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"Do you have to go?"
The words tumble out of Robin before he can stop them. He winces, instantly regretting it as he watches your hands still around the mascara wand you've been so carefully painting your lashes with. The reflection of your eyes in the mirror blinks at him, berry red lips opening slightly in surprise at his outburst. Soft lips that always feel so perfect and nice against his...
All he can picture now is that same berry color staining the lips of the man who will be arriving at the orphanage in an hour, your mouth falling open with a happy sigh as the man moves on to your neck, and then your chest, unzipping your dress with experienced ease… fingers trailing down your sternum…
He can't take it. Robin tears his attention away from you to stare at the floor, his hands clenching into fists in his lap so hard that they shake. He hears you take a deep breath in and sigh, hears the creaking of your chair and soft footsteps making their way to his spot on your old twin bed.
"Hey," you say as you kneel down beside him. "We talked about this."
Robin squeezes his eyes shut.
"Robin."
When he doesn't respond, you shift closer to cover his shaking hands with your own, patiently undoing the tight fists until his fingers stretch loosely against yours. Then, with a gentle tilt of his chin, you place a kiss on his nose. Heat blooms in his chest as you laugh at him a little, a beautiful, twinkling sound, and you wipe away the residue the kiss left with your thumb. He could almost forget that you will be leaving soon.
Almost.
"It's just another dinner party, remember?" you say, your voice soft but light, as if you were discussing something that didn't make his heart wilt and his lungs ache. "We'll probably just dance a little and talk to other rich people. It'll be super boring."
He frowns. "I remember."
It's his fault this is happening. His punishment. If he wasn't so useless, if he could just pull his own damn weight then you wouldn't have to go out with rich scumbags or work double shifts at the café every weekend, or stay up all night dancing for even worse scumbags at the club...
Guilt churns his insides as he remembers he's not supposed to know about that last one.
You search his eyes for a moment. He does his best to appear at ease, giving you a faint smile that he is afraid looks more like a grimace. He doesn't want you to think he isn't supportive.
"I'll get you the money," he had argued when you first told him about the party on the way home from school earlier that day. "That way you don't have to see him." Or anyone else, for that matter.
You just looked at him, your eyes sad. "It's alright. I don't wanna talk about it."
He started to speak again, to convince you, but you had just shaken your head and sped up. "Robin, please? Let's just go home."
And you had grabbed his hand and began walking in the direction of the orphanage, all of the things you didn't say echoing in his head the rest of the way.
For the first time in his life, Robin thought you were wrong. It is not alright.
You ruffle his hair a little as you stand back up, somewhat satisfied for now that you had soothed him, and turn towards your wardrobe to examine the little black cocktail dress you will be wearing; the one that man had gotten you, that hugs you in all the right places and makes you look older than you really are.
And Robin feels sick. He watches you wiggle out of your shorts and bend slightly to kick them out of the way, his mouth drying and face growing hot against his will at the sight of your panties and the fleshy parts of your thighs, the softness of your belly... your top comes off next, and you unclip your bra and throw it onto the growing pile of clothes. His legs instinctively clench together, applying pressure against his prick and he gasps before he can stop himself.
"Hm?" You look back towards him, eyebrows raised. "Did you say something?"
"No," he says, a little too quickly. "Sorry."
His eyes lock onto yours, not daring to look down the slopes of your breasts. He understands that you trust him enough to change in front of him, and he doesn't want to betray that trust by perving on you, but sometimes it's a little too much for him to handle.
Your eyes graze over his flushed face, taking in the way his chest rises up and down like he is trying to control his breathing. And then you notice his bulge. You laugh at him again, not cruelly, but he still wilts with embarrassment over being caught. You walk back over to him, your mouth quirked up to one side. "You're adorable, you know that?"
You lightly push him back, urging him to scoot further up onto the bed, your thighs coming up to straddle either side of him. Nuzzling your nose against his, you roll your hips against his prick, and Robin grunts at the quick flutter of pleasure that coils up from his groin along his spine.
"I guess I should thank you for being such a good boyfriend, huh?" You press a chaste kiss to his lips, not wanting to get too sloppy in case your lipstick smudges, and roll your hips sharply once, then again and again and again in a slow rhythm. Robin's eyes flutter as he tries to remain eye contact with you, his breathing coming in shallow huffs. "And for being so understanding," you continue, leaning him all the way down on to the bed, your arms on either side of his head as you tower over him.
You kiss his cheek, smiling at the new outline it leaves of your lips. You peck his other cheek, your clothed cunt continuing to rub against him until he is steadily leaking in his boxers. You lift his fringe to kiss his forehead, and then his chin, until he has lipstick kisses peppered all over his face. You continue the berry red trail down his neck, and lift the hem of his shirt up a little to have easier access to the zipper of his pants.
But then you stop and look up at him. "Can I keep going?"
For a moment, guilt is at the forefront of Robin's mind again. Here you are, trying to make him feel better about a situation his own shortcomings put you both in.
You notice his hesitation. "Please? I just want to make you feel good."
Your eyes bore into him, sure of yourself. This makes him feel worse, but he swallows hard and nods. "Yeah, alright."
What he wants is for you to kiss him for real, messily and uncoordinated, lipstick be damned, but instead you move back to sit further down on his legs and unzip him. He sits up a bit, putting his weight on his elbows to watch as you gently pull his prick out from his boxers. You pause to lick the palm of your hand and lift your legs a bit, muttering for him to wait a second, one hand reaching for his shoulder to balance yourself. He can see the puffy outline of your cunt against the fabric of your panties, and the little wet spot that had formed, and he licks his drying lips subconsciously.
His eyes widen as you dip your hand into your panties, your brow furrowed. You let out a breathy sound as you coat your fingers with your slick, and he watches in fascination as you gingerly graze your fingers over the head of his leaking prick to mix your fluids together. His eyes squeeze shut then, feeling overstimulated at the sight, and his head falls back as you finally wrap your hand around his shaft with a purposeful tug. His hips move with the steady pull of your hand, dragging up and down, up and down, pumping him into oblivion.
Your position on his legs wobbles as his thighs twitch, and he comes suddenly with a low groan, his load coming out in spurts down your hand and wrist. You keep jerking him, thumbing over his slit while your other hand comes to wrap around at the base, until finally he collapses onto his back, chest heaving.
You get off of him carefully and swipe a tissue from your bedside table to clean your hand. You grab a couple more and wipe him, giving the head of his prick a little kiss before tucking him back into his underwear.
"You..." Robin pants. "You didn't have to do that." He sits up fully and reaches for you, dragging you nearer to him and hooking his fingers into your panties. "Let me do you now."
You shake your head and grab his hands. "No time, I've got to get dressed." But you linger a moment to examine the work you did on him with a fond smile - the peppered kiss marks painting his flushed skin, his hair all mussed - before walking away from him and grabbing the cocktail dress off its hook. Robin spares one more longing glance at your panties before you step into the slinky black fabric, shimmying it up your body.
The sound of a car honking comes from outside of the orphanage then. Robin lays back down on the bed and closes his eyes, willing his breathing to even out as you hop around the room looking for your purse and shoes. You tell him you'll be back in a couple hours as you slip on your heels and put in your earrings.
"And then it's my turn," you say with an easy smirk, standing over where he lays on the bed.
He opens his eyes and sees your body eclipsing the ceiling light, creating a slight halo effect all around you. He feels himself smile. "Deal."
He waits there on the bed once you leave, eyes turned up to the ceiling and unfocusing as his thoughts race, until he hears a car door open outside. He gets up and walks over to the window against his better judgement.
You stand there on the pavement, beautiful as always but not entirely yourself as the man presses his lips against your ear, undoubtedly whispering things you should be hearing from Robin. He opens the car door for you and you step in gracefully, and as the man makes his way back to the front of the car he glances up in Robin's direction.
It startles him, and Robin backs away until he can see only his own face in the reflection of the windowpane.