FIC: The ten songs that broke him (1/2) HIMYM
1. "You 'aint seen nothing yet" Bachman Turner Overdrive
He left a bruise on her upper arm where he'd slammed her against the wall and kissed her, feeding on her mouth as if starving. His teeth had found her collarbone, jarring her clumsily and at the time it hadn't felt like force.
Robin massaged the bruise and frowned.
The lights in the studio made her eyes hurt. She stared impassively into the camera lens, her tone remaining surprisingly neutral as she read that night's ridiculous new bulletin.
Was he watching? Had he noticed that unconscious gesture as her thumb skimmed the material of her blouse?
Her lips shaped each word but they felt bruised and puffy. The hurried shower she'd grabbed hadn't been enough to wash his lingering scent from her body. Twenty showers wouldn't be enough.
Robin asked herself - "Why?"
It was downright unprofessional. She'd only been ready at the desk with seconds to spare.
An afternoon delight? With Barney? Really? What was she, a walking cliché?
But sure enough, that afternoon Barney had bought her a scotch and had sat there and listened and when he'd flirted with her, she'd been too brittle to take it.
"Can it, loser," She'd snapped at him. "I've ridden that train, remember?"
He'd put up his hands defensively, grinning that knowing grin. "You think so? You really think so? Oh, Scherbatsky… Oh, Robin." He chuckled and shook his head.
It had made her more angry. And he was sitting there, smelling of spice and she wanted to reach out and throttle him with his own silk tie.
"Yes, Barney. I've had sex with you."
Barney laughed at her. "That was comfort sex. That wasn't sex sex!"
Robin shook her head, mystified. "What he hell is sex sex?" She regretted asking almost the moment that the words came out of her mouth, because she saw him affect that posture and that tone of voice and look down his nose at her.
"Sex sex, isn't about comfort. It's rough... and it's passion... and it's about life and death and not caring if you are one or both. Sex sex is hard enough to leave a bruise."
It annoyed Robin that he might have hurt her deliberately.
It annoyed Robin that he'd made her come so hard!
The last bulletin was a fluff piece. It was the one time of an evening when she could allow the tinge of irony to colour her words. But Robin told the story like she was reporting on a car crash.
2. "Damn, I wish I was your lover" Sophie B Hawkins
He tried to stop himself looking at her; no, staring at her would be more appropriate. If he didn't check himself, he would find himself staring.
So he watched Ted and Marshall spar and he kept his mouth shut and he sipped his scotch and Barney Stinson wondered if he'd blown it with Robin Scherbatsky.
He'd never been very good at self control but this was ridiculous.
Something primal had taken over. He wouldn't have given a damn if they'd been in the middle of the street. He'd never been so desperate before, so desperate for contact; to feel her flesh pressed against him, under him. He'd gone berserk. He'd wanted to tear her apart with his bare hands.
It scared him to think what might have happened if she'd had said no. He'd never, ever been like this with a woman before.
It took every ounce of strength he had not to squeeze so hard on his tumbler that it shattered in his hand. He wanted to smash the glass into the table so instead he willed his fingers to relax, one by one.
He tried, desperately, not to look at her.
She was the exact opposite of subdued. She laughed a little too hard, her voice was a little too rough (too Canadian) to be comfortable. The others had started to notice. Lily had surreptiousy suggested they'd all "had enough".
Shouldn't she be going to work?
He held the words in, jaw clenched with the physical effort. Every second was torture but somehow he couldn't pull away.
He'd made love to Robin. Again. Shouldn't that make him happy?
Why did he feel sick inside?
Because it wasn't love? Because it was practically rape? Did it make it okay that she'd pretty-much raped him back?
The fingers of his left hand twitched (the hand not holding the scotch), itching to rub the bite mark on his neck, where his collar pressed tight against this throat.
It wasn't love.
Oh god, he wished it was.
3. "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" ACDC
"You ready for a rematch, Stinson?" She purred in his ear. She was a little wasted, her skin stretched too tight over her temples. Her extremities felt numb.
She saw him stiffen and Robin took a kind of masochistic pleasure in how easy it was to manipulate him. He stared straight ahead. Earlier, in front of the others, he'd not said a word to her. He'd not even looked at her.
Barney had deliberately chosen not to sit next to her. She'd seen him hesitate.
But there was this throbbing inside her and it was so late and she was bone tired and he was so easy.
"Robin…" He rumbled. She felt the word more than heard it, the vibrations carrying through the skin of her lips as they brushed the stubble of his cheek.
"No strings attached," She whispered, grinning, letting her tongue brush lightly across his ear.
He grabbed her wrist and pushed her back against the bar. His eyes glittered dangerously.
God, it really turned her on.
Barney Stinson had a monster locked inside him. Who knew?
He slapped some money on to the bar, not even looking at it, never breaking eye contact with her and then he dragged her into a cab.
They went to his apartment. She didn't notice the cab had stopped. Every aggressive kiss seemed to suck all the air out of her.
It was just sex.
This time, she fought him for supremacy. She managed to get on top, albeit briefly. They tumbled off his leather sofa on to the floor. It was hard and uncomfortable and there would be more bruises but he held her down and she needed this.
In the moment of clarity, as the pleasure deepened so hard, so fast that she screamed wordlessly, Robin wondered if she'd ever been fucked like this.
He didn't hold back. She wondered if he was like this with everyone else?
There was no awkward morning after, no difficult awakening, because she didn't stay. Sex with Barney was simple, like a handshake. It was done and you walked away, kind-of satisfied.
4. "Laughter in the rain" Neil Sedaka
If things were so normal between them, then it wouldn't be weird to call her, right?
"Scherbatsky," He said gruffly. "Need your help, bro. Media issue at work. You got any contacts that could sniff something out for me? There's a 50-year-old bottle of Macallan in it for you."
He told himself that she was the only person he knew well enough in the television industry - the only person he could trust.
That was ridiculous, of course.
He told himself he wasn't making excuses to spend time with her which didn't involve having messy, desperately intense sex that left him gutted like a fish on a barbeque.
"Barney, is this something illegal?" She asked him. Her voice sounded light and normal. A little piece of him that had been wound up tighter than piano wire for the last two weeks relaxed.
"Robin, if it was, do you really think I'd tell you?" He replied.
"Hey, what do I care? Sounds like a good deal. So what do you need?"
He met up with her an hour later, outside the studio. The info she gave him was surprisingly helpful and he hated himself for underestimating her. It seemed that every step he took she found a way to wrong-foot him until he was stumbling around in un-awesome.
They took a walk while she smoked a cigarette, chatting amiably enough about Marshall and Lily and Ted's latest lame schemes - easing back into playful bitching far more quickly than he'd dared hope. Perhaps the sex didn't matter? Perhaps the darkness that had consumed them had lifted? Barney found himself relaxing, his movements becoming less strung-out, less jerking. Soon they were actually strolling, chatting, laughing.
It began to rain; lightly at first but then more persistently. She'd come out without a coat as so he'd been a gentleman and given her his jacket at the point when they'd decided to turn back and head for the studio. In minutes they were both drenched through and giggling hysterically and he didn't even think about getting a cab, he just took her hand and they ran for the nearest store.
He bought her a pack of cigarettes and she lit one, shivering. This got them thrown out so they ducked under the scant shelter of a tree. He was grinning like an idiot. The world contracted around them and he had no idea of past or future but only of now and how it had felt to take her hand and just run with joyous, wild abandon.
Ten minutes later, he'd had the urge to kiss her on the cheek as he'd left her outside the Metro One news station building.
"Robin," He said, because it felt right. "I love you."
Every reaction was predictable, he realised: Mild shock, disbelief and then disgust. Her emotions were so open sometimes, so painfully easy to read.
She shook her head, frowning at him, as if he'd just irritated her. She didn't even give him the luxury of looking as if she cared that deeply about what he'd just said.
"Don't be stupid, Barney." She replied and rolled her eyes.
"No, Robin- I'm not," He stuttered. "I'm serious. I'm in love with you." He repeated, earnestly.
Her lip curled slightly, as if she'd stepped in something unpleasant.
He stood there, soaking wet and exposed, unable to close himself off from her. All those defences he'd spent years building up and he hadn't been able to stop himself repeating the exact same mistake all over again.
Everyone always thought that Barney Stinson didn't care. Trouble is, he cared too much. He always had. It was the single biggest motivator behind everything he did.
But she'd never see that.
"Barney, I can't deal with this," She said, suddenly hostile, flapping her hands at him like he was an annoying insect buzzing around her.
She turned around and left him there, gaping in the rain, everything hurting twice as hard as it ever had with Shannon. Because Shannon was just some silly girl, some innocent crush that he'd had because he didn't know better.
Barney knew better; knew Robin deserved his love. He'd always suspected that he didn't deserve hers.
.