Title: A Song Of Innocence

Author: MJ Lee

E-Mail: mj.lee@chello.se

Fandom: Batman

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Dick Grayson

Archiving: Ask and ye shall receive.

Feedback: Please?

Disclaimer: I don't think anyone would want to be owned by me so I guess it's just lucky I'm only borrowing.

Notes: Once again I have to thank Raven for invaluable beta, wonderful discussions and endless patient encouragement - as well as telling me to stop thinking so much and just do what definitely does not come natural tome!

Thanks also to Velma for much of the same, and to Fi for being well, Fi :-)

A SONG OF INNOCENCE

By MJ

I close my eyes when his arms pull me against his hard length. My body is pliant and fluid as he strokes down my flanks and nudges my knees apart, one long finger stroking deep inside, slick with gel. I feel my cock stir and harden, as my hips begin to move. He laughs softly against my neck, biting lightly at my nape at the exact spot he knows drives me crazy, his tongue soothing the small wound immediately. In reply I shudder and tilt my head, my fingers grabbing at the cool smooth linen sheets below me. In the back of my head I am vaguely grateful that there is a bed and a mattress, at least my knees won't ache come morning. God knows Bruce has fucked me in more uncomfortable places: against a wall in a dark alley, the hood of the Batmobile, bent over a stone balustrade on a country estate at a charity event we attended together.

His large hands are exploring every inch of my body, no place is too private for him. He knows my body's responses better than I. Ruthlessly he uses that knowledge to drive me to the edge and beyond, until I have to stifle a scream by biting deep into the back of my hand. The stinging pain takes the edge of my need as he combs his fingers through the short fleecy hair between my open sweat-slicked thighs. My mouth open and I hear myself moan softly, gutturally. My head moves slowly from side to side, I'm on fire, helpless to my body's spiraling need, sweat moistening my skin as another finger joins the first one, slowly scissoring back and forth, loosening me up, making me ready...

His other hand is playing with my balls, rolling them between his fingers, smoothing the skin, tickling lightly. It's not enough, it's not ever enough. He has taught my body what it needs all too well.

I moan again and push my ass against the hot hardness nudging the cleft. In reply, he pulls back slightly bracing himself before he thrusts inside.

It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. For a moment the world grinds to a halt, my ass on fire as I forget to breathe. My body tenses and arches in rejection of his flesh buried deep inside me. The only thought in my head now is to crawl away from the pain. But his hand on my hip stops my spasms and his body holds me in place. I groan, burying my face into my arm. If I thought he would listen I would beg for mercy.

Pain and pleasure. There are times I wonder where one ends and the other begins. Despite my determination to not show my pain, I scream once before my body begins to adjust to the intruder. Slowly, too slowly, pleasure overtakes the dark pain. Bruce remains still, waiting, his ragged breathing harsh and loud in the silence of the room.

Feeling me relax slightly, he starts to move, slowly, sliding almost out and then all the way inside. I bite my lip until I can taste blood on my tongue as his cock slides over my prostate again and again. His hand begins to milk my cock slowly in time to his thrusts.

Oh God!

I have to stifle another scream as I feel pleasure coil and spread from my cock and balls to every atom of my body. I lose all coherent thought, become nothing more than a animal blind in its lust. Finally I come, and come, spilling myself helplessly across his hand. Weakly I collapse, feeling him stiffening and hear him groan as he comes deep inside me.

In a daze I feel him withdraw and I turn over and sprawl on my back, still breathing in heavy slow gasps. Damp hair falls across my forehead but I'm too weary to reach up and push it aside so he does it for me.

Slowly, unwillingly I open my eyes to find him leaning on his elbow looking down at me.

I stare back silently.

His face is enough to make good women go bad and bad women believe in heaven. The long, muscular body is one men would kill for. Power, money, blue-blood, he's got them all in spades. He is all man. Bruce Wayne, the Batman. In the here and now he is also all mine.

His eyes are an intense dark blue, open, vulnerable, the light in them one I know is for me alone. Almost tentatively he bends his head and kisses me lightly on the mouth, the tip of his tongue whispering across my lips, coaxing entrance.

I open my mouth as his kiss deepens, tasting him on my tongue. My body is sated and heavy, my mind empty. Distantly I feel his hands frame my face, tracing the shape of my nose and cheekbones, his touch caressing, moving over my skin his touch reaffirming what I already know.

You're mine Dick.

I love you Dick.

My eyes tell him what I can never say aloud.

I want you Bruce.

I hate you Bruce.

* * *

The first time I saw Batman was moments after the greatest trauma of my life. I had just watched my parents plummet to their deaths. I sat on the ground holding my father's body in my arms and howled my pain and grief when I looked up and saw him emerge from the shadows above me. For a moment I thought he was an angel of death come for my mom's and dad's souls.

Too late I realized it was not their souls, but mine he wanted.

His cold blue piercing eyes met mine and when he spoke, his dark growl sent shivers up my spine. "I know who you are Dick Grayson. Come with me. I will help you get justice for your parents."

I was ten years old and I had lost everything in the world. My childhood ended as I looked at the large hand he held out and slowly I took it, sealing our bargain.

For the next two years I worked like a slave. I had made a promise on my parents' grave and I intended to keep it. It took another two years before I watched as the cops cuffed Tony Zucco and led him off to prison.

I felt like I was finally free.

With Zucco's arrest a chapter closed in my life. The problem was, Batman, Bruce, expected me to be the same. I had lost that desperate edge that drives him. Suddenly I started to notice other things, like the fact that I was a teenager.

It could be fucking confusing at times. During the day I was Richard Grayson, high-school heartthrob - not my idea - by night I fought crime at Batman's side. At a time when most teenagers break away from their parents, rebel against authority, begin discovering who they are, I spent all my time either studying, working out in the cave, doing research on the criminals we fought or all three things at the same time. Always there was the understanding that I never quite measured up to Bruce's standards. He never stopped reminding me that I could have moved faster, hit harder, been smarter.

As for my social life, in the past year I had been on exactly two dates and both had been interrupted by Batman beeping me in the middle.

Slowly I began to question Bruce's fanaticism. Watching the ordinary teenagers I was surrounded by each day; making out, giggling, their lives so full of hope and innocence. I longed to be one them. I didn't want to just watch them perching on a dark rooftop, in a brief pause while fighting for my life against low-life scum. I longed for everything that I'd never had. Not a normal life, hell, when you're a circus kid you grow up fast, but I wanted the time and space to find out who I was. I wanted to be someone more than just, 'Batman Junior.'

* * *

"Dammit, Dick, you have to be more careful! Dent almost got you today," Bruce harassed me as we got out of the Batmobile. He had not stopped haranguing me once as we drove home after a long night of stopping Two-Face.

It didn't matter that we'd succeeded or that'd I'd taken out a half-dozen men on my own.

Sweaty, tired, already wincing from the bruises of where one of Two-Face's goon had got me, I was thinking of the algebra test I had in, I glanced at the watch and almost swore, about four hours. I was in no mood for one of his lectures and suddenly I'd had enough. "You're not my father. Bruce, so back off!" I snarled slamming the car door.

My voice was cold and angry as I started to pull my suit off. "I'm tired of being the perfect little toy soldier in your crusade. I'm not you. I can't be you, I don't *want* to be you." I turned and glared him.

I don't know what he saw in my eyes in that moment, but it must have convinced him I was serious. That this was no ordinary teenage rebellion. Not that I'd ever been an ordinary teenager.

"You have no claim on me," I told him arrogantly. I wish I could say that I didn't mean to hurt him, but the fact is that I knew exactly what I was doing as the words just exploded from me. "I'm sixteen, Bruce, two more years and then I can do whatever the hell I want! You don't have any hold on me."

His eyes were like chips of ice and suddenly my mouth went dry as my heart began to pound heavily in my chest. I had come too far to back down now. Deep inside, I knew that we needed to clear the air, that somehow I had to make him understand how I felt. A little more calmly I said, "I know what we're doing is important, but you're going to have to give me some space, Bruce."

He didn't answer, seemed stunned actually and I started to feel a little ashamed.

The Batman is the loneliest person I've ever met. Everybody he has ever loved has left him, starting with his parents. Although he has never forgiven himself for living when they died, neither has he ever forgiven them for dying and leaving him alone. He has lived alone all his life, because of who he is, but also because he will not let himself love again, let himself be open to the pain that comes with parting. He told me once he never expected or wanted to love me.

Now I was telling him in so many words that if I wanted to leave there was not a damned thing he could do about it. I was reminded again, that I am the one person he trusts, apart from Alfred.

Even before he moved I was readying an apology. "Bruce, I..." I started to say but the words dried up in my throat as he stalked closer.

Although they could have used the Batman as a model for the word control, when he loses it, he loses it big time. I've seen him literally break things - and people when he gets angry enough. I only had to look at him now to know that he was furious. Groveling time, Dick, I told myself with a grimace.

I gave him a tentative smile and held out my hands. "Bruce, ah, look, can we talk about this like reasonable people?"

He didn't answer, just continued to stalk me, eyes glimmering in a way that made me more than a little uncomfortable. Powerful shoulders moved under the black latex, muscles rippling, as he shook his head. "Too late, Dick. If you're going to behave like a spoiled brat, then I'll treat you like one."

Silently I cursed. Hell, he was turning this into alpha male shit. Damn. I knew it was idiotic to fight back, but I couldn't help it. Guess I'm just not a natural submissive person. "Stop it, Bruce, I'm not in the mood, okay?"

I retreated until my back hit the wall of the Batcave. He didn't stop until he had me pinned against the wall. His body pressed against mine and my eyes widened in absolute shock as I felt something hot and hard pressed against my stomach.

Fuck. Bruce was getting turned on by this.

I stopped breathing unable to believe what was happening. It was bad enough that Bruce had me up against the wall, but he was hard as a rock, his breathing a harsh rasp. I stared at up him trying to formulate a question... a denial... *something* as I waited for him to push away, maybe tell me it was nothing, just a physical reflex.

I know that women slaver over Bruce like he's a chocolate truffle, but I had honestly never thought of him like that. To me he was simply *Bruce* the most important person in my life. My one source of security and authority.

The moment his hands started to wander down my body the spell that had kept me immobile broke. I fought back, kicking and snarling trying to push him away. He was not only bigger, stronger, faster, he had also taught me everything I ever knew about fighting.

Before I knew it, he had me on the floor, his body-weight holding me down literally squeezing the air from my lungs.

"Get the fuck off me!" I gasped, trying to break free. I was still more angry than afraid. I could just as easily have fought against a granite wall, a wall would probably have been easier to reason with.

Dimly I felt the thin pants I wore under the suit tear under his strong fingers, and panic began to fill me. "Stop it, Bruce!" I cried, stilling, trying reason. "I'm sorry, okay? Look, you can let me up now."

He ignored me and I twisted in his grip, looking into his face. It wore a blind, hungry look. That's how the Bat looks when he's sighted his prey, except.... My mouth went dry. This time I wasn't hunting beside him. This time I was the quarry.

I felt his hands grasp my hips in a grip I knew would leave bruises. I heard my own voice babble in breathless terror, "No, no, don't, Bruce..." But when has the Batman ever listened to anyone? Much less his 'kid' sidekick.

I lay on the cold steel floor of the Batcave, the man I loved as brother on top of me, his hands stripping me of my clothes. Shivering violently from the coolness of the metal against my skin I couldn't shake the feeling that this was all some surrealistic nightmare. Any time now I would wake up. Any time now... any time.

I felt his lips move against the nape of my neck and then had to swallow a gasp as strong teeth bit into my shoulder. I came up in an arch of reflex, and he used the motion to press his cock against my ass the blunt tip digging deep into the cleft. I screamed, doubling my efforts to get free, blind panic filling me.

Strong hands pulled me up to my knees, and his fingers moved over my stomach and grasped my flaccid cock firmly. I flinched, but all he did was to stroke, almost gently.

I fought it, grimly, hopelessly, but I'm sixteen and in peak physical condition. It did not take him long to bring me to dripping hardness and my eyes filled with tears as I felt my own body betray me. It seemed like the ultimate defeat that even as he betrayed everything I had ever thought we were, what he did felt so good, oh so good... I writhed in his hands, moaning my despair and need.

I don't know where Bruce learned his tricks, but I know more than one whore who would pay good money for it. Helplessly I groaned as my hips began thrusting involuntarily into his hand, as his thumb smoothed again and again over the weeping crown of my cock.

Giving up the unequal struggle, I had no choice but to surrender to my body's needs.

Spreading my knees in mute surrender I arched my neck and came, shame rushing through me. I don't know who I hated more in that moment, myself for my weakness or him for using it against me.

Trembling, I would have fallen into a heap on the floor if it wasn't for his strong arms holding me up, and still wracked with shudders, I made no attempt to move when I felt Bruce shift, although he didn't let me go. Dimly he could feel him move until we were facing each other, I still on my knees, he rising and standing so that my head was at level with his groin. The large hands that had bandaged my bruises and scrapes, that had held and comforted me, moved to frame my head.

"Open your mouth." The terse command were the first words he'd uttered since my world exploded into dark splinters and chaos.

I shook my head stubbornly and felt fingers of steel tighten around my jaw.

I looked up then, ready to plead or beg if necessary. "Br..." the words died on my lips. I had never seen that expression on his face, and I never wanted to see it again.

Hot tears slowly spilled down my face and I closed my eyes not wanting Bruce to see them. I opened my mouth and felt it filled with throbbing, hard flesh.

I could feel the hardness of the floor dig into my knees as I knelt at his feet and I knew that if I looked down it would be sticky with my come. I had stopped fighting. At that moment I think I would have done anything Bruce wanted. My mind was empty, apathetic and I remained passive, unmoving as he fucked my face.

Breathing through my nose, my nails digging into the palms of my hands, I tasted the salty bitterness of him on my tongue; and I learned what true humiliation is.

His cock slipped down my throat and I choked and almost gagged, having to fight the reflex to close my mouth. I didn't need the warning of Bruce's fingers tightening against my throat to know that would be a really bad idea. For a moment I considered biting down hard. Even as I considered it, I dismissed it. Maybe I would hurt Bruce, but he could hurt me a hell of a lot worse.

Once I would have bet my life that Bruce would never lift a finger to harm me. I would also have wagered my soul that he would never have touched me sexually...

I had never done this before, I had never wanted to, but like most sixteen year-olds I know the facts of life. I had also in my role as Robin spent more than one night with the rent boys down on the strip chasing some petty low-life. Maybe because we were roughly the same age, maybe because they could sense that I didn't judge them, they spoke to me freely. More than once I'd been grateful for the mask covering my face as I'd blushed at their matter-of-fact discussions. From what they'd told me I knew that if Bruce wanted anal sex he could hurt me badly.

At the moment I didn't think that would stop him.

Tongue flicking out, I wrapped it hesitantly around the crown, sucking steadily. In response he groaned, penetrating deeper until I wondered if he was going to push his way down into my lungs.

Desperately trying to draw enough air through my tortured throat, black spots beginning to dance before my eyes, I felt his reflective shudder and then he stiffened and a flood of warm bitter liquid filled my nose and mouth making me cough and choke. Dimly I felt him pull away and I collapsed into a boneless heap.

* * *

I lay where he left me for a long time, curled into a small ball on the floor, the taste of his come in my mouth, all but choking me, arms wrapped around my body as I slowly rocked back and forth. I could not believe what had just happened. Whatever conflicts had been between us, I had always thought that at heart Bruce respected me.

I remember once a teacher in biology told us about wolves and how the leader of the pack would mount and fuck a yearling wolf to show his contempt, to show him who's the boss. I now knew exactly how that unfortunate cub felt. Bruce could not have told me more clearly even if he'd shouted the words.

When I finally pulled myself together and got up from the floor, I walked slowly to my room, and went straight into the shower. I was very grateful that I didn't run into Alfred on my way.

Standing beneath the hot spray, I scrubbed at my skin until it was red and I cleaned my teeth until my gums bled, but it didn't matter. I still felt Bruce's hands and mouth on me, tasted his come in my throat. Numb, I didn't bother to get dressed again as I crawled into bed and lay there shivering for a long time.

Finally I fell into a light restless sleep disturbed by nightmares of dark threatening shadows.

By the time I woke, the sun was already setting and I realized that I had missed the algebra test. I really couldn't care less. My mouth twisted into a humorless grin. Funny how a few hours can change your priorities.

When I finally ventured downstairs Bruce was gone. Alfred asked me if I wanted dinner, as Bruce was attending some charity ball. Not particularly eager to endure Al's sharp eye and questions, I mumbled something about homework and retreated upstairs with some sandwiches.

Although I opened my books and actually spent some time staring at them, I must have read the same page fifteen times before I admitted defeat and closed them with a bang. The sandwiches remained untouched on their plate, the very thought of food made me sick.

Sitting in my room I stared blindly at the wall my mind still trying to wrap itself around the fact of what had happened last night.

When it was time for bed Bruce still hadn't returned and I undressed slipping into bed very grateful that for once the Batsignal didn't light up the sky.

I slept badly that night, starting and half-waking at every noise. Finally, there was the slam of a car-door and when I glanced at the clock on the bedside table it read 3:26 a.m.

Wide awake I lay in the darkness listening to the dull thud of a door opening and closing. The steps came closer and closer, slowing to a half.

My muscles went rigid as I watched the handle slowly move and the door slide open.

He did not ask if I was awake or if he was disturbing me. For some reason that almost made me smile. It was so typical Bruce.

I watched as he crossed the room. He was still in black dress pants and white shirt, but he'd taken off the dinner jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

I sat up, wrapping my arms around my knees. "Bruce." To my surprise my voice sounded very normal. It was like a hundred other times when he'd come to my room and discussed a case, a problem, and very rarely, to compliment me on a job well done. The difference was that this time you could cut the tension between us with a knife.

He sat down at the side of my bed and I had to suppress the instinct to scoot back. For a long time there was silence between us. I wondered if he'd come to tell me how sorry he was. I imagined Bruce on his knees begging my forgiveness.

He spoke abruptly. "You're mine, Dick."

I don't know why I ever expected that Bruce would apologize about anything.

I bit my lip, my voice suddenly trembling a little despite my best efforts. "You're my guardian, not my owner, Bruce."

He leaned over, placing a hand on each side of my body, effectively trapping me. I could smell his cologne as he moved closer. "I am both. You're not an ordinary kid I've fostered; you're Robin. The moment you put on that suit you relinquished all claims to a normal childhood."

Calmly he said, "I promised you the chance to avenge your parents' murder and I have." Subtly, he reminded me of the debt I owed him.

I knew he was right, although I almost asked him what choice I'd had. I had been ten years old for fuck's sake and he had been all I had. In many ways he still was. Still, he was right and I bent my head, "I know," I said softly. "But, y-y-you...," to my horror I heard my stuttering, "didn't have to do what you did last night." I couldn't force the words past my lips. Somehow *saying* it would make it real in a way I wasn't prepared to deal with.

There was a deep sigh and then a gentle finger tilted my head so he could look into my eyes. I had to force myself not to flinch away from his touch. "That I regret, Dick. It's not the way I would have wanted our first time together to be like." I went very still as he continued, "You made me angry, and I've wanted you for a long time."

I forgot to breathe.

Despite everything I had not really believed that Bruce wanted me. I had thought - hoped? - that it was all some kind of domination shit. Looking into his eyes I read the truth.

Bruce wanted me.

I wondered just how long had he had hidden his lust? Certainly I had never suspected anything. Okay, so I can be just as stupid and naive as the next guy at times.

"I've watched as you grew from a pretty little boy to a beautiful young man." His deep voice was very soft and his thumb was lazily stroking my lower lip. "I'm not blind, Dick, or made of stone."

This time I couldn't stop my flinch. "Look, I've learned my lesson. I'm not going to question you again, Bruce," I said hurriedly, pulling away.

He didn't reply, and when I glanced at him his eyes had gone darker. He looked hungry and suddenly I was afraid.

"It's too late, Dick," he said as he reached for me again and pulled me into his arms. Despite my struggles, he flipped me on my back, his body lying half-on me and effectively pinning me into place. "We can't go back to what we were before today."

I shook my head, staring up into his face, feeling scared. "Stop it, Bruce. This is wrong."

In reply he grasped my wrists and pulled them over my head, holding them into place with one hand. Bending his head he began kissing his way down the curve of my chin and jaw, before moving up to trace the shape of my ear with his tongue.

I tensed in rejection, "*No*, I don't want this!" I tried to sit up, push him away. "Get off me, Bruce."

He looked at me then and smiled a little, "You will, Dick. I'm going to show you just how good it can be."

I glared at him suddenly furious. "Dammit Bruce, are you so hard-up you're turning into a rapist?" I struck back the only way I could, with words, trying to make him see the insanity of what he was doing.

He went still. "I'm not raping you."

I laughed in his face, the sound thin and bitter. "Yeah? I don't recall a lot of willingness last night. What the hell would you call what you did? Gentle seduction?"

There was a moment of silence. "Teaching you a lesson I hope you don't forget. Would you like another one?" there was a clear warning in the soft deep voice.

I was too angry, too keyed up to back down. My voice deliberately snarky I spat back, "What are you going to do? Beat me up? Spank me?"

He leaned forward, "Do you really want to know, Dick?"

I didn't answer but looked at the hands resting on each side of me. Hands I had seen literally break bones and smash pride into dust. I knew, none better, the leashed power in the large body hovering so close to me. I swallowed speaking to my knees.

"What did you expect, Bruce, that I would fall into your arms?" I looked at him, "do you think I liked what you did last night?" I tried desperately to keep a level tone. "You set out to humiliate me and you fucking well made your point."

Bruce threaded his fingers through my hair, tilting my head, holding me still for his inspection. I met his gaze levelly, calmly, although my heart pounded heavily. "Yes, I did, and if you don't want a repeat, then stop trying to push my buttons." He closed the distance between us and kissed me. For a moment I allowed it, and then I pulled away, wincing as his fingers snarled, inflexible, holding me prisoner.

"At least give me some time, Bruce." Anything to delay for at least a little while what I knew he wanted from me.

He shook his head. "No more time, Dick. I've let you run wild for too long." His fingers tightened in my hair. "I've waited too long."

I stared at him and almost laughed. "Run wild?" I repeated incredulous. "Fuck, Bruce, I've been your perfect little shadow for the past four years!"

"Don't swear," he told me, disapproval in his voice as he frowned.

I had to choke back hysterical laughter. "Shit, Bruce! Do you live on the same planet as the rest of us?" I wanted to remind him of the fact that he was on my bed and was very calmly telling me we were going to be lovers whether I wanted to or not. There was a very ugly word for what he was doing. Bruce has always had some very strange blind spots.

Before I could say anything else he kicked off his shoes and stretched out beside me, the bed creaking and swaying beneath his weight. His long body is amazingly lithe and flexible for such a big man.

Using the same patient voice with which he would tell me to finish my dinner or do my chemistry homework he said, "It's up to you Dick. We can do this the hard or the easy way," his mouth crooked wryly, "pun not intended. We can make love or I can teach you once again who you belong to." He bent his head, his breath whispering through my hair as he kissed my temple lightly before stilling and waiting for my answer.

I swallowed. "I hate you," I said bleakly, giving up, knowing that no matter what I would be thoroughly fucked before this night was over, and as he said, it was up to me whether I enjoyed it or not.

He went still and for a moment I thought he would stop, but then a shudder traveled through his body. "I know," he said quietly as he flipped me over, spread my legs and taught me why they call it 'taking.'

That night, we sealed our covenant in blood and pain and blinding pleasure. He fucked me and made me his.

He would say he loved me.

* * *

The next morning I woke in his bed, his arms around me, his dried come coating the inside of my thighs. Moving, I couldn't suppress an involuntary wince as tender muscles protested. Suddenly I felt a soft kiss on my shoulder and tensed, going very still.

"Good morning," his deep voice was very soft.

"Morning," I muttered not sure what to do, or feel. Awkwardly I half-turned, looking at him. I don't know what I'd expected but what really threw me was the fact that he looked the same. He smiled at me.

"You better hurry or you'll be late for school. When you come back I want you to check on some off-shore accounts I suspect the Penguin has set up."

I bit my lip. So this was how we would deal with what had happened last night. We wouldn't deal with it.

Bruce isn't one for talking about his feelings. Neither is Al, nor for all my quips, am I. I don't know what Alfred thought, or even if he and Bruce ever discussed it. By the time I made it downstairs, Bruce was gone and Alfred was polishing some Wayne silver. He looked up and said, "Good morning, Master Dick."

I mumbled a greeting, going to the refrigerator taking some milk and drinking it straight from the cartoon.

There had been a few moments when I wondered if I could appeal to Al for help, but I always knew that much as he liked, maybe even loved me, it was only in the shadow of his love for Bruce.

Sitting in school listening to the teacher drone on about the battle of Waterloo, I found myself wondering what would happen if anyone knew what we had done in bed. Bruce has always been a law unto himself, but I was underage and his ward, and surely if the authorities found out, there would be hell to pay.

Then again, I felt my mouth twist cynically, maybe not. If I have learned one thing during my life, it's that money and power talks, and Bruce has more than enough of both.

Driving home from school, the wind brushing through my hair I realized just how hopeless my situation really was.

Bruce Wayne is one of the world's most eligible bachelors and is notorious for his highly publicized affairs with some of the most beautiful women in the world. Somehow I don't think anyone would believe that he's fucking his poor little charity case ward. Besides, let's face it, even if they did, most people would probably think I still got a damned good bargain.

* * *

Strangely, whatever chaos our personal lives were in, we still functioned as smoothly on the street. We still moved and fought like one. Nevertheless, there were times I found myself staring at his broad back, muscles corded and taut unable to believe that this was the same man who took me so thoroughly each night when we returned to the gothic pile of stone we call home. The same man who taught me that need, lust, has nothing to do with emotions like respect or even friendship.

Gradually, as time passed, I felt the noose around my throat tighten. Bruce was taking over my life and I was close to panicking when I realized just how completely he controlled me. It seemed that the more he took, the more he wanted. I had nightmares of a time when not only my body but my every dream and hope and thought was his.

Step by careful step, he molded and shaped me and it didn't matter how hard I fought, I always lost.

It was a couple of months after that first night when we came back from making Gotham's streets safe. When I went to my room I found the drawers and wardrobe empty, the bed stripped of its sheets and my belongings gone. I stood in the empty room and just stared stupidly.

Going over to Bruce's I entered without knocking, "Bruce someth - " I broke off staring at the framed photograph of my parents standing on top of a new dresser.

Bruce was standing in the middle of the room stripping, pulling off the thin black shirt he wore beneath the Batsuit. He didn't even turn around. "I was wondering where you'd gone," he said calmly. "You can have the bathroom first."

My throat had gone dry. "I want my own room," I said, a note of pleading threading through my voice.

He shook his head. "No, I want you with me."

"Please, Bruce," I whispered against his throat as he reached out and took me in his arms. I really didn't want to fight, but I desperately needed the privacy of my own room.

His warm breath stirred my hair. "You don't need your room, Dick. You belong with me."

"Yes, Bruce," I reached up and kissed him on the jaw, felt him tense and still beneath the light touch. It wasn't often I touched him voluntarily. "I know. But this is important to me." I tilted my head, smiling up at him through my lashes, my body subtly teasing.

Suddenly I felt dirty, a whore selling his soul. Something of what I thought must have shown on my face because his arms tightened around me as he pulled me towards the bed.

I didn't resist as we sank down on the mattress together. I just lay silent, impassive on my back staring up into the ceiling as he stripped the clothes from my body.

From a distance I heard his deep rumble, "Open your mouth, Dick."

I shuddered, remembering the first time he told me the same. Force of habit triumphed and automatically I did as ordered. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth expecting it to be filled with his cock. Instead there was a warm soft touch and Bruce whispered, "Look at me, Dick."

I slowly opened my eyes and found him staring at me, something odd and possessive in the intense blue of his eyes.

Bruce and I share the same coloring; blue eyes, black hair, pale skin. But he is.... *more* is I guess the best way to describe him. He's taller than I, more handsome... more muscular.... more intelligent, certainly richer and a hell of a lot more intimidating!

I found myself looking into dark-blue eyes. "You belong to me Dick," I heard him growl and I shivered. "And if I ever hear you talk of leaving, you will regret it, do you understand?" He moved, pressing me into the mattress, his body heavy and hurting, as he pushed my legs apart, his hands sweeping arrogantly down my body, claiming me.

Fuck I hated the feeling. I hated *him*. I despised knowing that I was Bruce's. The room was just another way he had of making the point. He was far too intelligent not to know how I felt. Unfortunately, he also knew exactly what buttons to push, and I closed my eyes against the triumph in his face when my body came alive under his fingers, my cock hardening and my breath increasing. My hands fisted as I started twisting, not to escape but to rub against him.

Keeping my eyes tightly shut I prayed that tonight he wouldn't make me beg. He likes to do that at times. To get me really going and then watch as I scream in frustration. It's another way he has to reinforce his ownership.

I nodded quickly, obediently, anguish and panic lancing through me. He had made his point and we both knew it.

"I understand, Bruce." I felt small and helpless and trapped. Oh I can outfight and even outthink most guys on the street. But I am a minor and Bruce is my legal guardian as well as being richer than god. He's got all the cards stacked in his favor.

I knew in that moment that I will never be truly free, not as long as he lives. As they say, I can run but I can't hide. I know that he will always find me, and the truth is that I don't dare find out what he will do if I try and leave.

Although Bruce is not a demonstrative guy in or out of bed, he bit my ear gently and murmured, "I love you, Dick, you know that."

Not wanting to think, I wound my arms around his neck pulling him close, needing to drown my anger and frustration in physical need. "I know, Bruce."

I never spoke again about needing my own room.

* * *

On the surface nothing has changed. I fight beside him, covering his back, risking my life for him. I flash that famous smile at the girls and spout my one-liners as they oooh and aaah. The only change is that nowadays if I talk too long with someone or smile at her a little too warmly, Bruce will remind me with a tilt of his head and flash from his eyes whose I am. I feel the collar around my neck choke me.

Automatically my hand rises to worry the slender band of platinum that encircles my throat and my mind returns to the night he snapped it on...

I was resting against his chest, naked, eyes half-closed as his fingers lazily played with my nipples. I'm very sensitive there, and once Bruce discovered that he liked to stroke and tweak, loving it when I couldn't help but gasp and moan, little spark of pleasures shooting along my nerve-endings. Once in a while he reached down and stroked my cock, keeping it half-hard, quivering.

I bit my lip to stop the instinctive protest and the urge to squirm away from him. Protests, I knew, were useless. He knows I hate it when he does this to keep me on edge for hours, but that night he was making a point.

We had returned home from some society event where I had laughed a little too often and flirted a little too much. Bruce was angry, and with a shiver I wondered how he would make me pay for my few hours of freedom.

"You spent a lot of time with that little red-head," his deep voice was deceptively mild.

I tried to remember.... the red-head? Oh yeah, cute, giggly little thing. Exactly the sort of girl I used to fantasize about. She's the kind you take to football games and the movies. Have a burger with afterwards and then drive home, making out a little in the car... Clean, wholesome, normal. Everything that I'm not.

"I guess she was nice," I said carefully, my face wiped clean of all expression. I knew that voice from experience and it caused cold warnings to crawl down my spine.

His fingers grasped a nipple his earlier gentler touches had made erect and twisted hard enough to make me gasp and arch in pain. "You wanted her, Dick, didn't you?"

I tried to ignore the pain shooting through me as I said breathlessly. "No, no, Bruce... aah!" I exclaimed softly despite myself, "I swear it was nothing. Just some unimportant chit-chat." I dared to turn in his arms, "You know I would never do anything, Bruce."

He looked at me for a long time, brooding, eyes dark and hooded. Finally, his fingers gentled and I breathed out silently in relief, resisting the impulse to reach up and rub my abused and throbbing flesh. Instead I smiled at him, despising myself as I rubbed against his hard length, my fingers trailing down his stomach. As always he sucked in his breath, his cock hardening and his breathing growing ragged and uneven as he reached for me, pushing my legs apart...

While he plunged and grunted, his hands sliding on my hot sweat-soaked skin, my body moving in well-tutored response, I closed my eyes pulling deep into myself, away from the dark room and the man pressing me into the mattress.

My mind drifting, I thought of the contradiction at the heart of our relationship. Bruce wants me a hell of a lot more than I want him, and that knowledge lies unspoken between us. I can make him do almost anything I want with a touch or kiss. I smile at him and he is mine.

Yet, it is the one thing I won't do unless he forces it from me. Once in a while I will whore myself to stop him hurting me too badly, but mostly I prefer to take the pain of a brutal fucking to his lovemaking. Bruce knows this and it drives him crazy. It is my one victory and I hug it tightly inside. He has taken everything else from me, my freedom, my privacy, hell, my room! But at least it is my choice whether he will hurt me or not.

There are times I suspect I'm not exactly sane any longer.

Afterwards, he left the bed and returns, naked, carrying a small flat parcel. "Here, a present for you," he handed it to me, watching me carefully.

I stared at the package, wrapped in expensive silky paper and smelling faintly of some no doubt exclusive perfume. "What is it?" I made no move to touch it.

"Why don't you open it and see?" I felt a stab of fear shudder through me. He was still royally pissed. I had hoped that the fucking would get him in a better mood.

Not wanting to make him angrier, and despising myself for my cowardice, I gingerly picked it up and slowly took off the paper. Inside was a red velvet box bearing the name of a world-famous jeweler. It opened with a faint click. And nestling on more velvet, black this time, was a thin beautifully crafted metal band. I looked up at Bruce, a question in my eyes.

He sat down beside me a strange smile on his lips. "It's platinum, specially ordered."

I picked it up and watched it glitter in the light of the lamp. Small diamonds, set at the edge, sparkled. "What is it?"

His smile deepened. "A collar."

The band dropped from my suddenly nerveless fingers. I turned white as paper, my body shaking. "What?"

He picked it up. "Don't you want to see what's inscribed inside?" Oh he was enjoying this. He held it up and read slowly, "Property of BW."

I stared at him white-faced. "No," I shook my head. "No fucking way am I wearing that."

He said nothing, just waited. "Please, Bruce," I knew, I was begging but at the moment I didn't care. "Don't make me."

He said calmly, "Turn around."

For a moment I considered refusing, but one look into his eyes and I knew that once again I had a choice; not between refusing or wearing it, but whether I wanted to be beaten into a pulp and humiliated before wearing it. Mutely I obeyed, feeling the cool metal slide around my throat.

A faint click and the feel of the collar on my skin was like acid burning all the way into my soul, a brand marking me his for all the world to see.

"Stand up and go look at yourself in the mirror," he ordered.

Almost numb by then I obeyed, walking naked over to the mirror hanging on the wall. I was pale as a ghost, my eyes dark with anguish and humiliation, the silvery white of the collar reflecting in the polished surface I stared into.

I looked like the whore I am.

"Beautiful," I heard his deep voice behind me. "The spark of the diamonds against your skin, very sophisticated." He laughed, "perhaps you will set a new fashion, hmm?"

I bit my lip. "Whatever you say, Bruce." My voice was dull and I turned away, my head bowed.

"Come here, Dick," there was an odd note in the dark voice. Again I obeyed. If there is one thing Bruce has taught me it's obedience to his commands. Like a dog I will always come to heel at the sound of his voice. Perhaps the collar was just a confirmation of reality.

I felt his arms go around me and then he lifted me easily, and carried me to our bed. I expected him to fuck me again, but instead he just tucked my head into his shoulder and held me as sobs began to shake my body. I tried to hold them back, ashamed and humiliated that he was there to see my weakness. Bruce despises weakness, and sometimes I wonder if I had been stronger, faster, *better* he'd have taken me the way he did.

My tears soaked his skin, and I could feel him stroking me, whispering soft soothing words in my ear. Although he was the one responsible for the pain and tears, still I felt comforted and safe as he kissed the moisture from my face, licking it dry. I finally went to sleep still wrapped in his arms, my head pillowed on his chest.

Bruce was right. My friends in school thought it 'cool' and it did start a minor fashion trend.

* * *

Every night I lie in the arms of the man I once respected, loved, damn near worshipped as he takes my body and all I feel is lust and loathing. He knows this, I can see the pain in his eyes and a part of me is maliciously glad. But even more than that, I grieve over what was.

Like a small child I want yesterday back again. I want the time when he put his hand on my shoulder and all it meant was a quiet comfort. A time when I didn't shudder away from his touch and his smile at me was free of anguish and guilt and.... lust.

* * *

I don't know what Bruce sought between the thighs of all the willing women he fucked, and still does as far as I know, but he's never found it.

I think that the closest he has ever come to peace is when he's buried in my body. He likes to go to sleep like that. Spooned up behind me, his arms around my waist and his softened cock still deep inside me, our legs tangled, the scent of sweat and sex and come acrid in the air.

I lie in the darkness a heavy muscular arm slung across my waist, listening to his soft even breathing. Its weight subtly reminds me of his ownership. Of my place in his life. Of the fact that I am his to do with as he pleases.

Outside the first birds are beginning to sing and dawn is coming fast. Inside there is nothing but shadows, exactly as he prefers it, heavy velvet curtains drawn against the first rays of the morning sun. He stirs and I tense but he only mutters a little, his grip tightening, fingers moving instinctively across my skin in a caress that makes me shudder in mingled desire and loathing.

Who am I?

I am Dick Grayson.

I am Robin.

One day I will fly free.

THE END