LMAO this is by far the dirtiest thing I have ever written. Don't judge!

I wouldn't say this is much more risqué than the kind of thing the show has — but this is a story dealing with very specific sexual situations: I rated it T because it's not explicit, but yeah, it's pretty dirty. If that's not your jam, this is your warning.

I've seen this scenario a bunch of times in fanfic, and I couldn't resist doing my own take on it… ;) it's set in the summer between S4 and S5.

It hadn't taken Robin long before she had realized Barney had some pretty specific tastes in the bedroom.

Specifically, that he liked to be tied up.

Honestly, she'd known it for a long time: if there was one thing Barney Stinson was the master of, it was the overshare; the gang was long used to tales of his exploits, and also there had been that one time she and Lily had burst into his one night stand's apartment and he'd been tied to the bed.

Of course, it's a bit different to know it and to participate yourself.

It hadn't exactly come up the first time they'd hooked up a year ago: that night, whatever it was in retrospect, now that they're … together… was quick and fun and messy. He'd taken the lead, and she'd been eager to forget Simon by letting him. It would never have occurred that night to her to rough him up a little, to tie him to her bed and take control.

But now that they're sleeping together on an extremely regular basis…

Usually they hook up at his place. It's easier, since their whole… whatever… is a secret and Robin is living with Ted. But as it turns out, Ted met a nice girl at a coffee shop the other day, a nice girl he's on a third date on on this particular night, and that means…

Barney makes his excuses at the bar, and when Robin makes her way upstairs a few minutes later, he's already impatient. "It took fifteen minutes?" he grumbles, after practically jumping her at the door. She tries to close the chain while also kissing back and unbuttoning her blouse; the multitasking is beyond her. She gives up on the door and her blouse, focusing on clutching his lapels as she kisses him. He's good at it, annoyingly, irritatingly, impossibly good at it: pressing her against the apartment door, hands everywhere.

"I didn't want to… just abandon Lily… and Marshall," she protests, weakly, as he pushes his knee between her legs. He pulls away abruptly; her eyes flutter open.

"We're on a tight schedule here," he says, looking far less ruffled than Robin feels: she feels dizzy and disoriented and is mildly annoyed that he looks collected and cool, his slightly-askew collar somehow super hot. Bastard.

"Ted's not coming back until morning," Robin protests weakly, doing the chain on the door.

"Exactly, we don't have much time," Barney smirks, carefully sliding off his jacket — she hates the way his shoulders move when he does, the crisp lines of his shirt between his shoulderblades — and already heading towards her bedroom. She hates the way her stomach drops and warms at his arrogant promise. Absolutely hates it. She toes off her shoes and follows him.

"Someday," she says, kissing him again and pushing him back-first onto her bed, "we're going to, um," shirts are coming off, she keeps losing her train of thought, "we're going to actually have a conversation or something," she hates his neck and the place where neck meets shoulder and the smooth stretch of skin from chest to stomach and the way his belly slides against hers, "before we jump each other,"

"I talked to you in the bar all night," Barney protests, just as breathless.

For a little while, it's just kissing and touching and the uneven removal of clothes — hurrying, impatient to jump forward, to push to the good part, and maybe when they've finished they can think straight enough to talk, it's like a drug, like a fix, she needs to get it in her system before she can do anything else, think anything else —

"No, wait," she says, pushing his shoulders gently: he makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and stops immediately, backs slightly off her.

His frustration immediately gives way to a look of caution. He doesn't look too worried — she's rubbing his shoulder and chest, rejection wasn't the vibe she was going for — but he still asks, "What's the matter?"

She leans over and gives him a quick peck. "No, not that —" whatever he thinks that is — "but tonight, we're going to take things a little slower."

He raises his eyebrow, looks unenthusiastic. "What, you want me to, to, uh —" he looks at her chest, loses focus, "This isn't a weird candle light and flowers thing, is it?"

"No." She cuts him off by pushing herself against him, pushing him and rolling them over, so she can straddle his hips. He's immediately appeased. "I think we're always so quick to get to the good part," she says, taking his hands from her chest and pushing them up towards his headboard; he cooperates at once with a knowing smirk, "that tonight, since we have all night, we're going to take our time."

He pushes her pillow to the side and curls his fingers around the head of her mattress, not objecting when she climbs off of him and sits on the floor by the bed while she looks for something. "And how are we gonna do that?" he leers, clearly excited by the idea.

"First, I thought I'd tie you up so that you can't get pushy," she says, grinning that he's so taken with the idea. Not that she's shocked, but it still makes her feel warm … in a few different ways. "Then I thought I might teach you some patience." She stands back up, having found what she was looking for among their discarded clothes: Barney's own tie, a nice dark blue silk that she can't wait to revisit her military school knot training upon.

"And how were you going to do that?" he asks, affecting a cool voice that his expression (and so on) completely betrays.

She sits on the edge of the bed: he hasn't moved at all. "God, you're really into being tied up," she laughs. He doesn't argue, only grins up at her.

Her headboard isn't really made for this kind of thing, but she figures she can loop the tie around his wrists and, if he sits up, rig the entire thing to one of the bedposts — "Sit up," she says. He pushes himself upright, she gives him a quick peck as a reward, and outlines the plan to him.

He's into it, unsurprisingly. "Crazy hot. As long as my arms aren't too high and it doesn't…" he's saying, when he catches sight of the bundle in her hands he trails off.

"Just tell me what's comfortable," she says, unspooling the tie and reaching for the nearer of his hands.

"Hang on," Barney says.

"Hm?" She strokes his wrist, but he pulls his other hand out of reach.

"Is that my tie?"

"Uh-huh," she says, wrapping it loosely around his arm so he can feel the cool silkiness. She's imagined it a lot, the way his muscles would strain, the cool fabric against his skin… "Can you imagine?" she says, pressing herself against him; they're sitting facing one another and she straddles his leg. "I've been thinking about this for days," she says in a low voice, the one that he always reacts to. "When you walked into the bar earlier all I could think was, I'm going to tie him up with that tie… I could barely concentrate all night…"

"Flugelhorn!" Barney says angrily.

Shocked, Robin leans back. She's still sitting on him, but she moves as far away from him as the position allows, feeling slapped and hurt and suddenly worried. He's never safeworded her. "What? Are you —"

"Robin! This is italian silk! It cost three hundred dollars!" Barney grabs the item in question out of her hands and holds it protectively to his chest. "Do you have any idea what the strain on the fabric would do to it?"

"It's a tie!" Robin sputters, now that she knows she hasn't actually hurt him, except sartorially. "Tie! You use it to tie things! It's in the name!"

"Not sweating, straining, bondaged people! This is delicate and impressionable fabric, Robin! How did you not know this?"

She leans back so she's sitting on her heels. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious!" Barney says, puffing up in indigence. "I could never profane one of my ties like that!"

"But you'd profane yourself?" Robin swings herself off of him, sits on the edge of the bed. Barney pulls up his knees and crosses his arms huffily. "We could use one of Ted's —"

"No," Barney says, aghast. She can't tell if it's the idea of ruining a tie or just using something of Ted's that is so terrible him, and they stare at one another, at an impasse, for a moment.

"Well, I don't have anything else, so I guess we're not getting tied to anything tonight!" Robin says bitterly. "I guess we're just having boring, missionary sex tonight!"

"I guess we are!" Barney huffs. "I guess I don't really know you at all! I guess we might as well light some candles and get some flowers! Like lame people!"

"Oh, don't make me punch you," Robin says with exasperation. He quirks an eyebrow in exaggerated interest, and it breaks the mood: she starts to laugh, and even he smiles (although he doesn't let go of the tie).

"Boring hookup it is," she says, leaning over to kiss him. She leans her forehead against his and sighs out a laugh.

"And you say we never talk before sex," he counters, running his hand through her hair before he kisses her again, against her smile.

For her 29th birthday a few weeks later, he gets her a pair of handcuffs she has a bitch of a time explaining to the others when she unwraps it at the bar.

For his 34th birthday a few months later, after they've broken up but before she's forgotten, she buys him a tie.