Kate (mskatej) wrote,
Kate
mskatej

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Fic: Correctional Measures

Title: Correctional Measures
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Bruce/Dick
Word count: 1,690
Spoilers: None
Notes and Acknowledgements: norwich36 asked for this pairing and gave me the prompt “spanking”. This is what happened. Beta read by the clever and wonderful literaryll. Melissa came up with the title. ♥
Summary: Bruce teaches Dick a lesson.
Warnings: Contains content some people may find disturbing.
Feedback: Yes sir, please sir!





Correctional Measures, by Kate


Robin doesn’t say a word on the ride home and while he isn’t precisely hanging his head, Batman can feel the shame radiating off him. It isn’t enough to quell his anger, nor enough to prevent him delivering a short but fierce lecture on the perils of showing off.

Robin’s performance tonight was unacceptable, and an innocent man lies in the hospital now because of it.

When they reach the Batcave, Robin finally speaks. “Bruce, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Get out of my sight,” Batman growls in response, waiting until Robin is no longer in the room before pulling off his cowl and allowing himself to pace.

Once he’s showered and changed into his sleep pants, he feels comparatively calm, but buzzing with too much energy to sleep. Anger is a familiar emotion to Bruce, one he’s intimately acquainted with; it stirs him and drives him, and his mission allows him to work out his issues on a daily basis. He can hit and be hit. He can instill fear into the hearts of his enemies.

And while he might never admit it to the people closest to him, it often satisfies him to the point where the way it makes him feel is indistinguishable from pleasure.

But how to manage his anger with Dick? He has no desire to beat Dick to a bloody pulp or to scare him witless, but the notion that Dick needs to be disciplined somehow remains close to the surface of his imagination. His skin tingles with the thought of—

As if he were beckoning to Dick with that very aspiration, the door to his bedroom opens slowly and Dick hesitantly steps inside. Bruce has no intention of making this easy for him and he stonily relishes Dick's nervousness.

“Bruce, I just—I can’t sleep. I can’t go to sleep until I’m sure you’re not mad at me anymore. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Nothing. I’m not the one in the hospital with a broken arm.”

“Jesus, Bruce. I made a mistake!”

“You can’t afford to make mistakes like that.”

Dick’s anguish and frustration are so gratifying they fuel Bruce’s craving to reprimand him further.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. What more can I say other than that?”

He creeps closer to Bruce as he speaks, even though it would probably be wiser to back away. Bruce closes the distance between them and looms over Dick, menacing. The way Dick thrusts his chin forward, not defiantly, but in an attempt to prove that he’s not intimidated, nearly makes Bruce smile. He sneers instead.

“I should punish you,” he says coldly, and the moment he says it he knows what he wants to do.

Dick gulps and blinks a few times, but holds eye contact. Then he frowns, as if he’s suddenly confused by what Bruce might mean.

“What?” he says.

“Perhaps I should have spanked you more when you were younger. Perhaps if I had you’d be better at doing what you’re told now.”

The alarm in Dick’s eyes warms Bruce from the inside out.

“Spanked me?” he repeats doubtfully. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Not really, no.” Dick’s uncertainty about what exactly is going on just makes it that much sweeter. “Are you actually suggesting that—” He stops. Possibly too embarrassed to finish the sentence.

Bruce waits.

“Do you want to…” Dick squints at him, pursing his lips together in disbelief. “…spank me?”

The way he whispers the last two words indicates to Bruce that Dick might be aware of all the implications of submitting to such a punishment, which intensifies Bruce’s anger at the same time as arousing him in ways that aren’t wholly appropriate.

“It might teach you an important lesson.”

“But I’m sixteen,” he whines childishly. “You can’t.”

“Excuse me?” Bruce snarls.

“I mean, I’m too old to be spanked,” Dick replies stubbornly.

“But you’re not too old to behave like an infant apparently.”

“So what, I’m supposed to lie over your lap or something?”

Bruce clenches his jaw and forces himself not to react further. He breathes in deeply but silently through his nose, waits a beat, then turns away from Dick, walks towards the bed, turns around again and sits down.

“Correct,” he says, smiling slightly at the way Dick stares at his lap in horror.

Then something in Dick’s attitude changes. He looks back up at Bruce’s face, his eyes flaring, just as they do before he undertakes a particularly challenging task. Dick’s nothing if not determined, and he doesn’t shuffle towards Bruce, he strides.

He faces Bruce and his dignified façade turns into something a little more playful, as he dips his chin and looks at Bruce through lowered lashes. “Should I pull down my pants?” he asks coyly.

The question threatens to shatter Bruce’s self control entirely, and he’s suddenly acutely aware of his bourgeoning erection. Like Dick, he’s wearing nothing but his sleep pants, which hardly conceal the problem, but Dick isn’t looking there. He’s still staring insolently into Bruce’s eyes, daring Bruce to follow through on his absurd threat.

“Yes,” Bruce says, unthinkingly. Not that he regrets it as such, but did he really just ask Dick to pull his pants down and lie across his lap?

The expression on Dick’s face is a delightful combination of fear, confusion and stubborn resolve. Bruce wonders momentarily whether Dick will persist or flee, but then he tentatively pushes down his pants, just below his groin, revealing his own semi-erect penis to Bruce before climbing onto him.

That Dick is partly aroused by the situation makes it both better and worse. Better because one-sided lust is never a pleasant ordeal. Worse because it makes it that much more impossible not to carry on. How can he stop now? Bruce knows he must. He knows how preposterous this is and that anger and punishment have little to do with what he’s about to do, but looking down at those smooth, pale, rounded buttocks destroys the last of his willpower.

He brings his palm down hard and fast, eliciting a most gratifying shriek from Dick, who had clearly not expected Bruce to deliver on his promise with such force. He does it again and this time the sound Dick makes is less surprised, more pained. He keeps smacking Dick, careful to give each buttock an equal amount of attention, until they’re both a deep, dark crimson.

Dick turns his head towards Bruce, glistening eyes silently begging for mercy, but Bruce keeps going. One more. Just one more.

One more.

The way Dick jerks in his lap, hip rubbing back and forth against Bruce’s penis, is distressingly pleasurable, and the sight of his glowing rear end, bruised with the marks of Bruce’s handprint, makes it beyond difficult to stop, even though he knows he’s gone too far.

He finally ceases his attack and allows himself to touch Dick more gently, rubbing the burning flesh in slow, soothing circles, which cause Dick to whimper gratefully and rock against Bruce’s thighs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bruce says gruffly, but he lets the tips of his fingers slip between Dick’s buttocks for a second, the damp heat there and the way Dick gasps, causing his breathing to quicken.

Dick doesn’t answer him, but he does wriggle the rest of the way out of his pajamas and kick them to the floor, so that he’s naked and shamelessly writhing on Bruce’s lap. Getting off on Bruce, and evidently more than willing to service Bruce at the same time. Dick can’t not be conscious of Bruce’s penis, or the way Bruce has begun to thrust his hips.

He would put a stop to it if he were at all capable, but he isn’t. Even less so when Dick scrambles up off his lap, and straddles him, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s neck and boldly offering his lips to Bruce to be kissed. He’s impossible to resist, and Bruce doesn’t try.

The feel of Dick’s tongue in his mouth—probing him curiously as he ruts happily in Bruce’s lap, moaning deliciously into Bruce’s open mouth—is enough to make Bruce groan.

“Oh, oh—” Dick chants breathlessly. “Bruce.” He pushes ineffectively at the waistband of Bruce’s pajamas, and Bruce falls backwards, landing on the bed with a soft thump, pulling Dick down with him, and when he’s flat on his back with Dick straddling his stomach, he lifts his hips off the bed and shoves his pants down.

“You are very badly behaved,” Bruce gasps, grasping Dick’s hips and maneuvering him into the most effective position, so that he can hold them together, stroke them together, work his fist up and down, up and down, causing Dick to grunt and moan and shake.

The expression on Dick’s face is one of wild, blissful abandon. Seeing him this way: a filthy rendering of that beautiful grace Bruce has always silently admired and adored; it’s not rightfully his, it doesn’t belong to Bruce. Even if it feels like it should.

He watches Dick’s face when he orgasms; it’s an incendiary sight that sends Bruce over the edge. He pulls Dick close and holds him to his chest as they shudder through the aftershocks, sticky and hot and slippery with sweat.

“Oh my God Bruce,” Dick whispers, sounding truly amazed. “That was really awesome.”

The haze of sex helps Bruce to conveniently disregard how youthful Dick sounds (and feels), and simply smile into his hair, kissing him on the top of his head.

“Did you learn your lesson?” Batman asks.

Dick laughs against his chest. “Yes sir,” he says, sighing happily as Bruce runs a hand over his still-warm buttocks and squeezes.

Bruce is aware that he should and must send Dick back to his own room, but he allows himself a few more moments, because Dick’s smooth, hot skin under his hand is magnetic. Hypnotic.

But when Dick’s breathing changes to that of a sated boy, fast asleep, Bruce knows it’s too late to send him away.

He’ll deal with this mess in the morning.

The end.

Tags: fic, fic: dcu
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