Robin asked Barney to come here today, when all the others are working and they'll have the apartment to themselves. But the temptation of it – knowing they're alone, with this zing between them, remembering how good that kiss in the hospital room had felt, knowing her bedroom, with a soft roomy bed, is mere feet away – nearly gets the better of them the moment Barney walks through the door.

"Robin, I – "

And then the magnetic pull between them takes over, and his hand is on her waist as hers settles on his shoulder. He's drawing her closer and she's leaning into him when she suddenly breaks away with an, "Aggh!", running her fingers through her hair anxiously.

"This is crazy," she says, dropping down onto the couch.

"Yeah," he agrees, crossing the room to her, taking the long way around the coffee table to avoid temptation.

She looks up at him with an expression of desire laced with wariness. "We can't even be in the same room together anymore."

He nods slowly, sitting down beside her far closer than the space of the three-cushion couch requires.

His thigh presses teasingly into hers.

"We should talk about this, Barney," Robin says, trying desperately to hold on to some measure of reason while hormones and lust are quickly winning out.

She inches away enough so that their thighs are no longer touching….but now her knee is grazing his with every little movement she makes. "We should figure out what this is," she reiterates.

"Yes, we should…."

"Yeah."

"Or….or…."

And then he's lunging at her, kissing her, laying her down on the couch, his body covering hers, and it feels good, so good he can hardly stand it because this is Robin, Robin beneath him and not some nameless bimbo he has to close his eyes and pretend is her. It's Robin's soft curves pressed against him, her breasts smashed into his chest, and for a moment he loses his breath. Then instinct kicks in, the drive to have her nearly overpowering, and he can't help the deep moan that escapes him.

Her tongue touches his and he shivers – actually shivers – because this is so good, better than he's even imagined. And they go on like that for neither knows how long, their kisses growing deeper, fiercer, until he's nestling himself between her legs and she's welcoming him in, her arms around him tightening, one knee raising against the back of the couch and the other leg curling around his. He moves from her mouth to her neck, her throat, his tongue tracing the places his eyes have studied for what feels like forever, while his hand trails up her leg, her thigh, her waist.

When she arches her hips up into his, the tasting kisses turn to bites and she shudders, the fingers of one hand gripping his shoulder while the other squeeze his behind, pressing him into her. He makes a low, sexy sort of grunting noise that further spurs her on, but before she can respond he's slipping a hand between them and underneath her shirt, his fingers splaying across her belly. She doesn't know if he means to move up or down, but she's certain either direction will bring her to her knees – and before the afternoon is over she wants to experience both.

His lips trail down her chest as far as her shirt will allow – which, thanks to her fondness for plunging necklines, is pretty damn far – as his hand slides up under her shirt, going for the two-pronged approach.

"Bedroom," she gasps, and his hand, his whole body stills.

He looks down at her, lust, uncertainty and an impossibly endearing light of hope in his eyes. "Bedroom?" he pants.

"Bedroom," she nods.

In an instant, Barney's off the couch with Robin still in his arms; there's no way he's letting go and risking she'll change her mind. But she's steering him – pulling him – towards her bedroom, lips attacking his, and he realizes there's no chance of that happening.

He's about to get his wish. He's about to make love to Robin Scherbatsky. And he's going to go all out. He's been saving up a lot of fantasies over the past year. This is going to be one for the record books.

Multiple orgasms later, they're lying side by side, panting, and it's every bit as mind-blowing as they'd hoped – more so even.

After catching her breath enough to regain speech, she shifts up onto her elbow, suggesting once again that they talk about this, figure this thing out between them.

But by the way she's looking at him, the way she's rubbing her hand across his chest, her naughty, extraordinarily nimble fingers (hadn't he just found that out in spades!) teasing his nipple, he knows she has something else in mind and so does he.

Talking will just have to wait when there's a far, far better alternative.

"Or…..or…."

And Round Two was so on.