Dick Grayson and/or Lois Lane... encounter a spankbot.

*

He knows it's not Clark. He *knew* it wasn't Clark.

First of all, Clark *smiles*. All the time, even when Dick's
trying to do his best to keep his own smile under control.
(Maybe especially then. Maybe.)

Second, Clark is *warm*. *Also* all the time, in a way that
doesn't have anything to do with the fact that he has long
tights and sleeves, and has everything to do with (lightning,
thunder) the fact that Clark isn't really human, even though
he *looks* just as human as Bruce, and even though he
has parents, and likes a lot of the same movies Dick does,
and periodically tries to convince Dick that bean sprouts
taste good.

Third...

Well, third, he's pretty much *completely* sure that the first
thing Clark would say upon catching Dick climbing in his
window wouldn't be "intruder alert" or "breaking and entering
is against Metropolis legal code forty-seven a, paragraph
three." Some of the things Bruce has said -- muttered, really --
about Clark suggest that he could've maybe expected a
*lecture* -- possibly with finger-shaking -- but probably not...
this.

At all.

It's not his fault --

"Law-breakers will not be tolerated."

It's really, *really* not his fault. Clark had *said* he could visit
anytime, and Bruce hadn't even made him hunt down Clark's
address -- he'd *given* it to him.

After a while.

With a weird look on his face kinda stuck between scowl and
proud-of-him. Still!

It's *not* his fault, and sure, he *could've* waited until Clark
came home, but it's always good to practice his house-breaking
skills, especially on people who probably have really good
security. And maybe he should've figured something *out* by the
fact that it was actually really ridiculously *easy* to break into
Clark's place, even though he was *Superman*, but mostly it's
not his fault.

Okay, no, mostly? The Robin shorts could use a *little* more
armor. And maybe some padding. Maybe a *lot* of padding,
considering how much... rubbing is happening every time the
Clark-robot slaps him --

And how many spanks *was* a code forty-seven a paragraph
three violation worth, anyway?

The important thing to remember is that Clark will almost
certainly come home at *some* point, and that this is
absolutely not his fault. Especially not the rubbing.

Or the... the sounds. The *smack* sounds are bad enough --
and those are *definitely* not his fault -- but there's possibly
maybe sort of kind of some question about the sounds *he's*
making, and while he's one hundred percent glad that there
was no one around to hear the "yeep" or even the "hey!" he's
about three hundred and *fifty* percent glad that there's no
one around to hear the... the other sounds, which are --

"Are you regretting your crime, law-breaker."

That couldn't possibly have been a response. That *couldn't* --

"An apology is the first step on the road to a productive,
law-abiding existence."

Robots aren't that advanced. Well, *evil* robots are, sometimes,
but it's a *Clark*-robot, and Clark could *never* build an evil
robot, and the fact that he's testing this theory by biting his lip
and trying not to make *any* sound is just proof that he's
thorough, and a *detective*. Not anything else. At all.

And the robot... the robot *pauses*. A real pause, not the two
second -- probably *exact* -- pause between spanks.

Dick can't help it. He *has* to sigh in relief, because stopping
maybe means that the robot will let up on the pressure on his
back that won't let him get free without, well, bending his
spine in ways even his *mom* hadn't been able to do, and
then maybe --

Maybe the robot will just change the *angle* of the smacks,
hitting him over and over right *there* so that Dick jerks with
*every* hit. So that Dick -- *rubs*.

"An apology is the first step on the road to a productive,
law-abiding existence," the robot repeats, and, while Dick is
still *pretty* sure -- almost positive! -- that the robot isn't that
advanced and so can't possibly be *trying* to make him
make noise, he's also...

He's also making noise.

Possibly a lot of noise, because *ow* and also a definite
kind of *oh*, because... *because*.

It *isn't* Clark, and so the big, hard thighs under him, supporting
him, staying right *there* while Dick jerks and is *rubbed* --

*Those* aren't Clark's, either, because they'd maybe be warm,
and possibly Clark would just keep doing it until he -- he --

Dick bites his lip.

"An apology is the first --"

"I'm *sorry*," he says, as clear as he can, and breathes, and --

"Voice analysis complete. Subject eighty-two percent likely to
have told the truth. Parameters require eighty-five percent
surety."

Oh... oh *crap* and also *ow* and also way, *way* too much
*oh*, because the robot is *moving* him, and...

Possibly he needs to stop underestimating Clark's ability to
craft advanced artificial intelligences and *start* wondering
just what sort of... *whatever* he'd programmed *into* this
thing, because all he's getting out of keeping his thighs
together is a tiny fraction of a second's pause before each
new slap hits *right*...

Right *there*.

And it doesn't matter that the robot is hitting very hard --
though possibly he'll be grateful for this when he's able to
sit comfortably again a week or so from now -- because it's
right *there*, and --

And also he was *wrong* about the thigh thing, because all
the wriggling is not helping at *all*.

In that way where it's helping in *just* the wrong way.

Dick's face is hot and he... he doesn't doesn't does *not*
want to know what he looks like right now, and he's also
regretting *every* single visualization exercise Bruce had
made him learn, because just *thinking* that is enough to
make him picture it.

His legs and his face and the way the motion of his hips
would look to... to *anyone*. And he's seriously hoping
Clark's apartment building isn't scheduled for a window-
washing, because that would be --

Only if there *was* a window-washing, then they would
see the same thing *he* had -- a big not-a-statue of
*Superman*, right there, and --

And now he's losing it, definitely probably definitely losing
it, and --

"An apology is the first step --"

"Mm -- nn -- I'm sorry, I'm sorry --"

"Seventy-two percent. Primary discipline method losing
efficacy. Law-breaker forty-three percent likely to engage
in recidivism --"

"I won't! I promise!" Well, not on *this* apartment --

"Danger. Voice analysis suggests ninety-four percent
likelihood of falsehood. Danger. Danger."

The thing is, he actually really *would* like to know what
possible inspiration could've made Clark come up with
this. Especially when 'this' involves Dick's shorts
dangling from his ankles -- no, wait, they're gone.

He's *studied* Superman's work. Not just in the
newspapers and magazines, but in *Bruce's* files. He's
almost positive he would've noticed Superman saving the
day with a thorough spanking, or Superman visiting
Slabside to suggest revolutionary new rehabilitation
methods.

He even would've settled for one clear image of Lex
Luthor rubbing his bottom with one hand and shaking his
fist with the other.

He *is* a detective, after all -- he would've figured it *out*.

But all of that is just distraction, and not very *good*
distraction, either. Because Clark's -- the *robot's* hand
is coming down again and *again*. On his -- on his
*everything*, because the grip the robot has on him now
is letting him move his lower body in every way but one
which will allow him to *escape*, and he's -- he's *leaking*
all over the thing's tights and the least Clark could've done
is dress the robot in different *clothes*.

Because it feels just like it does when Clark is flying Dick
up and out of some collapsing building, or out of the way
of an explosion. All those times when Clark has had to
move so fast that there wasn't time for Dick to *just* take
his hand, or his arm. All those times when Dick's wound
up *pressed* to Clark as they rise higher and higher, and
Clark had said "hold on, Robin," or "are you okay?"

Or just...

Just *smiled* at him, and it doesn't matter that he's
sobbing -- a *little* -- and it doesn't matter that this is pretty
much *nothing* like what he imagined when Clark had told
Dick he'd 'make it up to him,' if Dick ever came to
Metropolis.

It doesn't matter, because he knows *exactly* why the robot
isn't responding to anything he says -- or even any of the
noises.

Because he...

He *doesn't* regret it. Because all the rubbing feels even
better without his jock, and this is going to make him come.

Because it's *Clark*, and --

No.

*Not* Clark. It isn't. It's just -- just a *robot*. Wearing Clark's
clothes and having Clark's big, smooth hands, and making
him -- making him --

*No*.

It's not Clark, and it's not -- he doesn't want to come. Not like
this.

Dick repeats it to himself -- repeats it a *lot*, six whole
spanks worth -- takes a deep breath, and --

And comes all over the robot.

"Warning. Subject losing fluids beyond acceptable
parameters."

He's pretty much going to have to beat his head against a
wall for an hour until he drops into a coma. Just as soon as
he gets free.

"Warning. Warning. Disciplinary action sixty-seven percent
likely to have been excessive."

"Oh, you *think*?" There's a weird humming noise, and for
a moment Dick isn't sure whether he should hope he'd
gotten the thing to short out or *not* -- how would he
*explain*? -- but --

"Unit shutting down to await further instructions."

Oh, thank God. Now he just has to wait --

"Unit shutting down to await further instructions."

-- because surely it's going to let him *go*, now, right?
Right...?

"Unit shut... ting... down... tooo..."

Anytime now.

Anytime at *all*, now.

Any...

Dick sighs.

If he folds himself up a little bit, and twists his neck *that* way,
and shoves his jaw against the thing's thigh, and bends his
knees up under himself -- and shoves his ass just a bit
*further* into the air, and possibly he can understand a little
better now how Clark can be Bruce's best friend *and* make
Bruce scowl like that -- he can at least avoid the wet spot.

That's... that's something.

Dick sighs just a little more.

And waits.

end.