A Lesson in Consequences

by Virginia





Dick Grayson sank down deeper into the bus seat and indulged himself in pretending he could disappear from the world. Well, for the next half-hour at least. Then he would walk off the bus and face the music. The bus was dark and not even half full, so he had plenty of privacy and time to himself to reflect on his impetuous actions -- as Bruce Wayne had no doubt expected him to do.

Consequences. That's what Bruce had told him over the phone, when Dick had gotten off at the last stop, 50 miles outside of Gotham City, and finally phoned the Manor. "Actions have consequences, Dick, and one day you'll come to realize that," Bruce had calmly told him, making it sound as if they were sitting together in the library at Wayne Manor discussing a change in the weather. The man had a knack for that kind of self control -- even when he was determined to make his point known.

Today obviously was not the day Dick would exercise the kind of self- control Bruce Wayne seemed to believe he'd some day find in himself. Bruce kept saying that his ward would eventually think things through before acting. Not yet, Dick thought glumly as he watched the dark countryside blur past the bus windows.

Everything would have been fine if Dick hadn't overreacted. He'd had an argument with his guardian earlier that day and now couldn't even remember the original issue. It turned into a verbal war of wills over Dick's independence, with the teenager determined to make Bruce see things his way. When it looked like Dick wasn't going to come out the winner (big surprise there, he thought), he'd taken off. Slammed out of the Manor and ridden off with a friend he'd asked to pick him up at the gate. At the time, all he could think was to make a statement that would prove to Bruce once and for all he was his own person, nearly an adult. Some statement, Grayson, he now thought with self-contempt. He'd needed one of his buddies from school to carry him to the bus station. Yeah, that was really showing Bruce Wayne who was boss.

It all stemmed from the older man laying down the law: he insisted on being the final word about some of the places Dick wanted to go (and the rave parties held Monday nights in the heart of Gotham were a firm No). Dick had blown up at what he called Bruce's Gestapo ways. That comparison had not pleased his guardian in the least.

Still, in spite of Dick's storming off and damning the consequences, Bruce had snatched up the phone before the first ring was completed. Just as always he was there to accept his young ward back into his heart. Grayson's return was not free and clear, however. There were lessons to be learned and no matter how painful those lessons were, Dick just couldn't seem to make the connection that his actions so often lead to unpleasant consequences.

As always his guardian would help him learn to accept the rules. Bruce would be perfectly calm and matter-of-fact about imparting that lesson, too. He never disciplined in the heat of anger. He rarely raised his voice with his ward. He simply informed Dick what actions earned what kind of punishment, and delivered it methodically. He then fully expected the Wayne household to carry on with business as usual. The good thing was, all was forgiven and behind them. The bad thing of course was enduring the punishment - and any lingering reminders.

Dick shifted in the vinyl bus seat at that thought, imagining he could already feel the effects of his guardian's "instruction" in his backside. Bruce hadn't yet identified what Dick could expect upon his return to the Manor, but Grayson could guess. He'd scared the older man by taking off like he had; no amount of self control on Bruce Wayne's part could completely mask that fact. Oh, precious few human beings would ever pick up on it in that modulated and neutral voice. Alfred Pennyworth was certainly one. Dick Grayson was the other individual who knew the man behind the façade of famed billionaire and socialite Bruce Wayne.

The teenager knew Bruce was relieved to hear from him. It had been the words uttered the split second before Dick hung up the pay phone, though, that mattered to him most: "Dick. I'm glad you called."

Those few words might not seem like much to anyone else. They gave Dick Grayson a measure of warmth that would stay with him for the duration of his little mis-adventure.

The flip side of that particular coin was the certainty that he'd be very warm in a different way, just as soon as he got home to Bruce.



It seemed like a good idea at the time, Dick thought morosely as he gazed out the bus window into darkness.

That claim had become too familiar over the past several years. He was really beginning to wonder when he would see things differently -- before acting on his impulses. His mentor and guardian on the other hand seemed to've been born with the ability. Dick could no more imagine Bruce Wayne making an unwise, unplanned move than....

Well, than the Batman doing so. No way. Neither incarnation of the man -- billionaire public figure or masked crime fighter -- would ever act irrationally. It just wasn't in the man's make-up. Those thoughts as usual led to Dick's wondering just why he was here to begin with: in Gotham City; living at Wayne Manor; attending events at Bruce Wayne's side; fighting crime at Batman's side.... None of it added up, not to him. Not when he kept pulling stupid and immature stunts like he had today.

It got tiresome how the older man always seemed to 'know better' about everything -- and how he expected his teenage ward to obey without question. Most of the time Dick tolerated this, and did a fine job of ignoring the fact that Bruce turned out to be right in most cases. Okay, in every case so far, his conscience grudgingly admitted.

But sometimes he had to fly in the face of his guardian's wisdom. Had to strike out on his own to prove something to himself and to Bruce. It had not only seemed like a good idea this time around, but the best way to get his point of view across to his guardian: Dick Grayson was his own person, capable of making decisions and acting on them. He needed to make his own mistakes and learning from them, just like every other teen.

Part of him twinged with guilt over that point. He was not like other teens. His classmates went out on the town with each other to party and socialize. Dick Grayson went out on the town with the legendary Batman, to climb buildings, swing down into alleys, and generally rule the world of night in the struggle to give the citizens of Gotham a fighting chance against crime. With that mission came a danger most people never faced in their entire lives. It should come as no surprise that the danger element made Bruce Wayne a little over protective by nature.

Then there was the personal element, as Dick thought of it. Bruce was forever trying to drum into his ward's head that as the responsibility of so wealthy and public a figure, Dick Grayson was also a target for criminals. That gave him even more reason to think through his actions beforehand, and not go off half-cocked. (That was Dick's word; Bruce would no doubt opt for a many-syllabled description that basically said the same thing). Dick was sure all this would be part of the coming lecture.

What a difference a few hours made. When Dick had found himself yelling at Bruce and then storming out of the Manor, he'd felt empowered. Defying Bruce had given him a boost of energy that carried him right out of Gotham. Of course, it had been a fleeting indulgence. Now here he was on a direct route straight back to the guardianship he'd intended to escape, however temporarily.

It wasn't that Dick didn't want to live with Bruce any longer. He might not understand how he came to have a place in Bruce Wayne's life, but he wouldn't give it up for anything. Not even to escape the older man's rules and the price paid for breaking those rules. Bruce was a strict guardian; there were no two ways about it. He named the penalty for breaking the rules, and he never wavered from delivering exactly what he had promised. But he was also fair; Dick had to admit that. Dick Grayson had gone from a life of no structure -- well, not in the conventional sense of the word, to life at Wayne Manor: a life of structure and proper form, but most of all, rules.

Dick sighed as he recognized his surroundings. The bus was now inside city limits and would arrive at the depot in minutes. The sight of Gotham's outlying streets, made even more dingy in the harsh light of the row of street lamps, taunted him. Here was Bruce Wayne's ward, riding a common Greyhound bus. Boy would the papers love to get hold of this -- the tabloid ones, to be more accurate. Bruce was one of their pet subjects, always good for a lewd headline or doctored photo. Dick didn't care right now, though he knew he should. He no more wanted the media invading his life than Bruce Wayne did. But right now....

Right now the bus was pulling into the station, and Dick instantly spotted the gleam of a black limo parked right there at the curb. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. His insides were at war: a deep eagerness to be home again versus a dread of what awaited him there. He knew without doubt however that no matter the price of his actions, it was well worth what he received in return. He wanted -- no, he needed Bruce's forgiveness. Needed acceptance back into the fold of Wayne Manor. Thank god, of the things he could ever be certain of, a home with Bruce Wayne was one of them.



It was to be a night of surprises, and not all of them bad. But the jolt he got when Alfred efficiently ushered him into the back of the limo brought about a mix of emotions in Dick Grayson.

Bruce sat in the far corner of the plush leather seat, discernible to Dick only when he had swung up into the vehicle and Alfred closed the door firmly behind him.

"I see you aren't the worse for wear after your experience out on your own, making your own decisions."

Dick took the opposite seat. He felt himself blush at Bruce's words. The older man's tone was not mocking, but it didn't have to be to deliver his point.

Being straightforward might save him at least a bit of discomfort tonight. Dick took a deep breath. "Bruce, what I did was really stupid. I knew it the minute the bus left the station."

"Then I'd say it was one minute too late, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," Dick agreed quietly.

"We're going to talk about this once we get home, Richard. Thoroughly."

'No kidding,' Grayson thought glumly.

"But I think we could best use the traveling time for a little preparation."

Bruce shifted out of the corner and patted the seat beside him, a strangely intimate gesture, as if he were inviting Dick to come sit close. But Dick knew better. It was 'consequences' time now, and no doubt would be again once they were home. In fact, if he was lucky he would get away with only this one night of payment for his rash actions.

There was no sense in prolonging it, or pretending he didn't know what Bruce expected. Bruce Wayne firmly believed that warming the younger man's bottom served as a necessary preparation to their more serious 'talks.' The only trouble with that was, the initial spanking didn't end it. There would certainly be more to follow. Sometimes Dick found himself bending over three or four times, interspersed with discussion time. It depended on the seriousness of his transgressions. Nobody could say that Bruce Wayne wasn't thorough.

Dick crossed over to the opposite seat and made a move to kneel on the cushion beside his guardian.

"I want you bare."

A flash of panic washed through him at the calm words; they were in the car for Christ's sake -- driving through the middle of town!

Hard blue eyes caught his own. "Now, Dick."

This wasn't a battle he was going to win. Dick unfastened his jeans and pushed them down to his thighs. Bruce almost always insisted on a bare bottom whenever it was time for discipline, but Dick had assumed that given their situation, this time would be different. He should have known better; Bruce Wayne was definitely a creature of habit. He found something that worked for him and never deviated much from it. Dick pushed his cotton briefs down as well, grateful that it was somewhat dim in the limo's interior -- for all the good that did him.

Lying across Bruce's lap was never a comfortable position. Inside the limo as it glided through the streets of Gotham City however was unnerving and awkward for Grayson. Bruce didn't seem to think so. He took matters in stride and further positioned the teenager where he wanted him.

There was no preamble, no mini-lecture. All of that would come later. Bruce simply started spanking him with steady, firm smacks. He and Dick both knew what it was for.

Dick's attention was divided between the blossoming heat in his rear and the fact of their surroundings. Anyone outside the car was merely a car door away from seeing his ass bared and rapidly turning red. And as Alfred slowed the limo for stoplights, what if someone could hear the unmistakable sounds -- Bruce's hand spanking him and his own gasps and groans as the burning intensified? He wondered wildly if anyone had seen him getting into the car, was maybe right now following them through town.... The paparazzi did that, and sometimes even Bruce Wayne played hell escaping them.

Bruce was an incredibly fit and powerful man. He kept up the pace he'd set for most of the drive home, never slowing or lessening intensity, giving the teenager a very hot and tender bottom in preparation for their coming discussion.



It couldn't be easy under any circumstances for someone to raise his briefs and then jeans (especially when he wore them tight to begin with) while in the back of a moving vehicle. Added to that difficulty was the fact that Dick Grayson now sported an extremely sore backside. He hissed as he pulled up on the denim jeans, fastened them, then painfully took his seat across from Bruce.

He knew they were minutes from pulling into the garage at Wayne Manor, and Alfred would almost instantly open the limo door for them. The older man had not only seen (and approved) the results of some of Bruce's discipline, but had on occasion delivered it himself. Still, Dick had no desire to be caught with his pants down.

"Dick, I'll see you upstairs in your room."

With that Bruce was out of the limo and headed into the house.



Dick went directly to his room. If he went anywhere else at this point, he knew he was only asking for worse than he was already going to get. He didn't have long to wait. Bruce came up to his room within a half-hour.

Bruce Wayne's face was grave as he stood in the bedroom doorway. "Dick, I believe we have some serious issues to discuss."

"Which means I get my ass tanned some more." The words escaped him before he could stop himself -- more of that rebellious nature, rising up to darken his fate even worse.

The older man hesitated briefly at the outburst, before calmly responding, "If you want to put it that way, then yes, you will be on the receiving end of more corporal punishment. Let me put it another way for you: I intend to blister your bottom even more than I did in the limo for your not thinking your actions through today."

"You make it sound so easy, Bruce. Like all I have to do is give something a little thought, and I can do the right thing." The older man remained unmoving, waiting for Dick to finish. Dick threw his hands up, exasperated. "It's so easy for you to say that, and for you to punish me. You don't do stupid things like I do and you probably never did."

That stopped Bruce cold. Dick could see it in how his guardian stiffened.

"Young man, I'll have you know that if I spanked you every night for six months, I could still say I've submitted to well-earned discipline more often than you. I now realize how very fortunate I was to have Alfred's firm hand when I was growing up. I'm grateful for the lessons he imparted."

Dick couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Bruce, are you telling me... That Alfred used to...?" He couldn't even say it, for some reason. Bruce never had that problem; he would quite often detail to the teen just what he had coming, much to Dick's embarrassment.

Bruce's words were halting, as if he regretted what he'd just revealed. "Alfred can be... very persuasive when he needs to be. You've experienced that now and again." The older man's memories flashed on a solid, oak paddle Alfred had dubbed "the Persuader" -- and it made his backside throb just from the memory. "I assure you, Dick, I have intimate, first hand knowledge of most of the very same implements I've applied to your bottom. You see," he added dryly, "I didn't learn as fast as you'd think. Let's just say it took more than one painful lesson to curb my headstrong tendencies. So believe me, I can sympathize with your predicament when you let your actions get the best of you, but at the same time I can't ever allow it to go unchecked."

"Wow." It was all Dick could manage to say, making him sound more like the high school freshmen his class snubbed whenever they had the chance. It was... unbelievable. To imagine this man who was so big and capable and always in control, bent over, presenting himself for punishment...

He found himself wishing for details about Bruce's past disciplinary experiences, wondering just how he had received it. Had he been bare? Bent over a piece of furniture in one of these very rooms? Lying across Alfred's lap? That last thought clenched something inside him, very hotly. Dick certainly hadn't ever enjoyed it when the dignified butler took up the task of chastising his backside. He'd experienced paddle and cane at the butler's hands. Why would the images of Alfred doing that to Bruce Wayne make him go all warm inside?

"Dick." Wayne's voice carried the weight of his thoughts. The tone brought Dick Grayson back to the present, out of imagining Bruce Wayne's past, and he looked up into very stern blue eyes.

"You know how serious it was that you left here the way you did. I'm not happy that you walked away from me, and that transgression is worth a few good reminder swats at least. But to do something so impetuously, without thinking, Dick.... You have to know that you won't sit for a few days, because of it."

Eyes now on the floor, Dick answered, "I know."

There was a beat of silence, then, "Look at me." When he had the teenager's gaze on him -- dark eyes miserable and pulling at Bruce's heart -- the older man continued. "I don't enjoy punishing you. I want you to know that."

"I know," Grayson whispered, and still he held Bruce's intense gaze.

"But I'm going to, every time I think it's needed. You mean so much to me. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you, Dick. Out there as Batman and Robin, that's one thing. But as my ward, I will not have you endanger yourself for no good reason."

For yet another time that night, Dick Grayson was so surprised he could have been pushed right over. To hear Bruce Wayne actually say those words -- regardless of the fact that he'd suspected how the older man felt all along -- was indescribably wonderful.

He found his voice and said hoarsely, "I know, Bruce. I'm sorry I took off like that. Sorry I scared you. I know what you have to do, and it's okay."

Bruce reached out and cupped his cheek, another rarity. It wasn't that Wayne avoided physical contact, but to initiate it, purely for the sake of comfort and affection -- it was very special indeed.

In a gentle voice, Bruce showed even more of the incongruities that made up his nature: "Go get the hairbrush from your bathroom."

Dick felt his insides grow cold. However much he had expected this, it was something else entirely to be faced with the reality. Sore as he now was, he would have to endure the wooden brush applied to his bare bottom.

He went into his bathroom and closed his hand over the brush handle. This was definitely emphasizing the agony, making him retrieve the implement. Bruce knew that. Dick had no doubt that it was a deliberate part of his lesson.

Bruce was seated on his bed when Dick returned. He reached out and took the brush, set it aside and said, "Take down your jeans, Dick."

With shaking fingers Dick lowered his jeans for the second time that evening. Bruce then reached for his ward. Rather than pull the teen down over his lap, Bruce pulled him forward between his open legs. Dick was directed to bend forward, across one of Bruce's thighs with his chest down on the bed. Over the knee spankings were the most common, in the Wayne household, and Dick hated them mostly for the way he was made to feel like a small child over his father's knee. This position, however, somehow made him feel even more vulnerable. Bruce's attention was focused solely on Grayson's backside, and Dick wondered with alarm if he would be lying here for a long time.

The hairbrush rested against his cheeks. The cold wood on his still very warm flesh made him jump. "Easy," Bruce soothed. Sometimes Bruce said things to soothe or relax him; other times Dick merely received his punishment and any words came after. Dick found that he liked when Bruce would speak to him before and during his punishment. It didn't lessen the penalty Bruce intended for him, but it added a measure of intimacy and caring that Dick longed for.

"We'll talk more after you've been paddled, and see where we stand at that point."

Dick knew the translation: 'You might be in for more after we talk again.'

Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. Nothing he could do about anything, except wait for and then endure the hairbrush.

The brush left his skin and he braced himself. The first blow fell square across his buttocks. If this had been the start of his discipline tonight, he'd have handled at least a few of the blows stoically. They were falling on a well-warmed surface, however; Dick groaned loudly at the burning sensation. He uttered a louder groan when the next blow fell right over the first.

"You're doing fine," Bruce purred. Dick concentrated on that voice, using it as an anchor as the brush landed on different parts of his rear. He was soon crying out with each blazing contact, his hands clutching at the blanket. It was when Bruce aimed the brush at the lower curve of his bottom that tears could no longer be held back. Dick gave in to them and went from gasping to sobbing as the fire continued to reignite across his backside. The brush would range higher or to the sides of his cheeks, but always return to his sit- spot, paying special attention there. When he thought he couldn't endure any more, the paddling paused. He drew in one deep breath before it continued, the hard blows to the tops of his thighs taking his breath away.

When it was over, he lay sobbing while Bruce rubbed the small of his back. "Couldn't lose you, Dick," the older man was murmuring when Dick calmed down enough to hear it. "You mean too much to me."

Dick was righted and engulfed in strong arms as his guardian stood. He felt Bruce's hands slide down over his tender buttocks, just holding him there. While the contact smarted keenly at first, there was something comforting in the intimacy. He had been punished, and well deserved; now he would be comforted, and he would take all of it that his guardian would give. No comfort was too close or too embarrassingly personal for Dick Grayson. He melted in the strong arms, letting the older man know that he liked and wanted his sore bottom soothed. Long minutes later, Bruce released him and reached to push aside a stray lock of dark hair from where it habitually fell over the teen's eyes. "Don't feel like you have to leave your home, Dick, no matter what our differences. Don't ever think that."

"I won't, Bruce, I promise."

Youthful and damp blue eyes regarded him sincerely, and Bruce pulled him back into a fierce hug.

END

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