Title: Stress Relief

Authors: Anne Higgins

Fandom: Batman

Pairing: Batman/Robin (Dick Grayson)

Rating: NC-17

Archive: Yes, to CKoS, Batslash, WWOMB, Nesting Place

Summary: The guys need to blow off some steam after a close call.

Warnings: Consensual spanking. Not a discipline story. Pure PWP.

Canon Note: No particular version of Batcanon, but I did use the look of the weapon's room and the heavier rubber costumes of the movies. However, if pressed for background details, I'd say this particular relationship dynamic would result from the long-term situations of the comics or cartoon versus the year or two of the movies. Which is far more set-up info than any PWP should need, but, ah well. ...

*Faster, damnit.* The silence in the Batmobile pressed down on Robin with such weight he kept wondering if it were some sort of hallucination and the ceiling had indeed collapsed on him. His body felt as if it were on fire, the adrenaline burning through his blood long after it had given him the strength and speed to survive.

He risked a sideways glance at the grim figure beside him. How much the worse for the Batman who had seen the explosion but had been too far away to do anything but watch and wait to find out if his partner had survived. Yes, the Bat's blood would be boiling even hotter than his own.

The atmosphere too oppressive to squirm, Robin did not so much as twitch, but his heart pounded, his skin itched and his backside throbbed with need. All he wanted to do was get back to the cave and get that hard column of flesh between the Bat's legs buried deep inside his body.

Some nights were like this. A surge of energy from a battle fought near the end of the night that refused to dissipate. Fast, hard sex helped, but the effects would linger until the next night's patrol making sleep difficult and keeping them both on edge. Only thing he could feel grateful about was that the mood always hit them both at the same time. He didn't even want to think about burning like this without an answering heat from his only source of salvation.

And the Bat did burn. The heavy armor of their costumes kept the most obvious sign painfully hidden, but Batman had already sent the signal to the Cave informing Alfred Pennyworth that he would not be needed upon their return. In other words, 'go to bed; I'm going to fuck the kid the minute we get back.'

Robin had seen far too much on the streets to ever blush again, but the thought of the dignified gentleman's gentleman knowing they were about to do something very undignified always gave him a twinge. Not that he minded. It made it all the more dark and reckless. Exactly what he needed.

"Take off your groin guard."

The order startled him. He'd not expected a word until the cave. But he'd almost died tonight. Dumb luck had made him glance in the right direction, let him see the bomb and a digital display counting down the last few seconds. He'd had no time to do anything but lunge for the nearest window, the thug he'd caught an afterthought he tugged along in his wake. Glass burst before him, while an inferno of heat and sound erupted behind him. His costume had protected him from all of it. The perp he'd caught -- the bomber? -- hadn't been quite so lucky. He was on the way to the hospital with burns and wounds from flying debris, but he'd survive to serve a nice long prison sentence.

On the surface nothing to get a cowl into a twist over, but Robin knew one glance had made the difference between 'I'm fine' and death. Luck kept them alive as often as training and intelligence, but the Batman hated this particular fact of life. So why had Robin told him what had happened? Because his own blood sizzled with more heat than the flames consuming the warehouse he'd fled, and he needed ... oh, how he needed.

He unfastened what he always thought of as a high-tech codpiece, then slipped it down his legs and off. He struggled not to do more, knowing the Bat needed to give orders and -- God help him -- he wanted to surrender, to follow them.

Mercifully, the Dark Knight opted for something resembling chivalry. "Unzip. All the way."

Oh, God. The only zipper in his suit ran from an inch above his groin to his tailbone. His hand shook as he eased it open, gasping with relief as his erection sprang free from the confines of his costume. He had to unfasten his safety harness, lift up and switch hands to finish the task. Refastening his harness he waited for what would come next, trying to stay calm while his heart thundered in his chest and his weeping cock demanded attention.

"Cuff your hands behind your back, then spread your legs wide."

He swallowed, fumbled at his utility belt, pulled the cuffs free, then somehow managed to secure his wrists, his cock jumping with excitement as the lock on the restraints clicked shut. The confines of the Batmobile prohibited the sort of wanton sprawl he wanted, but he got his legs as far apart as they could go without intruding into the driver's space.

Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. He fought not to moan in frustration and anticipation, then a gauntlet covered hand reached over and gripped his cock. Something close to a scream burst from his lips and he arched up, straining against the seat harness.

The grip tightened. No pumping by the hand, no further thrusting on his part. Nothing more than a hand closing tighter and tighter. Damn, the man always knew what he needed. Pleasure flirted with pain and he came with a soft whimper, his seed spreading over the dark glove. His erection wilted, but not much. Oh, it was going to be a long night. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the sensation of the gauntlet resting against his sensitive flesh.

The darkness grew deeper. They'd entered the access tunnel to the Batcave. Home. Sweet home. His heart began to pound with anticipation. He had to fight not to squirm, not to ease some of the tension in his body by rubbing the bared crack of his ass against the seat. Patience. It was all about patience.

Not that the Bat seemed to have much tonight. The Batmobile jerked to a stop and within seconds, strong hands freed Robin from the seat harness, then pulled him up over one broad shoulder. A gloved finger pressed at his anus and slipped easily inside.

"You're ready for me."

As usual. Robin hated wasting time, and they always did something when they returned from patrol. A hard pounding in the cave, achingly sweet love in Bruce's bedroom or something in between. Besides, he loved standing next to the Bat with both of them knowing his hole was slick and waiting while the various beauties of Gotham flirted with a Dark Knight who wanted no one but him.

The finger fucked him as long strides carried them both across the cave and into the wardrobe. Various versions of their costumes stood ready in the alcoves while a host of weapons lined the walls, the metal parts gleaming in the light. In this room Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson became Batman and Robin. Or vice versa. From mere mortal to costumed hero, then back again. From duty to need. The perfect place.

Robin was draped over a waist-high padded bench, heard the faint rustles of Batman adjusting his own costume, then. ... "Finally," he groaned as a thick hard shaft slammed into him. No foreplay needed or wanted tonight. He'd seduced his handsome guardian long ago, and the man had rewarded him by using him often.

The strength of a man capable of lifting a grown criminal with only one hand gave each thrust a bone rattling power. Hard and fast. Harder, faster. More. More. Harder. Harder! Not hard enough! Damnit!

With a loud groan, Batman pulled out of Robin's body, leaving them both panting with frustration. It seemed not even the tried and true would take the edge off of tonight.

Hands still cuffed behind his back curled into fists of frustration. Not enough. The Bat could fuck him raw, but it would not be enough. Robin wanted to wail, scream beneath the desperate need for anything that would free him from the fire consuming him.

He shifted his head so he had something to look at beyond the floor and caught Batman's reflection in the metal parts of a hundred weapons. Saw the man's hands clenching and unclenching in a rhythm of frustration that had to at least equal Robin's.

Robin almost smiled. One lucky glance had saved his life tonight. It seemed another might save his sanity. "Do it," he hissed.

"What?" A low growl of a voice that screamed 'this is not working.'

He almost said 'hit me,' but, no, accuracy was important. He swallowed, his throat dry. He'd seen the man put a fist through a wall without flinching. Certain he had lost his mind, but equally certain he'd found the answer, he whispered, "Spank me."

The word seemed to echo in the absolute silence that swept over them. One very reminiscent of that night Robin had first demanded, 'Fuck me.' The answer was the same. A few moment's consideration, then action. No waffling, no 'are you certain you want this?', nothing but a very determined pounce. That was his Bat. God, how he loved him. Wanted him. Needed him.

The bottom half of his costume was stripped down to mid-thigh, leaving his legs imprisoned in the rubber, but his ass bare. Vulnerable. He'd never felt more naked in his life.

The first blows merely stung. A slap against his right buttock, then one to the left. His skin began to tingle, to grow warm. Slap, slap. No pattern this time. Random smacks that fell with more power. Right, right, left, right again. He gasped as the gauntlet covered hand struck to the crease between his left buttock and thigh. Pain, sharp and hot. So good.

Almost with a mind of its own, his body lifted, pushing his buttocks upward, begging for the next smack. He began to moan. Oh, it hurt. Hurt. A delicious, fiery hurt. More. Please, more.

He'd once suffered a broken leg with nothing more than stiff-lipped silence, but now he let himself surrender to the power mastering him. Tears began to fall, then he sobbed. His chest heaved with them, a babble of words flowing from his mouth begging for Batman to stop, swearing he'd be good, that he'd never die, that he'd never worry him again if only he would stop. All while his ass lifted up to met each blow.

"Stop, please." More. Harder. Oh, oh, more. "No, no. Love you. Won't leave you." Faster. Hurts. Oh, God, it hurts. More.

Smack. Smack. Louder and louder. Harder and faster. All that strength coming down on his raised ass. Hurt. Burns. Moremoremoremoremoremore!. "Batman!" he screamed, his body trembling with his need to come, but he wanted....

The hard cock slammed into its sheath once more, making Robin scream again and again as the Batman's pelvis impacted with his bruised backside. Hard, fast and deep. Like the burning consuming his flesh. Oh, yes. Yes. Yes. Yesssssssssssss. He came with a soundless shout, his vocal cords frozen by the power of his release.

The floor seemed to spin beneath him, his eyes blinking so rapidly he thought strobe lights lit the room, then he slumped. Spent. Used and abused. Rode hard and put away wet.

Only the rider didn't seem to be in much better shape. A heavy weight slumped against him. The Bat must have climaxed in almost the same second he had.

Robin almost laughed. Head dangling a few inches off the floor, his throbbing ass telling him he wouldn't be sitting without regret for days, semen seeping from his hole and with a muscled-weight pressing down on him enough to make breathing a challenge, he decided that he'd never felt so good.. Well, he'd always known it helped to be certifiable in the crime-fighting business, but he'd never thought he'd offer up proof of his own manias so easily.

The weight lifted before he could decide to pass out from oxygen depravation, some rustling followed, then bare, gentle hands stripped his boots and costume from his lower half. The cuffs were unlocked. He closed his eyes and let himself be lifted up off the bench, let the rest of his costume be removed.

"Dick," a soft whisper in his ear as he was drawn into a warm embrace, his naked body pressing against the iron muscle of his equally naked lover.

"Mmm, Bruce," he answered, opening his mouth to a gentle, but thorough kiss.

"How do you feel?" Bruce's hands shifted downward and began to soothe and caress the flesh the Bat had abused.

"Wonderful," he purred, pressing his tear-damp face into the hard column of Bruce's neck. His blood had cooled, his tension fled. Life was good. "And you?"

"Feel like I could sleep a week."

"Me, too." He leaned back enough to look at Bruce's face. So handsome. And all his. "But I think I'll spend most of it sleeping on my stomach."

Bruce stared at him for a moment, then he laughed. Damn, Dick loved the sound of that.

The man always knew what he needed.

the end