Title: "Freezer Burn"
Rating/Classification: adult language, Patrick/Robin, filler fic.
Disclaimer: Nope. Still don’t own the characters. A few lines of dialogue are stolen from the actual episode.
Summary: An AU spin on 1/6/06. Patrick tries to turn Robin’s slap into some slap and tickle.
All he wanted to do was touch her mouth, make it smile, feel that bend against his fingertip and imagine a dozen different ways to recreate it while the Ice Queen melted in his arms.
Okay, so maybe he wanted more than that.
And maybe that validated her reaction.
The slap was firm enough to knock his head back, but still light. A love tap, really. No surprise given how small she was. There was no way Robin Scorpio would ever have enough power to really do much damage. She probably threw like a girl. A very angry girl. But he…he was a fairly good catcher. Among other things. So he caught her hand before she could pull it back, rubbed it against the barely stinging stubble on his cheek…and he watched her eyes fire up.
"What are you doing?!?" she gasped, disbelieving, trying to yank her hand back.
Debating asking her out for Saturday? For Sunday? Debating buying stock in Trojan so he could triple bag it and find out if the heat in her eyes could actually extend to a full-body thaw?
He could've said any number of things, but instead he just pressed his mouth to the soft, fleshy, center of her palm. "Well, well…there's passion underneath your glacial exterior," he chuckled, softly, knowing that the vibration of his laugh, of his words, would go right through the skin.
She shivered…but not from the cold. Oh, no. She was impervious to cold. But not to him. Not nearly as much as she wanted him to think. "Patrick! There are people watching!" she cried out, huffy and scandalized, but he still wouldn't let her pull away.
"Nobody's watching, Robin," he murmured, without raising his head to look beyond the nurses' station and check. "But if an audience turns you on, I can arrange it." She made an inarticulate noise that was either outrage or an aroused little moan. He knew which choice she'd pick. He slowly closed the distance between them as he kissed his way up her index finger, to the perfectly manicured tip. He sucked it into his mouth, teasingly biting the first joint. If she tried to pull away, she would scrape the skin, maybe even break it…and he knew she wasn't going to risk it. He kissed his way back to her palm again, keeping her hand pressed firmly against him. God…she was so delicate…he couldn't even begin to imagine how her touch would feel elsewhere. How damned big he'd look with her fingers wrapped around him – because, come on, he was pretty hung to begin with.
"Patrick…this is inappropriate! We're in the hospital. We're at work!" She struggled. He knew she was looking around, cataloging faces and names and worrying about her precious reputation. Worrying about everything except how she felt…what she wanted.
He was way, way, past inappropriate.
"Dammit, Robin," he murmured…no, pleaded…and since when had he ever had to beg a woman for anything? Since when did he have to sound like a spoiled little boy who wasn't getting the new toy he wanted? "You won't go out with me, so where else am I supposed to make my first move?"
"In Hell, maybe? When it's freezing over?" she spat, trying to wrench her arm out of his grip.
"That would be exactly where we are," he assured…letting her go before her momentum send them both crashing into the desk. He stepped back and still tasted her skin… salt and moisturizer and the faint residue from latex gloves she'd slapped on earlier in the day. For some reason, the combination was as big a turn-on as oysters on a half shell and champagne. Professional hazard, he suspected.
"Why are you doing this, Patrick? Why won't you leave me alone?" Now it was her pleading…with everything, with that 'Don't touch me' sign she always had pinned right beneath her staff ID. How could someone so compassionate about her patients be so totally resistant to feeling anything for herself? Why was it so fucking terrifying for her?
"Hell if I know," he murmured, trying to stop counting her freckles, to stop noticing how pretty she was, to stop picturing her naked and straddling him. "I have never had to work this hard just to get a simple date. If you don't step up, Robin, I'm going to move on."
Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. It was an empty threat. He could bang half the nurses – at this point, he'd only gotten through a quarter of them – and he still wouldn't be anywhere close to moving on from the walking, talking, refrigerator that was Dr. Robin Scorpio.
She stared at him…so long that he hoped – no, he knew – she was seeing straight through him. And hopefully picturing him naked and spread beneath her. Because, God, it was totally unfair if he was the only one plagued by these kinds of thoughts.
"Patrick…?" She reached for his hand, flipped it over so she could trace one slow circle on his palm. And then another. And another.
"Yeah?" He prayed his voice didn't sound as choked, as fucking turned on, as he felt.
The look in her eyes was dangerously warm and smugly cool all at the same time. Who would've thought she could manage both? "Maybe you need to work just a little bit harder."
She shoved his hand back at him and walked away…after one, brief, glance down at the telling tightness in his pants.
Work harder, huh?
Yeah. Somehow, he didn't think that was going to be a problem.
And maybe he wanted more than that.
January 11, 2006.