Haruka's Fanfiction

Warning: Do NOT read if spanking in fics bothers you!


Bart's First Spanking (an Impulse fic)

By Haruka (haruka@ymail.com)

--

Accomplishing something 'in time' wasn't usually a factor of concern for Max Mercury, otherwise known as the Zen Master of the Speed Force. Max could run across the country in mere seconds; his being late for anything wasn't likely.

But this time, it was a matter of life and death.

He remembered what had led up to this; it began yesterday in the living room. His ward, Bart Allen, who was in reality the famous young superspeedster Impulse, had picked up an orange from the fruit bowl and peeled it in the blink of an eye. Bart was born in the thirtieth century and had been raised in virtual reality to control his accelerating growth. Although he had only been alive for two years, he had the mind and body of a fourteen-year-old, but one without worldly experience. Bart's codename suited him perfectly -- he went from thought to deed in one giant leap and had no sense of his own mortality. He thought real life came with a 'reset' button, and it had been Max's hard task to try and train that out of him. Maybe he would be succeeding, if Bart had any kind of attention span and ever retained anything he told him.

Bart had just bitten into the first section of the orange when the lonely whistle of a train in the distance was heard.

"Does that train go by every day at this time?" he asked Max curiously. "I'm sure I've heard it before."

"Yes, every weekday at two o'clock," Max replied, turning the page of his newspaper.

"Where is it?" Bart looked out the window.

"A few miles west of here, near the outskirts of Manchester."

"Hey, you know what?" Bart turned to him excitedly, his big mop of brown hair flopping over his forehead. "Isn't Superman faster than a speeding train? And we're faster than he is, so we should be able to race the train!"

"It's 'faster than a speeding bullet'," Max corrected. "And of course we can outrun a train, you already know that."

"But I mean we could make a training session out of it," Bart insisted, zwipping over to stand in front of him so fast that normal people wouldn't have seen. "Not running alongside the train -- that's too easy. I'm talking about criss-crossing the tracks in front of it, seeing how many times I can do it -- "

"Before what? You get splattered all over the tracks? No, Bart. It's too dangerous."

"No, it isn't, Max! I can do it easily. I'll set a goal for myself of how many times I can do it and how close I can be and if anything happens I'll just vibrate through the train."

Max put the newspaper down and faced Bart squarely. "NO, Bart."

"But Max, you're always saying I don't think enough and here I've come up with a whole training scenario -- "

"That isn't training it's suicide and I forbid it!" Max told him firmly. "Now put it out of your mind!"

Bart pouted at Max for a moment, then sped off to his room.

That was yesterday. Today, only a few minutes earlier, Bart had said he was going out. Max didn't think anything of it until right after the boy was gone and he heard the train whistle in the distance.

Bart wouldn't … would he? Max wasn't sure and he couldn't take chances.

So here he was, racing across town with the speed of light, hoping to God he would reach his young protégé before disaster struck.

Bart was there, but he had changed into his red and white Impulse costume. Max had changed, too -- they couldn’t risk showing their powers without being disguised, and a part of him was glad that Bart had put THAT much thought into this craziness, but that wasn't important right now. What was important was that Impulse was already making little practice darts back and forth across the tracks as the train approached. It hadn't reached him yet, but Max knew trains were faster than they looked and Impulse didn't.

Maybe Impulse could pull this off and keep ahead of the train every time he crossed the tracks, but Max didn't dare let him try. During missions, when peoples' lives were at stake, Impulse was usually able to focus and get the job done. But during practice sessions, more than once he had been distracted and Max had to save him at the last split-second. He would have to do that again now, and there was no room for error.

The train was almost upon him. Impulse made a couple more dashes across the tracks, his face lit up with a wide excited grin -- he was loving this! Max saw him shoot toward the tracks once more, this time nearly directly in front of the train. Max put on a burst of speed and leapt toward Impulse.

He heard the teenager grunt as the wind was knocked out of him and the two of them fell to the grass and rolled, the train roaring past them, the smell of grease and heat and deafening noise all around them. It took a half a beat for Max to realize with relief that he and Impulse were both unharmed and the train had passed them by.

"Aw, Max, why did you do THAT?" Impulse complained from underneath him. "I had it all figured out and my timing was perfect and -- "

"And I already told you NOT to do this!" Max yelled. He got to his feet, hauling Impulse up with him. He roughly turned the boy around, holding him by one shoulder and swung back his arm, intending to give him a solid whack on his well-defined, spandex-covered backside.

Then he stopped himself. What was he doing? He had never struck Bart before, never. It had never even crossed his mind to do so, no matter how frustrated the boy had made him.

"Max?" Impulse queried, glancing up at him. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

Of course Impulse had no idea why Max had suddenly turned him around like that. The boy had been raised in virtual reality with no grown-ups to guide or discipline him and it wasn't likely that his cousin The Flash had ever spanked him during their time together -- Wally was too much of a kid himself. Impulse wouldn’t even know what a spanking was.

Well, Max decided, he was going to find out. But not here, not Max Mercury spanking Impulse out in plain sight. Back home, where Bart Allen's 'Uncle' Max could deal with him privately. After he'd had a chance to cool down.

Max turned Impulse around to face him and looked directly into the yellow eyes behind the huge goggles. "Impulse," he said slowly and sternly, "I want you to go straight home - no deviations - and directly into your room. Stay there until I come for you. Do you understand me?"

"Sure, Max," Impulse answered uncertainly. Max knew the kid could tell he was angry, but was confused by the delay in having his head bitten off. At least he didn't stick around to ask more questions -- he tore off toward home.

Max took a deep breath and looked over at the train tracks. What if his instincts had failed him and he'd been too late? He'd come to love the impetuous poster boy for attention-deficit disorder more than anything in the world. The thought of what could have happened was almost too much to bear.

Run, Max thought grimly. Just run. Get it all out before you go home to him. With that resolution in mind, Max Mercury proceeded to circle the town of Manchester several times over until he felt his anger wan, to be replaced with calm, firm resolve.

--

By the time Max returned to the house, he had changed out of his costume and was back to looking like Max Crandall again. It was a strict rule that in order to keep their secret identities a secret, they could never been seen going or coming from the house in costume. He hoped Bart remembered that -- he didn't want another reason to get angry with him again.

He was relieved to find the fourteen-year-old in his room, as ordered, and no longer dressed as Impulse. With Bart's problem of never listening, he was just as likely to have been playing video games in the living room. Instead, he was playing handheld videogames on his platform bed. Max walked over and looked up at him. "Come on down here, Bart."

The boy glanced up from his game and looked about to say something -- probably to do with waiting until he reached the next level -- but when he met Max's eyes he seemed to change his mind. "Okay," he answered, and zwipped down the ladder. He watched Max take the chair from his desk and turn it around, then sit in it.

"Over here," Max said.

Bart approached, looking resigned. "How long am I grounded for this time?" he asked, pouting.

"You're not," Max told him. Bart was a small kid for fourteen, only five-foot-one, and Max was tall enough that when he sat down, he was almost at eye level with him. He used that to his advantage now by meeting and holding his gaze. "This is a different situation than earlier ones, Bart. In this case, you deliberately disobeyed me, and put your life at risk for no good reason."

"But Max, I _told_ you I could do it -- "

"I don't CARE, Bart! You asked me and I said no, and you ignored that. There's a reason why Wally put us together -- he felt I would know best how to handle a child with your incredible power because I know what it's like myself to possess it and because I've gained some measure of patience over the years that he doesn't have. You test that patience on a daily basis, but you usually don't disobey me. Did you forget what I told you yesterday about not racing the train?"

Bart shook his head and Max was relieved. Bart had never lied to him, and he was glad that at least hadn't changed.

"I'm sorry, Max," the boy said earnestly. "It just seemed like such a good idea, and I thought you'd be proud if I proved I could follow-through on a self-imposed training session."

"Not an unauthorized, unsupervised training session," Max told him. "And especially not one which I had already expressly forbidden you from attempting." He drew a deep breath. "I'm afraid your punishment is going to be a little more severe for that. Come here." He reached out and pulled the teenager closer, spreading his knees apart and drawing Bart in so that he was standing between his legs, then turning him to face left.

"I want you to take down your pants and underwear, Bart," he said.

"Um, okay." Bart was confused, but unfastened his jeans and pushed them down. He pulled down his underwear next so that both fell to pool around his ankles.

"All right, now bend over my knee," Max gently but firmly helped Bart ease down so that he was bent right over his left thigh, his bare bottom sticking up in the air. Max closed his right thigh, trapping Bart's legs between his own.

"Hey, this is really uncomfortable," Bart complained, grabbing the chair leg for balance. A thought struck him and he tried to look over his shoulder at Max. "Wait a minute, the last time you got me in a position like this, you were taking my temperature! I'm not sick, Max, I swear!"

"That wouldn't have been necessary if you'd remembered not to bite through all the oral thermometers in the house," Max told him. "And I know you're not sick. I'm going to punish you with a spanking."

Bart frowned. "What's that?"

"You're about to learn." Max answered. He raised his large hand and brought it down sharply on Bart's bottom.

"OUCH!" the boy cried out. "Hey, Max, this isn't funny! Let me up!"

"It's not meant to be funny. It's meant to be punishment." Max swatted him again, just as firmly. The sound of it filled the room, along with Bart's answering howl.

"OWW! That HURTS, Max! Come on!" Bart struggled to free himself, but with his legs trapped he couldn't get any traction to run with. He began to vibrate.

"Bartholomew, you will NOT vibrate free of this!" Max warned. "If you try it again, I'll throw out all your video game systems and will never buy you another one!"

Bart stopped vibrating. "Grife, that's blackmail!"

"You bet it is, and stop with the thirtieth-century swear words!" Max began to spank Bart in earnest, not giving him anymore time to talk between blows except to cry out in pain or protest. His own anger was kept in check and he made sure not to put too much force into his hand. This was Bart's first spanking -- with any luck, it would be his last, because truthfully, Max wasn't enjoying it anymore than Bart was.

"Max, PLEASE -- OUCH! Stop it, Max -- OWWW! I don't LIKE this, stop -- AHHH!" Max could feel Bart trying to squirm but there was no way the child could free himself without vibrating. His bottom was turning red by the tenth spank and it sounded to Max like he'd begun to cry. By the fourteenth, he was sure of it, as Bart no longer cried out, but sobs were shaking his small frame against his leg. He opened his knees and rubbed Bart's back.

"Okay, it's over," he said gently, helping the boy to stand. Bart's wild hair had fallen into his face, but when Max pushed it back, he saw the red, tear-streaked visage and eyes that could only be likened to a kicked puppy's. Or a well-spanked child's.

"Why, Max?" Bart whimpered, still shaking. "Why would you hurt me like this?"

Max helped him dress and stood up, his hands on Bart's shoulders. "Because I love you, and the thought of losing you in a foolhardy act scares me more than anything else. You don't always remember when I scold you or retain the lessons I try to impress upon you, but this time -- THIS time, Bart -- I had to make sure you would never forget. And if you don't, we'll never have to do this again."

Bart studied Max's face. "You're crying, too," he said softly.

The older speedster nodded and wiped his own eyes. "Having to hurt you hurts me, too."

Bart's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, Max!" He buried his face in Max's chest as his guardian held him tightly, lifting him right off the floor.

"Oh Bart," he murmured, stroking his thick hair. "My Bart …."

--

The next afternoon, the sound of the familiar train whistle sent a chill down Max's spine. It would be a long time before he forgot the picture of Bart preparing to hurl himself in front of the deadly engine.

"Bart?" he called out, thinking he'd feel better if he could see the boy whole and safe. He'd been quieter than usual since the previous day's spanking, so it was harder to tell where he was in the house. "Bart?" he tried again.

No answer. Alarm bells started to go off in Max's mind.

"No, he wouldn't, not again," he said, and did a rapid-fire search of the entire house. Bart wasn't there.

For the second day in a row, Max Mercury raced to the train tracks. If Impulse was there, and still alive, he was going to kill him.

Impulse _was_ there, standing in the same place he stood when Max saw him the day before. A flare of anger and crushing disappointment shot through the Zen Master of Speed. He'd hated spanking Bart so much, and it hadn't even had an effect on him. He was as scatterbrained as always, probably didn't even remember it had happened. Or maybe he just didn't care, which was even worse.

The train was coming, but Impulse hadn't made a move across the tracks yet. Max was relieved -- he could still stop him. Zooming across the grass, he tackled the teenager, bringing him to the ground.

"OOF!" Impulse grunted, and Max saw something fall out of his grasp and roll a couple of feet away.

An orange?

"Max, OW, get off me!" Impulse protested. "You're pushing my butt into the dirt and it's still sore!"

"It's going to be a lot MORE sore when I get you home, Impulse!" Max told him, pulling him to his feet. "How could you come here after what we both went through yesterday?! Didn't you learn anything from that spanking?!"

"Are you KIDDING?!" Impulse exclaimed. "Of course I did! You were CRYING, Max! If I scared you bad enough that you would hurt me and cry about it, you had to be serious." He zwipped over to pick up the orange. "I just wanted to check something out, and now that you're here, you can help me." He sped further away, alongside the tracks. "Come on!"

Not knowing what the boy had in mind, Max decided to do as he asked.

Once they'd far bypassed the train, Impulse darted over to the other side of the tracks.

"Impulse …," Max began warningly.

"That's the only time, I swear!" the boy said. "Head's up, Max!" He fired the orange at the older man with blinding speed. Max caught it easily.

"What's this about?" he asked.

"I need to prove something to myself," Impulse said. "Just keep throwing me the orange as fast as you can, and start running when I do."

Max was starting to get the idea. He nodded.

The train drew nearer. Finally Impulse took off alongside the tracks and Max matched his speed. The train flew in between them, just far back enough that they could see each other in front of it. Impulse rocketed the orange at Max, who caught it and fired it back. They kept it up for seven tosses before a plane zoomed overhead, and Bart noticed it, throwing his timing off. The orange left his hand a half-beat too late and he felt it, screeching to a halt. The train passed by and left he and Max facing each other across the tracks. Max nodded toward a spot on the tracks ten feet away and they both went over to it. The crushed orange laying oozing juice on the gravel.

"You were right," Impulse said quietly. "That could have been me."

Max put an arm around his shoulders. "Let's go home."

Impulse nodded and gazed up at his mentor earnestly. "Max?" he said. "Thanks for looking out for me. For doing what you have to do, even if I don't like it. You saved my life."

Max pulled him into a tight hug and Impulse squeezed him around the waist. They sped home together, side-by-side.

--

(2003)

The Impulse characters are owned by DC Comics.

This fic is not to be re-posted.