robin_sparkles | (no subject)

(no subject)

Robin knew that what they were doing probably was so far from healthy that it was insane, but she kind of couldn't find it in her to care. Barney was at the strip club and so she could either sit at home with the dogs and let her imagination run wild, or she could do something about it. Skinny hadn't been anywhere she'd looked, so she went down a familiar path, right to the Officer's Club instead.

And hell, she didn't even know who she was hoping would answer the door. No, that was a lie. She knew exactly who she wanted, but if Winters pulled it open, maybe she would have been shamed into turning around and going home.

But Robin was so not easily shamed. So she was all over knocking firmly on the main door, praying quietly under her breath with a constant, "Please be Lewis, please, please, please."

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She twisted her lips and shook her head, leaning in to kiss him a little harder than before. "I can't break my rules with him," she apologized, in the midst of kissing him again and again, not wanting to do that to him, not when she was still trying to figure out where she stood on the whole issue. "And I'm sorry," she apologized, strained. "If you don't want kids and marriage, it's just...you know, I figure that's what you 40's boys want. Happy family," she weakly joked, easing away.

"But I can't date you," she admitted, feeling about as sick to her stomach as she ever did. "And I don't want to break your heart. I don't want to break anyone's heart."

"Well, it's too fucking late for that," and about par for the course, too, and he's so tired of this, so tired of everything.

"Take the bottle and go fuck someone else," he tells her with a motion to the Vat before moving toward the door, empty and bitter, each heavy footstep on the stairs reminding him of some other way he's completely fucked up. With Kathy, with Kara, with Sharon and Robin. With the war, with his family, with that little girl he's never going to meet.

Robin managed to not even bother to say another word, even if she was raring for something else and she sighs heavily and just takes the bottle, long enough to plant it on the table. "I don't want your send-off booze," she said, words sharp. "And I am sorry." It didn't take her much longer to start vaulting the stairs two by two, figuring she owed him...well, something.

She paused at the top stair, staring down at him. "My secret? The one I lied about for a decade? I was a teenage pop starlet. In Canada. I sang about malls and wore bedazzled jackets and had a blonde perm," she said, "And it was the most embarrassing thing of my life and now you know."

Their generation gap becomes even more apparent with this baffling display, as Lew has no idea what a mall is, or what bedazzling is, or why either would be considered bad. He gets what she's doing, and some part of him appreciates the fact that she can't let him just walk away, but if that's her biggest secret, he can't fathom why it's a big deal to tell him.

He pauses, staring up at her with a steady gaze. "I fucked men in college. Can I get by, please?"

"Yeah, well," Robin scoffed, cocking a brow up, "I lost my virginity to a gay man," she countered, opening the door and gesturing out. "I'll let myself out," she promised him, hating that she was apparently going to bed feeling worse than before.

At least she still had the dogs.

He should do exactly what she's motioning for him to do, which is walk right on past, upstairs and out, go anyplace else, think about anything else. One foot in front of the other, not that difficult a task to accomplish in light of everything that's just happened. And yet, as soon as he starts to brush past her, he turns instead, pins her body against the stairwell wall with his own, and covers her mouth in a nearly brutal kiss.

So much for solidarity.

Robin let out a muffled sound of surprise, arms pinned to the wall and her back pressed hard against it, wondering exactly what part of their conversation had indicated that this was going to happen and so what if she kissed back. It was a hot man kissing her.

She wasn't an idiot.

She let out a muffled moan against his lips, one hand gripping hard at his hair and wondering what was coming next.

Even Lewis Nixon, Yale-educated, well-read, theoretically sensitive man, is occasionally prone to fits of testosterone-driven action. Which is precisely why he slips his hands down to Robin's ass, gets a good grip and lifts her. Without stopping to question himself or their currently-skewed situation, he carries her upstairs and into his room, kicking the door closed behind him.

Robin knew that men were prone to surprising things, but this one was right up her alley and all the while he kept carrying her, she was definitely in the mood for kissing him as much as she could, lips and neck and cheek and forehead and hair, all of it.

Maybe it was unhealthy, but so what? What part of her life over the last while was healthy?

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