I4.6

Chapter 8: Lessons

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Adult themes. DO NOT read if you are underage or dislike controversial things.

Author's Note: I told myself I was going to make this chapter nice and short...that was clearly a lie.

Richard is a suspicious man by nature. His years of crime fighting and living as the adopted son of Bruce Wayne has taught him that people always want something from him. The people in this high society bubble all approach him with ulterior motives. He is well connected to a powerful man. He is young. He is handsome. He is supposed to be recklessly enjoying his life. Both women and men come to him hoping to find their way into his good graces and his bed. The art of their seduction is not subtle at all. Even the ones who feign disinterest are only doing so because they think that it will capture his attention. Make him want to chase them. If they only knew that he could smell their foul fumes from a mile away. Thankfully, he doesn't have to deal with them often. Only when he must attend these events to save face or when Bruce calls him back to Gotham for one reason or another.

Bruce Wayne. The man, the myth, the legend. Richard has a complicated internal relationship with this savior. On the one hand, he is eternally grateful for being chosen by him. Thanks to Bruce he has been educated by the best schools and tutors that money can buy. He has gotten to experience parts of the world he would have never known existed. And most importantly, he has been introduced to the world of vigilante crime fighting. It is a way to channel his energy, outrage and make him feel as though he is doing some sort of good. However, Richard understands that Bruce's motives for taking him under his wing are not completely altruistic. Even this great man is using him to fill a void in his life. He looked at little Richard and saw a boy who lost his family mirrored back at him and wanted to relive his life vicariously through a child. In a very sad way, he was trying to reclaim the one thing that money cannot buy: time. One could argue that it was negligent of him to expose someone so young and so impressionable to the life of a crime fighter. Richard was barely entering teen-hood when he first donned the Robin suit and cape. Having a child roam around the city in the dead of night, actively fighting villains is most definitely a form of child abuse. Not that Richard would tell; he's no snitch.

His involvement with Batman, as Robin, has placed him on a one way crash course to the Titians. To Raven. His Rachel. The one person he has never been so sure of, yet so uncertain about. He can pin point a motive from just about every meaningful person in his life, except for her. Bruce is using him to fill an un-fillable emptiness. Alfred wants to nurture the hurt boy that was brought home from the circus so that he can feel better about abandoning his own child for his job. Starfire wants her dream relationship that will lead to a wedding and a white picket fence. Cyborg secretly covets his position as leader. Beastboy wants to prove that he is better and more capable than his leader. But Raven...he can't seem to put his finger on what his Rachel wants from him. Surely it can't just be friendship and wanting the best for him. There has to be something else. Something that genuine, that pure, just can't be real. She has to want more from him than just stimulating conversations and a couple of good laughs here and there. Does she harbor some other deep, dark desires? Like him?

For someone who was spawned by a demon, she's surprisingly very innocent, thinks Richard as he makes his way to the private outdoor balcony above the ballroom where the charity gala will be held. He absentmindedly touches the left breast pocket of his suit. He can feel the small handkerchief that holds a strand of Rachel's violet hair. The cooling evening air feels good against his face as it ruffles his own locks. Richard glances at the sky and notices darker clouds on the horizon. It looks as though it is going to rain soon. Rainy days are Rachel's favorite. I wonder what she's doing…

That thought prompts Richard to fish out his official Titian communicator. As far as he knew, she didn't have any plans for this weekend. This means she should still be at the Titian Tower. At this time in the evening, she's most likely winding down with some light meditation. Very similar to the stretches that he likes to do before bed. Her communicator signals that she's in the Tower, probably doing what she usually does and that thought makes Richard smile to himself. Lately, he has noticed changes in her personality that makes him uncomfortable. She's been more open and friendly with other members of their team. She's also been going out more with workers from the library where Melvin takes extra lessons. All of these interactions with so many of these unnecessary people have her letting her guard down. Something that she used to only do with just him. He was the first to see a completely relaxed Rachel. To see her genuine smile or to hear her laugh with joy. The thought of her sharing that side of herself with someone else is deeply unsettling to him. However, her communicator shows that she is at home on a Saturday evening, so all is right in his world. He is glad and relieved that his girl can still be so predictable.

Since Richard has his device open, he decides to check up on the rest of the team. Cyborg's communicator is pinging somewhere downtown. Probably responding to a minor disturbance. Starfire is also located at the Tower; most likely destroying the kitchen as she tries to put together some inedible concoction. But Beastboy's communicator has him located suspiciously close to the library. Now, that nitwit is definitely no reader, so Richard isn't quite sure as to why he's there but there is a sinking feeling in his stomach. Being the thorough man that he is, Richard decides to hone in on Beastboy's location and sure enough it's the same cafe that he visited with Rachel just yesterday. What is he doing there? Is he alone?

Something did not sit right with him. Beastboy would not have known about that small, secluded, out of the way cafe unless he visited the library often or Rachel told him it was there or Rachel took him there herself. Her official communicator has her at home, but there is a very small probability that he would visit the place all by himself. So, it stands to reason that she was with him on this Saturday evening. Richard really hopes that is not the case. With shaking fingers he switches screens on his device and logs into his personal account. The cool wind does nothing to help alleviate the sweat that he feels forming along his neck and underarms. The pads of his thumbs feel moist as he finds Rachel's personal tag. The charm anklet that he gave her for her birthday works as both a personal gift and his private GPS tracker for her. She doesn't know that it's there, but he does. At any given moment, she should have both her official communicator and her anklet on her, but it appears as though she left one at the Tower. His personal account has her located at the small cafe near the library. Which means she is with Beastboy…

Richard has never had to suppress so much rage as he does in this one moment. He clutches his communicator in one hand and uses his other to brace himself on the balcony's wall. Taking deep breathes to calm himself. His id wants him to storm over to that cafe, snatch up his woman and lay that mutt out on the floor. He wants to put them both in their places. Remind them who they follow. They seem to have forgotten what their roles and boundaries are. Rachel never once mentioned that she would be spending Saturday evening with their resident shifter. He would have been sure to give one or both of them assignments to keep them busy over the weekend. They clearly have too much free time on their hands. The more rational side of Richard knows that he can't just leave this gala, especially before it even starts. Wayne Enterprise's image and reputation must be upheld by whatever means necessary and he knew he would not hear the end of it from Alfred if he were to leave now.

That doesn't mean that there aren't other ways to disrupt their "date." Richard schools his face into a neutral expression as he switches accounts again and places a video call to Beastboy's communicator. There is the customary beeping as he waits for them to pick up. Waiting...and waiting...and waiting… They must be having a great time, he thinks to himself sarcastically. Are they sitting in the usual booth that she and Richard shares? Are her legs tucked between his? Her feet nestled between his green thighs? ...ugh disgusting. He did not think that she would be that kind of woman.

Finally, the video call connects and Richard is greeted by Beastboy's smiling face. This fucker looks like the Grinch who just stole Christmas. He was clearly incognito with his sandy blonde hair and flesh tinted complexion. The cafe's counter is in the background of the video call.

"Sup bro?!" exclaims Beastboy taking a closer look at Richard's suit. "You're lookin snazzy."

He abruptly turns around and says while waving frantically next to him, "Hey Raven! Look at Dick! Ain't he handsome?"

Rachel is with him. It's been verbally confirmed and visually verified when he sees her pretty face enter the screen. Violet hair moving with the swaying of her head as her eyes are appraising what she can see through the screen. Richard is an emotional mess and not sure what he should be feeling. He is angry by the fact that she is willingly spending her free time with Beastboy. Happy at seeing her face. His eyes focusing on the delicate curve of her flushed cheeks and slightly panting mouth.Why are you blushing and breathing so hard? What have you been doing?

Richard feels his brow pull down into a scold. He does not like what he is seeing. To add insult to injury a dark head of curly hair finds its way into the screen. Head perched over Rachel's shoulder and smiling like a fool is Bryce. He, too, is eyeing Richard's expensive suit and clean cut appearance. There is a whistle as he raises his cold beverage in a salute and says, "Ya look good, mate."

"He'd be more handsome if he didn't look like he's about to murder someone," says Rachel, "Are you ok?"

No. No, he is not okay. His woman is standing between two men while he's trapped in Gotham City and unable to do anything about it. She's practically cheek to cheek with these buffoons as they try to fit all three of their faces in the video call. Richard can feel his eye twitching as his grip tightens on the communicator. Instead he says, "I need to talk business with you, Rachel," in the most authoritative tone he could muster without sounding too angry. Her companions glance at each other before Bryce dips his head and whispers something in her ear. It seems to be a question because she is shaking her head in response and answers, "I'll be alright."

He can feel his blood boiling at this point. Watching this fake scene of caring from a practical stranger has Richard scowling even harder and grinding his teeth. As she is walking away with the communicator in hand, he can hear Beastboy saying, "I doubt she's in trouble. She's one of the most dependable people I know. Ya don't needa worry 'bout her."

Rachel makes her way to the back alley of the cafe and looks around. Double checking that there isn't anyone who can eavesdrop on their conversation. "We're all clear, Dick. What's up?"

Thinking quickly on his feet, Richard says, "I need you to head back to Titian Tower. There is important information that needs to be organized for Batman, but I didn't get a chance to do it because I thought I had more time. He wants it now. Could you do me this favor?"

Without batting an eyelash she responds, "You got it." She waves her arm and a dark portal opens up behind her. The image on Richard's screen fizzles in and out as Rachel steps through the opening that takes her right back to the Tower. He can't help but smile a little to himself at how trusting she is. There were no questions, no signs of irritation that her evening's entertainment was cut short by this request. She trusts what he tells her and that thought makes his ego swell with pride.

She is standing right in front of his work room or office space. This is where the day to day information about the team is stored. Their locations, missions that they have completed, the results of those missions as well as other important information, such as profiles about their various enemies. Robin is a meticulous leader, if nothing else. It shouldn't take Rachel that long to complete the task he is about to giver her. It's simple data tracking of crimes committed in their jurisdiction within the last quarter. It's a way to make sure that they are doing their jobs and to predict potential patterns. Besides, the Enterprise needs to know that there are returns on their investments. Rachel has created one of these reports before, so she will know what to do. "Do you have any questions on how to do this?"

"None that I can see," she says as she briefly runs through the data points on his computer. "I've got this. You'll get it by tonight."

She looks at him through the little screen on Beastboy's communicator. Taking in the angles of his face that are highlighted by the setting summer sun. The reddish golden hue setting his intense eyes on fire and shining through his hair. He really is a handsome devil, but there was something about his posture and the tension in his shoulders that causes Rachel to pause. He looks like a predator who is about to pounce and not her friend. She has to suppress the shiver that wants to run down her spine. His demeanor prompts her to ask, "Are you sure you're alright? You look...kinda like you're on the edge?"

I'm on edge because of you, is what Richard thinks to himself. He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes so that he can focus on something else that is not her. The thin lace choker clinging to her fragile neck is playing with his imagination. He wants to hook his finger around that tiny piece of fabric and drag her closer to his body. It wouldn't take much strength to snap it off and replace it with his hand as he guides her to her knees. Lessons about boundaries and male intentions needing to be retaught and relearned in a new way. She is forgetting herself and her place.

"Dick?" comes a concerned call from the woman plaguing his fantasies.

"I'm fine. It's just been a rough couple of days for me. Between being backed up with paperwork and this charity thing, I'm kind of exhausted," he replies. There is a sympathetic nod from the woman on the other side of the screen and the clacking of the keyboard.

"I'm here if you ever need to talk or something. But, Dick...you're at a party. Try to loosen up and have some fun. I'm sure there are going to be plenty of beautiful women. Maybe you can find yourself a girlfriend?" she says as she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively through the screen.

There is a dramatic groan from Richard, "Not this shit again. There are just two options in my life: 1) I die a bachelor because I'm married to my work or 2) you marry me. There is no option C."

There is a snort of quiet laughter from Rachel. "Option A it is."

"Whaaa? I'll have you know that I'm a great catch," is Richard's miffed response. He is a little offended that she barely considered option 2.

"You're a workaholic who'll leave me cold and alone in bed while you chase your lifelong mistress: work," is the lighthearted reply from the woman who is running the data extractor. He could never do that. The thought of being torn between sharing a cozy bed with Rachel or being hunched over a computer screen doing work was absurd. That's not even a real choice!

Before Richard can reply, an arm is thrown over his shoulder and a slightly taller man says, "Don't worry, beautiful, I'll be there to keep you warm and entertained when this bozo fucks up!"

There's a sharp elbow in Jason Todd's stomach before either of the two men can blink. When the hell did you get here and how much did you hear?

"Who was that?" comes Rachel's worried voice over the communicator.

"No one important. If you don't have any questions, then I'll let you get to work," is Richard's clipped reply as he keeps his eyes trained on the newcomer.

"No problem. You'll have this report shortly." There is a beep and Rachel's image fizzles out on the screen. Richard is somewhat satisfied. At least, he knew she wasn't with those hooligans at the cafe and this report will keep her busy for a while.

"She's a pretty girl. Who is she?" asks Jason as he straightens himself out. He is, also, looking quite dashing in his dark red suit. Hints of black are accenting that deep velvety red. It's definitely his color.

"She's my subordinate."

"You're a horrible boss, Dick. It's a real dick move to have her working so hard on a Saturday night while you enjoy yourself at this party. What's her name?"

"Ha...dick jokes. You're creative and mature, aren't you?" says Richard as he makes his way inside. Some guests have arrived and others are still arriving with all the fanfare befitting high society. They're just here to spend a couple of dollars and have their egos stroked by the paparazzi. Typical.

"You didn't answer my question," comes Jason's annoying voice from Richard's right ear.

"Her name is Raven. She's a member of the Titians. You know, the team you're too cool to join."

"If I knew there would be beautiful women on this team I would have joined a long time ago," Jason responds with a smirk. Showcasing both of his dimples.

Richard just shakes his head at the second Batboy. He can never take anything too seriously. They are like night and day. Oil and water. Their personalities just don't mix well together. Before Richard melts into the crowd, he makes eye contact with Jason and says, "Stay the fuck away from her."

That statement makes Jason even more curious about the woman who can cause that kind of reaction in his normally rational "brother." Before he can entertain this thought any further his attention is captured by another beautiful woman with flowing red hair on the other side of the dance floor.

Richard learned a long time ago that the only way to survive events like this is to work the crowd. Keep moving from one group to another group so that no one is able to monopolize his time and so that he doesn't die of boredom. He's not the only one who knows this technique. Belinda, the daughter of an oil tycoon, is mirroring his actions. She was born and raised in this kind of atmosphere and knew how to maneuver herself and work the room. She has sharp business sense and could potentially be a formidable friend or foe in the investment world...if she ever grew out of her fatal flaw. Like many rich people, Belinda believes that wealth should only marry wealth. This also means that she has been trying to sink her claws into Richard since his brief stay at boarding school. She had originally snubbed him because he lacked the proper pedigree. He is a boy from the circus, after all, but when she realized that he stands to inherit a large portion of Wayne Enterprise she couldn't stop salivating long enough to have a decent conversation with him.

They all want something from him. Every single person in his life wants him to be something he's not. A son, a boyfriend, a leader, a cash cow, a hero...They push those expectations on to him and are then upset when he is unable to meet these standards. He can read them like open books. All except for one: Rachel. He does not know what she wants from him or what she wants him to be. This lack of selfish motivation is frustrating and unnerving for a young man who has been groomed to look for the darker intentions in people. Her intentions towards him cannot be that pure. She's the daughter of Trigon for crying out loud! She has to want something. She must. It's not his money, or his reputation. Not his connections to Bruce or Batman. She's not after his body or the fantasy of dating a man in a position of power. Then what does she want from him?

Ping! The device in his pocket goes off. Richard already knows who it's from. As though thinking of her for so long and so hard has made the message materialize on his communicator. He excuses himself from the group he was associating with. Semi-listening to them prattle on about politics and the woes of having to pay higher taxes. Nodding along for the sake of nodding as he bides his time to bow out for the night. A little more than woozy from all of the fine wine he should not be drinking since he's technically one year shy of 21. He quickly retreats to the corridor that separates the public space and ballroom from the private quarters of the Wayne residence. He checks his messages and sure enough, there is an email with the data report attached. His Rachel is always so dependable. It brings a smile to his face when he realizes that it is close to midnight. She should be prepping for bed by now. Just to be sure, he searches for her personal GPS tag. He's had more than enough surprises for one night.

His device finds her charm anklet and sends him a location that he doesn't recognize. This is clearly not the Tower; where she is supposed to be. It appears to be someone's private residence. What the fuck is she doing here? All sorts of alarm bells are going off in Richard's head. This doesn't look right. This isn't how his normally secluded and taciturn Rachel behaves. Before he realizes what is happening, he is video calling her communicator. He is practically fuming when his call is declined. She hung up on him...? He stares dumbfound at the object in his hand until his device suddenly vibrates. It's Rachel calling him back. He lifts it to his ear and is bombarded with loud music in the background. She is trying to speak over the noise.

"What are you doing there?" he hisses into the communicator.

"I went to return Beastboy's communicator when I finished the report. He and Bryce practically dragged me to this party cause they thought it was too early to go home. Starfire is with me, too," came Rachel's shout over the din. She should not be there without him. She should not be there at all.

"Go home, Rachel! I don't know what has gotten into you, but I don't like it," Richard bellows into the phone.

"What crawled up your ass? I can handle myself just fine. I don't need you to tell me what to do," is her angry reply. There is a click and the other line goes dead. Richard's head is spinning from the wine, from anger, from possessiveness. How dare she tell him no. She doesn't need me? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Of course she needs him. He's her leader. Her friend. Her protector. Her savior.

He is her everything.

This is a lesson she has obviously forgotten. He would need to reteach it to her. Make sure she learns it this time. Engrave it in her mind, on her body and deep within her soul. She should not be out there, roaming the streets, gallivanting about with other men. His fist connects with the wall by his bedroom door. He unconsciously made his way here while trying to contact Rachel. He was done with tonight. Done with people. He wants to fume and plan in peace. But peace won't be had tonight. He can hear her heels on the floor as she makes her way towards him. A harpy of the night.

"Sounds like trouble in paradise," Belinda coos at his back.

He doesn't bother turning around, "I'm not in the mood for you."

"Let me guess. She's been wearing less and going out more? You're wasting your time and energy on girls who don't know your worth. I've known you for a few years now, Richard," she says as she places two hands on his back. Tracing the muscles beneath his clothing. "I know that you're worth your weight in gold and diamonds."

Disgust is the only word that he can use to describe this very moment. He is disgusted by this thing clawing at his back. Disgusted with Rachel's changing behaviors. Disgusted by his seeming inability to do anything. Something has got to give. He opens his door and walks in without turning around, but Belinda is hot on his heels. She thinks she can use this moment of emotional turmoil to ensnare him. If she only knew that she wasn't the predator, but the prey in this situation.

As soon as the door closes, Richard is on her. Forcefully pushing Belinda's body into the door and angling her head downward. He doesn't want to see her face. Maybe he just needs a good fuck? He hasn't been laid in ages. Maybe that's what is taking a toll on his ability to rationalize and reason away his growing feelings towards his teammate. Maybe his fixation on Rachel has nothing to do with her and everything to do with his not satisfying his own needs. He has a semi-willing participant crushed between his body and this door. Rachel did tell him that he should enjoy himself.

However, feeling Belinda's body squirming against his did nothing for him. The only thing that these two women share are similar haircuts. Richard finds himself fisting her short blonde hair and imagining that it is violet. He runs his hand along the open back of her dress. The thumb of his left hand pressing into the dips of her spine as his right hand jerks her head backwards. His knee is forcefully wedged between her thighs and rubbing against her sex. She is pleading with him to let her go. To stop before she screams. This isn't how she thought this was going to play out. He can see the tears and fears reflecting in her eyes. If her voice was deeper, her cheeks rounder and eyes a dynamic shade of violet then this experience would be infinitely more erotic. Richard lets his eyes flutter close and allows the image of his girl to wander free.

There is no comparison.

He releases the crying woman and she stumbles to the floor. "Leave." That is all she needed to hear before she scrambles out of his room.

Richard takes a deep breath as he removes his shoes and the handkerchief in his suit's pocket. He carefully unfolds it and plucks out the strand of hair. Holding it against the moonlight so that he can appreciate the different shades of violet. He tenderly brings it to his nose and inhales. Incense and old books. Yes. He knows how Rachel smells. What she feels like in his arms. What she looks like in difference positions. What she sounds like in different situations. But he doesn't know what she tastes like. Would her skin be sweet, salty or tangy? Would her mouth be as welcoming as it looks? Until he tastes her for himself, his understanding of her will not be complete. Just the thought of that kind of knowledge is intoxicating.

He wraps her strand of hair around the fingers of his left hand as his right works to loosen his pants and free his semi-erection. Her understanding of him wouldn't be complete until she has learned her lessons. Lessons that he can no longer afford to put off. He begins slow, sure strokes at the thought of how he should teach them. The best lessons are learned on one's knees.

Her pale, slender body is resting on it's arms and knees on the table before him. Forehead touching the surface of the table and hips lifted high. His finger is tightly entwined with the lace choker around her neck. Pulling it down so that she can't lift her head. He won't let her lift her head until she tells him what she has learned. Tonight's lesson is about who she belongs to…

Richard throws himself on the plush chair in the corner of this bedroom. Hears the creak of the leather under his weight. The tip of his middle finger is gently twirling around the swollen head of his cock. Pre-cum coating his finger and smearing across the sensitive tip.

Left hand keeps her from lifting her head while his right hand is firmly pressed against her heated sex. Just enough pressure to feel through the black lace of her panties. The tip of his finger is slowly running up and down her slit; from clit to her swollen, red, ass cheeks. The red prints are in the shape of his hand and contrast beautiful against her pale skin and the dark lace. Lace that is getting wetter with each pass of his finger. She is squirming beneath his touch. Attempting to create more friction, but he won't let her. Not until she tells him what she has learned. He lowers his head beside hers and allows her to feel his presence before he kisses the tip of her ear and whispers, "Are you ready?"

By this point Richard has ripped open his shirt so that he can cool down as he puts both hands to work. One is massaging his balls while the other keeps a firm grip and aggressive strokes.

A shaky whimper meets his ears. He wants to see her face. Strong fingers release her choker, just to be replaced by a stronger hand that fits snuggly around her whole neck. That hand guides her face to the left so that he can get a clear look at her profile. Her brows are furrowed over her half closed violet eyes. Cheeks are flushed and her mouth is open and panting. Some drool has escaped her lips, travelled across her cheek and is connecting with the table below her. A small hand wraps around the larger wrist at her throat as a quiet "please" escapes her. The hand still teasing her through her panties never falters as he replies, "Tell me what you've learned, Rachel and I'll give you what you want."

"I...you…" a gasp escapes her as Richard pushes the lace aside and begins tracing his path without the barrier. The tip of his finger dragging her wetness to her clit as he slowly swirls around it before running back across her slit to gently probe at the opening between her ass cheeks.

"Hmmm? What about me?" he coos as his finger makes its journey again. There are tears of frustration in her eyes and her grip on his wrist tightens. He leans forward to take a deep inhale of her scent and says again, "Tell me what you've learned and I'll give you what you want" as he sinks his finger deep inside her.

There is a mess in Richard's hand and a hysterical chuckle echoing off the walls in this dark and lonely room. Even fantasy Rachel won't give me what I want.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror by the bathroom door. Pathetic. He looks absolutely pathetic sitting in the dark with his shirt ripped open, his drooping cock looking quite sad in his lap, a mess in his right hand and a strand of hair entwined his left. How did he get here? How could one woman reduce him to this without even trying?

He wants this fantasy to be his reality, but is he really ready to do whatever it takes to achieve it? A twisted smirk pulls at the corners of his lips as he eyes the cooler of vials by his luggage. The ends will always justify the means. Right?

Why not ask her out on a date? Like normal people.