Hello everyone! This is just a little one-shot (pure Barney/Robin awesomeness) that I came up with after re-watching Say Cheese (spoilers for that ep). Just to refresh everyone's memory, it's the episode with Lily's 32nd birthday. It's after Barney and Robin break up, and right at the beginning of Robin's relationship with Don. Robin wears a smoking hot pink dress to Lily's birthday party (go ahead, look it up, it's fabulous), and I couldn't help but think that there is no way a dress like that wouldn't catch Barney's eye. Hence, the idea for this ditty was born.

Happy reading!

*******BR****************************BR*****************************BR*******

Her dress was stunning.

Satin, deep pink, two thin straps that glimmered across soft shoulders, and a heart-shaped neckline that plunged low enough to leave him mesmerized by the ample amount of cleavage on display. Daringly short, with a pair of strappy gold stilettos that showcased long, slender legs. Her hair was curled just the way he'd always liked it, a fine gold necklace rested at her throat, and light pink lip gloss caused his eyes to linger at her full lips for just a second before moving on to roam the rest of her tight body.

He'd seen that dress before. They'd gone shopping together, sometime back when they were still a couple, and it had been in the window of some glamorous Fifth Avenue boutique. He had pointed it out to her, told her it would look smoking hot against her curves, and she'd given it a once-over before deciding that it was too fancy; she'd never wear it anywhere. He hadn't even been able to convince her to try it on.

And the fact that she was wearing it tonight, at Lily's 32nd birthday party, well…it bothered him. His first instinct when she walked through the front door was to toss her over his shoulder, carry her back to the spare bedroom, and do forbidden things her until he got her as worked up as she was getting him just by existing in that pink dress, until those beautiful long legs were trembling and his name was tripping off her lips.

But he couldn't. Robin Scherbatsky was no longer his girlfriend. She was dating stupid Don now. Barney had lost the right to have his way with her, or even to openly admire the way the dress that he'd pointed out to her molded to her curves, and damn if it didn't suck.

He had to control himself. He wanted to control himself. He hadn't forgotten that he'd been making Robin cry a lot lately. He still couldn't believe what an insensitive idiot he'd been, parading woman after woman in front of her so soon after their breakup. The truth was, their breakup had been hard on him too. Harder than he wanted to admit, which was why he'd been so desperate to make her think he was over her. But he'd never meant to make her cry. He still cared too much about her, and her tears upset him. As much as he hated that they hadn't worked out as a couple, he wanted her to be happy.

Which was why he'd sent her on the superdate with Don. Who was now her boyfriend. For some reason the thought of her with another man made him cringe, but Don seemed like a nice guy and Robin seemed genuinely happy with him, and Barney wouldn't let himself do anything to compromise her happiness just because he liked her dress.

Although, to be fair, the dress was hot.

Barney behaved himself all night. After the initial lusty once-over when Robin first arrived, he didn't let himself look at her that way again, He forced himself to look resolutely at her face when he spoke to her and chased all inappropriate thoughts out of his head. He ignored the way his chest tightened a little when she smiled at him, and told himself that her determination to take a bad picture of him wasn't at all adorable.

It was well after two a.m. when, more than a little buzzed, he wandered into the kitchen for more of Ted's girlfriend's—Amanda's? Ashley's?—delicious birthday cake. He was minding his own business, taking another healthy swig of his scotch on the rocks when—

Holy fuck.

He spit out the scotch and stopped dead in the kitchen doorway.

Not five feet in front of him, Robin Scherbatsky—the woman he had deliberately been trying very hard not to stare at all night—was bent over, with her back to him, in that tiny pink dress and those golden stilettos, loading the dishwasher.

And she wasn't crouching, either. She was bent at the waist, one long leg completely straight while the other was bent just slightly at the knee. That little pink dress had ridden high; all he could see was the backs of her creamy thighs and if she would bend just an inch more he would know what color panties she was wearing.

Barney couldn't help himself. He'd been a good man all night, but now?

He definitely stared.

*******BR****************************BR*****************************BR*******

It was well after two a.m., and Robin was more than a little buzzed when she and Lily finished off yet another bottle of wine. Marshall was determined to make sure that Lily didn't have to so much as lift a finger on her birthday, so Robin volunteered to dig a new bottle out of the fridge. She was on her way back to the living room when she noticed the sink full of dirty dishes—Lily's biggest pet peeve—so she stopped to throw them in the dishwasher.

She was almost done when she heard the sound of an all-too-familiar male groan behind her.

"Holy fuck."

"Barney!" she exclaimed, startled. She noisily dropped a plate down into the dish rack and whirled around, fingers clumsily tugging the hem of her dress lower. He was standing not five feet away from her, a glass of scotch frozen halfway to his mouth, eyes roaming her body in that lusty manner that even now, months after their breakup, made her heart skip and her stomach tighten.

He smirked.

"Did I scare you, Scherbatsky? I'm sorry. Please," hungry eyes settled on her cleavage, and suddenly Robin was hyperaware of just how much skin the combination of her deep neckline and pushup bra left exposed, "Finish up whatever you were doing. Don't let me interrupt."

Robin felt a familiar flush rush through her veins at the dark, seductive way he gazed at her. She knew that gaze. He wanted to take her to the next room and fuck her senseless. Just a few short months ago, that would have thrilled her. But now? Now, they were broken up, and he had made it a point over the last few weeks to prove to her just how little their relationship meant to him. Now, she realized that he looked at all those other bimbos exactly the same way that he was currently looking at her. And she hated him for that.

Plus, she was dating someone else. Don.

Unfortunately, her body wasn't getting the message. The more his eyes roamed, the more she felt herself heating up. He looked good—really good—in that tux, and part of her wanted to be the lucky girl who got to take it off of him. A memory slipped into mind—hands clutching his suit jacket, legs wrapped around his waist, back up against the refrigerator in this very kitchen while his mouth pressed into hers, their tongues dueling, his fingers underneath her skirt playing games designed to make her body need his. She tried to shake it out of her head, but then Barney licked his lips. Something inside her melted. Her breasts suddenly felt heavy and tight. The sweet spot between her thighs started to ache just a little, and part of her wanted him to slip his fingers under her skirt again.

Barney was getting her all riled up with just a single, dark look. Don couldn't do that. Nobody else could do that. Only Barney could do that, and she hated him for it.

"What are you doing in here?" she snapped, suddenly furious, folding her arms across her chest as if that would somehow hide her cleavage from him instead of enhancing it.

"Who, me?" he asked innocently, his eyes drifting up to meet hers. She saw the lust in his gaze, and she couldn't bring herself to look away. "I came to get another slice of cake. If I had known you would be giving away free peeks at Canada I would've been in here a lot sooner."

She glared at him. He stepped closer to her. Her body hummed and buzzed in a way that had nothing to do with the generous amount of wine she'd consumed. His eyes drifted downward once more, then settled on her face. He took one last step forward and they were nearly chest to chest, her personal space grievously violated.

She meant to keep her arms crossed, but somehow they fell to her sides, completely of their own volition.

"You're a pig, Barney," she said. She'd intended for it to sound defensive and insulting, but it sounded weak and breathy even to her own ears.

He smirked again. Damn him.

"This is a nice dress," he murmured, his voice low and husky and dripping with something that reminded her of sex. Never breaking eye contact with her, he reached out and gently, slowly trailed a single finger across her breasts, following the spot where her dress met skin. "When did you get it?"

Robin struggled to remain clear-headed. She tried to think of Don, of how much she liked him, tried to think about how angry she was at Barney for flaunting bimbos in her face and toying with her emotions, whether it was intentional or not. But it was all so very hard to remember when the ache between her thighs had become a full, pulsing throb and she found herself wishing that Barney would go ahead and just cup her tingling breasts in his hands, massage them, soothe them. She knew he was very good at that.

"When did you get it, Robin?" he asked again, his finger now sliding down the line of her cleavage. She looked down, her eyes following it as it disappeared under the top of her dress and reappeared again. He took a half-step closer and eliminated the space between them, his chest pressing into hers. Somehow, he had her trapped against the refrigerator. Again. She inhaled, and all she could smell was his thick, heady cologne. It made her dizzy.

"Wha—what?" she asked, unable to think straight through the haze of want clouding her mind. The finger tracing patterns on her chest slid upward, hooking under her chin and gently forcing her to look up at him. His eyes bore into hers.

"The dress, Robin," he said, voice full of steel, "When. Did you. Get it?"

"I, um, a few weeks ago," something somewhere in the back of Robin's mind was outraged at the fact that he had reduced her to stammers, but it quieted down when his hand moved back to her breasts, and this time he let several fingers drag back and forth along the low cut of her dress.

"I told you it would look good on you. You told me you didn't want it," he reminded her. He leaned forward and her eyes focused on his lips hovering just inches away. Her own lips burned with the desire to kiss him. She wished that he would kiss her, touch her, do something besides let his fingers draw teasing, tantalizing patterns on her breasts.

"I-I changed my mind. It's a nice dress. Lily liked it," she murmured. He chuckled, low and smooth, and she knew that he could see right through her. So maybe Lily hadn't seen this dress before tonight. Maybe Robin had seen it again by herself a few weeks after their breakup and bought it intentionally, specifically because Barney had said he liked it. Because he kept sleeping with every whore in New York City. Because he kept saying cruel, insensitive things—comparing them to her, rubbing in all the ways in which any particular slut he banged was better than her. Maybe she'd bought this dress because she wanted to remind him that her body existed, and it was more awesome than any of his bimbos. Maybe she'd wanted to tease him, just a little bit. Show him that she was still hot, and now he couldn't have her.

But she'd never imagined that they would end up like this.

Barney regarded her for a few moments, then—finally —he pressed both his palms against her breasts. He rubbed back and forth a few times before he cupped them, squeezed them, brushed his thumbs across her nipples just the way she liked.

"Oh," Robin panted, arching her back off the refrigerator a little. That felt so good. She could feel dampness pool between her thighs and resisted the urge to wrap her legs around him and hump him to oblivion. He was ready for it, she knew. She could feel his dick, rock hard, pressing into her abdomen. He was just as aroused as she was.

"Do you like your new boyfriend, Robin?" he asked then, his hands still working their magic on her achy breasts.

Don. Robin hesitated for a moment.

"Yes," she whispered finally. She watched his deep blue eyes darken at her answer.

She did like Don, she really did. Before tonight, before right now, she had thought that she was over Barney. She still cared about him, yes, but she thought she'd stopped wanting him. She hadn't thought he was still capable of reducing her from perfectly fine one moment to a hot, bothered, horny, needy mess of a woman the next.

She was wrong.

Barney leaned forward then, his mouth just centimeters from her ear. She could feel his breath on her neck and the hint of scotch mixed with the scent of his cologne was intoxicating. As if she hadn't had enough to drink already.

"Then the next time you wear a dress that I picked out for you while you're dating another man," he murmured quietly, a hint of distress evident in his tone, "You better make sure you bring him with you."

And then, suddenly, he let her go. He stepped back, across the room, out of her personal space, and glared at her from a distance. Every inch of Robin's body acutely felt the loss of his. She exhaled sharply and let her head fall forward. She stared at the floor. Her entire body was buzzing, aching, pulsing…needing him to touch her. His words echoed, repeated themselves inside her head like a mantra.

You better make sure you bring him with you…You better make sure you bring him with you…

"Or what?" she demanded suddenly, snapping her head up. He was still glaring at her. She glared right back, not really sure why she felt the need to challenge him. "Or what, Barney? What are you going to do about it if—oh."

Suddenly, he was back in front of her, back in her space. He pushed her back against the refrigerator and gripped her waist roughly. She saw a hint of something dark and animalistic in his eye, and got the impression that he was barely in control. She tried to suppress the thrill she felt, tried to quell the part of her that desperately wanted him out of control.

One hand left her waist and slipped lower, pausing on the outside of her thigh. Robin stared into his eyes, breathless, almost sure of his next move. He didn't disappoint her. His fingers slid slowly, lightly, inside her thigh and up, up, under her dress. He was so close. She was sure he must be able to feel the dampness on her thighs.

But he stopped just millimeters away from where she desperately wanted him. She was throbbing almost painfully.

"Tonight, I've been pretty well behaved," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, his finger stroking her inner thigh, "But I think we both know what I can do to you, Robin Scherbatsky. So, if you like Don, don't wear this dress again."

"Yes sir," Robin murmured and, because she couldn't help herself, she squirmed and ground her hips down a little, just enough to close the tiny gap between his fingers and the place where she wanted him most. He groaned and then, as if she'd electrocuted him, yanked his hand back and stared at her in surprise. He hadn't been expecting to touch flesh, she could tell.

"You aren't wearing any underwear," he accused, exhaling a deep breath through his nose.

This time it was Robin who smirked. Slowly, she shook her head.

"Minx," he growled and, to her absolute delight, pushed his fingers back up her dress and slipped one, two of them inside her.

Yes. She was so wet, his fingers slid right in. She shifted her stance, widened her legs a little and hooked one around his waist so he could go deeper, hit her just where she needed him. He obliged, sinking in right up to the knuckle. He hooked his fingers and began pumping them in and out of her, just a little rough.

"Barney!" she gasped, her arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer to her as he hit that spot over and over and over again. She couldn't stop a low moan from escaping her lips, and he quickly brought his other hand up to cover her mouth, stifling the sound.

God. He hadn't forgotten what she liked. Little tremors shook her body. He noticed, and increased his pace. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against hers and his breath fanning across her face as he continued to fuck her with his fingers. She felt the most exquisite pressure building as her body tightened around him and her legs shook uncontrollably and she was so, so close to falling over the edge, to coming apart right there in the kitchen. Another moan ripped from her throat as he continued to work her faster and faster, faster and faster, and she was very nearly on the verge of screaming until—

He stopped. Pulled his fingers out of her, took his hand off of her mouth, and stepped back. He took another step back, and another, his eyes roaming her body, no doubt taking in her flushed, excited state.

"Fuck!" Robin couldn't believe him. Frustration unlike anything she'd ever felt before coursed through her body. Her veins were on fire. The spot between her thighs was slick and messy, aching and pulsing worse than ever before. She'd been close, so close. And she knew, just knew from the look in his eye, that he was going to leave her like this. A desperate whimper escaped her mouth.

"Barney," she panted, unsure exactly what she was going to say, only knowing she wanted him back between her legs. She'd effectively forgotten about anything else in the world except for him. She'd forgotten about Don, about Lily, Ted, and Marshall waiting in the very next room for her to bring out a new bottle of wine, about the fact that any one of them could easily have walked in on her and Barney…

Barney looked at her for a long moment. His eyes were hard, full of something like iron. Finally, he drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Bring him next time," he was all he said. Then he turned around and left the kitchen.

Suddenly, Robin was alone.

Alone.