"That's not true,"

"Isn't it?"

"Duh. Since when was drinking martinis and smoking fifty a day bad for you?"

"Since ever,"

"Doesn't stop you," he says, eyeballing her.

"Different for girls. We don't have to-"

"I'm aware of what guys do in sex that girls don't,"

"Well, I'm just warning you about the study since you think that you're some sort of magic New York version of Bond. Besides, isn't he a bad guy in your world?"

"Nah. He's British, and most of the movies are set in the Cold War; different rulebook. The villains are more badass than Bond though. And if I didn't know better," he adds, changing tone, "I'd suspect that you're trying to talk me into quitting. That's Lily job, you know,"

"Come on, Lily smokes," scoffs Robin.

"She does?"

"Not as much as you and me do, but she definitely succumbs when Marshall succumbs,"

"Well, I'll be mentioning that to her next time she starts giving me that your-lungs-will-turn-black-and-you-will-sink-into-them-and-become-one-flat-charcole-lung lecture,"

"Wow, you really don't listen do you?"

"I don't like being told what to do," Barney shrugs.

"Oh yeah? What about when-"

"Well, I mean, outside of the bedroom," he agrees, "And the fact that you're out here smoking with me proves that you don't listen to Lily's health lectures either,"

"I listen- then I ignore," she corrects him, "So I'm not telling you to quit,"

"Cos you're so turned on by how much of a sexy smoker I am," he boasts, tossing his head dramatically, curling his lip and exhaling smoke through a half-open pout. He's exaggerating, but to be honest it wouldn't surprise Robin if half the reason Barney does smoke is because of how hot he knows he looks doing it.

"If pretending that you're in Casino Royale while you smoke turns you on, you keep it up. I'm just putting it out there that in reality it'd have the opposite effect,"

"And I'll just be putting it in there, later tonight," he smirks smarmily, not letting her win the punning, "There being in you, it being my-"

"Yeah, I got it," she deadpans.

"And you'll be getting it toni-"

"Shut up," she says, swatting him, and dropping ash onto his shoe as she stubs her cigarette out on the wall. Barney pretend-gasps and shakes the ash off his foot. When he turns back to Robin, his expression has changed; he bites his lip and gives her a deep, searching look. Six weeks ago she would have would have looked away, embarrassed, but now Robin holds his gaze intently. She senses the atmosphere between them jolt into a different register. Barney's expression softens as he leans in close; she can feel the warmth and outline of his body and jaw as he tilts his face, opening his lips. She closes her eyes to meet his kiss, feeling the brush of his mouth- and then a blast of hot smoke clouds into her.

"Hey!" she coughs, eyes snapping open as Barney leans away, cackling.

"Gotcha!"

She chokes some more, fanning the cloud of smoke away from her, and throws her limp cigarette at him.

Barney half-dodge-half-dances out of the way and stamps his own cigarette out on the ground, "Ha! That proves it- the only effect my smoking will ever have is turning you on. No matter what your report said about James Bond,"

He's both guffawing at her, and looking sincerely proud of himself.

"Come on," she says, rolling her eyes at his smugness, "We should go back in,"

Barney breaks out some victory air-guitar and Robin deadpans, "Really?" (although she has to admit that it's quite sweet. Mostly because he doesn't realise how much of dork he looks).

"Really." he beams, "Alright, let's go back to the booth,"

And he kisses her cheek happily before they go back inside the pub.

The report about James Bond's probably limited bedroom abilities is actually true. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for all the feedback on this story- I would love some more! Have a fantastic week :- )

PS- I'm working on another between-S4-andS5-story in quite different tone to this one. It'll be called Elephants, and should be published sometime this week. I'd love it if you reviewed.