A/N: So, let me start out by saying that I don't think this one is particularly good. I've had it done for a while and I kept thinking that I might go back to it and see if I liked it better or if I figured out what I could do to make it better, but honestly, nothing came to me, and I lost patience with it.

Don't get me wrong: I don't think it's really bad or anything -- I just don't think it's particularly hot. ::shrug:: Oh well. Can't win 'em all, I guess.

I should also state that to my recollection (which can be dodgy at times, so forgive me if it isn't true), I was the only beta on this puppy...so, blame no one but me for it's suckiness and utter lack of grammar.

Thanks: I'm really glad you guys liked the last one of these I did and I'm so thankful to those of you still reading despite the incredibly LONG update times. I'll respond individually if I've got something to say or a question to answer through review response.

Just A Game
Chapter 3: Closeted
by Emania
Theme # 3: The Closet

"Well, you got me where you want me, now / baby, what you want me to do?"
– Baby, What You Want Me To Do, Etta James

She started to turn as soon as she felt his presence behind her, but he was quicker than she was, and with a firm palm on the small of her back and a gentle nudge, she stumbled inside and felt the door close, blocking out the hallway light. She pushed the coats to either side of her, turning to face the door, kicking a jacket loose from her left foot and looked up to where she could feel his presence against the door leading outside.

She wasn't afraid, but her heart sped up just the same. She realized he could probably see her easier than she could see him, if not for the way her eyes tended to shine more than an average human in the dark, then because the little slivers of light coming from under the door and in the very small cracks on either side of it served to illuminate her shape, if not the particulars.

It didn't take her long to adjust to the dark, however, and before long she could see the outline of his broad shoulders, the shape of his head. She waited for him to speak first. This was his doing, after all.

"You're not an easy girl to corner, you know," he said into the darkness, his voice was calm.

"I wasn't exactly hiding," she countered. His shape moved, and there were suddenly two feet less of space between her and his warmth. She felt a smile curve her lips and wondered if he could see it. "Well?" she prodded.

"Well, what?" he asked, his voice low.

She thought for a moment -- thought about how she wanted to play this part of the game, thought about how much she was willing to push him and how she wanted to do it. Finally deciding, she shifted the weight onto her left hip, tilted her head in a way that should allow him to catch the left edge of her lips. "It seems as though you've got me where you want me," she said, her own voice growing lower. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"Funny you should ask," he said, and he was walking toward her, carving through even more of the distance, and her heartbeat jumped and she took a step back, bumping very quickly against the wall. She felt more than saw his arms stretch out on either side of her, bracing against the wall and suddenly, she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her, his breath against her neck and then his lips, just ghosting against the skin of her jaw, then her neck.

"Funny," she spoke, pausing to swallow and provide some moisture for her suddenly dry mouth, "how?" she asked.

"Oh," he said and his tone was nonchalant, even if his voice wasn't. "Only in that I've had a few thoughts on the subject," and she knew where he was only because of the breath of his words. He was so close now, she could feel the press of his t-shirt against her chest, the light cotton/lyrcra blend of her t-shirt doing little to insulate her skin against the heat of his.

She fisted her hands around the coats on either side of her to keep from reaching out to him. She was under no misconceptions about what this was. He had promised that he'd get back at her for the night on the T-Ship, and she knew he was about to do his utmost to make her give in and show how much she wanted him to kiss her.

And she did. Very much. But she wasn't about to show it. That wasn't part of the game.

"What's the matter Raven?" he asked, and his face was burrowing in her hair, his cheek skimming the outer shell of her ear, his hands still pressed against the wall behind her, locking her in place. "Don't you have anything to say?"

She licked her lips and swallowed. "I'm waiting on you, Robin," she answered, her voice managing to sound just slightly above a whisper.

He chuckled and she felt his lips brush her temple. "Are you?" he asked and then his hands moved and they were traveling down her bare arms, finding her hands still fisted against the coats. "Won't you touch me?" he whispered against her ear, his hands gently massaging her hands open. She responded to his touch, she didn't really think she'd do otherwise, and when their fingers entwined, she was holding onto him as tightly as she had been holding onto the coats.

It occurred to her that he'd asked her a question, but she couldn't answer -- she was too preoccupied by the seemingly random and entirely maddening path of his lips. It seemed to her that he was kissing her everywhere he could reach except her lips, and she knew if she allowed her throat to form sound, it wouldn't be words at all, but something entirely different.

"You didn't have a problem touching me two weeks ago on the T-Plane."

His mouth no longer torturing her with soft, warm caresses, she tilted her chin up to look at him. "Are you complaining?" she asked, and if he had any doubts as to his effect on her, the throaty sound of her voice should have eased them away.

He chuckled and his face stopped with his lips right over the pulse point at her throat -- she could feel it as he breathed, the warmth of his aura licking hers -- and she felt the soft silken brush of them on her skin preceding his breath. "My only complaint about that night is that you stopped," he whispered against her throat. He pulled away from her enough so she could smell the mint on his breath from when he brushed his teeth after dinner, and although her eyes had accustomed to the dark, she could still see no more than shapes, the occasional flutter of a shadow as he blinked or the push of the ventilation system running through strands of his hair. "How about you?"

She didn't answer, but he could feel the way she gripped his hands; could feel the way her heart beat throbbed like a living ache beneath her skin, undulating wherever he'd been.

"Well, I'm going to touch you," he promised, pushing her hands against her own hips, and trailing them up against her body, continuing to raise them above her head, pressing them against the smooth wooden bar the coats hung on, wrapping her fingers around the bar, all while his lips explored the curve of her neck, the apple of her cheek, her eyelids, and although her hands remained gripping the bar, her lips betrayed her and pushed upward in an attempt to capture his when they touched hers briefly, but he moved on and she was left pressing toward him instead.

Then his fingers were touching her wrists, dancing ever so sensuously over the inside of her forearm, the pads of his fingers barely grazing skin suddenly sensitized to the point that the press of his aura preceding his touch raised gooseflesh as they traveled down her arms, grazing the sides of her breasts and traveling lower, low enough to grip her waist and bring her close against him, pressing her breasts against his chest as his lips finally found her mouth.

She could feel the press of his fingers even through her jeans, and her hands had started to slip from the bar as she gave in to the insistence of his mouth and tongue, before his hands were suddenly touching the skin of the small of her back against him, her hands grabbing tight to the bar in an effort to remain standing.

It felt as if he were trying to memorize her body through the pads of his fingers and the dip of his palm alone and she realized in some still thinking part of her mind that she had never felt anything like it before.

People, she knew, didn't actively touch her. Some, like Starfire for example, would hug her, or like Cyborg would ruffle her hair or put an arm around her shoulders, but no one of her acquaintance had ever made it their sole purpose to trigger each of the nerve endings running just under every inch of her skin the way it seemed Robin was thoroughly determined to do.

"Robin," she breathed, hardly loud enough for anyone to hear her, but somehow, he did.

He raised his head to look at her, "Yes, Raven?"

"What are you doing?" she managed to ask.

He laughed, and the feel of it carried through her chest, warming her. "Turnabout's fair play, Raven," he said against her skin.

She had enough time to consider that although she had guessed he would plan some sort of retribution for her little experiment on the plane, she hadn't thought he'd do anything quite like this. Then Robin's fingers grazed the spot just between her shoulder blades and she felt the bolt of awareness disburse like starburst through her body, thoroughly scattering the slight twinge of worry about just what she might have provoked. Her mouth tore from his with a gasp and she almost pulled away from him entirely, or would have if her mind had been in control, but it wasn't, and her traitorous body arched toward him instead.

"Well, isn't this interesting," he drawled as his fingers drawing patters against her bare shoulder blades. She practically hissed at the hot touch of his fingers on her rarely touched skin.

She couldn't speak, too overwhelmed by touch and warmth and when her fingers began slipping from the bar above their heads, it was all she could do to grip it all the tighter. The nail of his thumbs lightly grazed the seldom exposed skin along her ribs. Her head leaned forward, catching on his shoulder.

His arms wrapped around her back, holding her close for a moment, and the act was surprisingly more intimate than anything they'd done thus far. She felt a heartbeat, rapid against her chest, and wasn't sure if it was his or hers. "Touch me, Raven," he whispered against her neck.

She swallowed, catching her breath enough to speak. "Make me."

He stopped, pulling back away from her, their eyes meeting unerringly, despite the darkness. "Are you sure about that?"

She smiled because he probably couldn't see it in the darkness. "If you can." She raised a brow. "There's no throng of horny people to influence me now."

"I'm going to make you want me, Raven," he promised, his tone slightly taunting and entirely amused, his hands trailing higher, necessarily raising the t-shirt, exposing stomach, abs, flawless skin as he did. His face nuzzled the curve of her shoulder. "I'm going to make you want me so bad you throw your pride out the window."

Raven started to speak, but his hands slid to her front, easily spanning over her abs, grazing under her breasts, trailing down the center of her torso, dipping only momentarily into her bellybutton. Her knees gave out too quickly for her to brace herself, and she had to tighten her hands on the bar to keep from falling.

He gripped her waist and laughed, the sound of it sounding strangely intimate in the dark confines of the hallway coat closet. Spurred by his delighted laughter at her obvious reaction to his touch, she spoke before thinking.

"Are you sure you can?" she replied to his earlier comment.

He raised one hand to cup her cheek, leaning in close enough to kiss her, close enough so she couldn't help but see the shadows of his face, the glint in his eye from the sliver of light behind him. "Remember," he said, his voice low and his breath teasing her lips, still wet with his kiss. "You asked for it this time."

She wanted to answer, thought of something witty and sharp, but then his lips were on hers, coaxing, gentler than they'd ever been as they oh so softly brushed against hers, pulling back when he felt her try to rush it. He smirked at her and her eyes must have grown accustomed to the dark because she saw it, caught the lift of his lips, the way his eyes mirrored the emotion and she was caught as fully by this as she had been by the touch of his tongue when it had danced with hers.

When his hands dipped beneath the waistband of her jeans, she wished she had looked away, that she hadn't let herself get caught up in his stare or that she would've had the sense to look away before he could see the way her eyes had opened wide, the surprise and even the lust she was sure he'd be able to read, even despite the dark.

But that soft laughter as his hands traced the waistband of her jeans let her know he had seen every single ounce of her desire and the thought distracted her even as he found the button fly of her jeans. He had three buttons undone before she realized it, and only then because his knuckles brushed against her lower abdomen and she felt the shock of sensation even through her sensible powder blue bikini briefs. Her breathing hitched, her heart racing.

Oh, she remembered this. She well remembered what his nimble, lithe fingers could do to her. The sensory memory alone sent a wave of pleasure through her she only half fought to keep from showing.

But this was not a semi-crowded theatre in public where, despite the privacy required by the patrons due to the nature of the show, still demanded a certain level of restraint lest they be discovered. No, this was a very private, secluded closet in an uninhabited Tower, and Robin was under no obligation to be temperate or to exercise moderation. Consequently, his fingers found her center, easily slipping between the wet folds before she had a chance to acclimate to his touch. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out, but couldn't help but groan when his fingers moved.

And, because it was precisely his intent to keep her off balance and unable to become used to the sensations, he used his free hand to wrap around her back and hold her in place as his mouth lowered onto the taut peak of her left nipple. She gasped at the feel of his tongue on her sensitized body, even through the shirt she still wore, and almost let her hands slip from the bar, managing to catch herself and hold on because his thumb found the bundle of very sensitized nerves and flicked it, making her knees lose strength and the bar her hands were gripping was suddenly the only thing keeping her upright.

When he flicked it again, her head lolled backwards and she meant to speak -- to say what, she didn't know -- but the only sound that came was something between a moan and a whimper.

"What was that, Rae?" he spoke, his fingers stilling and his head rising to look at her.

She was breathing hard and what should have been a reprieve from his torturous touch only served to prove to her how very much she didn't want him to stop. But to win this round, some part of her understood she had to either remain silent or say something unaffected. Although, for the life of her, she couldn't think what. She must have made some noise, however, because he moved, bringing her close, supporting her head with his left hand, raising it up so she could look at him.

"You taste so good, Rae, even through the shirt," he smiled as an idea came to him. "I wonder what you taste like elsewhere?" he asked, raising a brow as his right hand slipped from the warm place still throbbing for completion.

"Robin!" she gasped as he caressed her even while he removed his hand.

"Raven?" he asked, looking at her. "Do you have something to say?" and although his tone was teasing, there was an edge to it, a need she could feel just as keenly as her own pressing against her.

And when she realized that she very much wanted to take his face into her hands, to bring him close to her and kiss him, to use her own hands to touch the muscled chest she knew lay underneath the gray polo shirt and explore inside his jeans with as much alacrity as he had explored inside hers, to use them to somehow convince him to finish what he'd started, it didn't sting her pride as much as she had thought it would. Turnabout, as he had said, was fair play after all.

She released her grip on the bars, feeling her weight shift so she was more balanced on the balls of her feet and started to loosen her hands when she felt it, the breeze of approach through her heightened aura. She looked at him with regret and at least a small bit of wry amusement. "Yes, I do," she confessed.

He caught the look on her face, noted the difference, but grinned anyway when she brought her hands to his face, about to crow about her surrender, but she cut him off this time by bringing her lips to his.

She broke the kiss before his hands could do any more exploring and pulled away from him entirely, placing her hands (which would be numbing from the lack of blood flow if it weren't for her extraordinary healing abilities) on his chest. "They're home."

"What?" he asked, surprise flowing through the desire. "They're home? As in, here?"

She nodded and buttoned up her pants, straightening her shirt as she looked at him, wondering how he'd act now that the haze of surreality was leaving them. She ran her fingers through her hair and in two quick swipes it was fixed, and since she hadn't touched him, she knew he had nothing to worry about even if they were still in the dark.

He was suddenly in front of her again, his hands on her shoulders and his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on her lips. "This isn't over, Rae," he told her, his voice deep and full of meaning.

She smiled, raised one of her hands to touch his face and felt something flip in her stomach and trip down her spine to the part of her he'd been so intimately aquatinted with tonight. "I hope not," she answered, her own voice thick with a promise of her own.

"Then why not finish this now, upstairs?" he asked.

She had moved around him, but stopped at the door. "What fun would that be?" she asked and as she opened the door and let in the hallway light, he could see the grin on her swollen, thoroughly kissed lips and the wet spot just over each of her breasts. He couldn't answer her, because he was suddenly overwhelmed by just what she looked like, standing in the light, all the little signs of his attentions to her in the closet plain to the eye. "Better hurry," she said. "I hear them in the garage," she answered before slipping out the door and out of sight.

In the light from the still open doorway, Robin looked around the closet for signs of their encounter and, finding none, stepped outside hoping he wouldn't come across any of the others before he'd had a chance to take care of the only sign of the time they'd spent together she had left him with. As he took the stairs two at a time, he had the distinct feeling the ante had been upped tonight and was supremely glad he had taken the opportunity when he'd seen her leaning into the closet. No, he might not know exactly what the rules of this game they were playing might be, or what the parameters were, but as close as he'd come to tasting victory tonight, he wasn't about to give it up.


A/N: So? Whaddya think? I'm very "eh" about it, although when I started it, I had been very excited. :le sigh: