dceu_kinkmeme | DCEU Prompt Post #1

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

Welcome to Round One of the DCEU Kink Meme!

Please have a look at the extended rules here.

The important rules in short:

Post anonymously.
Negative comments on other people's prompts (kink-shaming, pairing-bashing etc.) and personal attacks of any kind will not be tolerated.
One prompt per comment. Warnings for common triggers and squicks are encouraged, but not required.
Prompts should follow the format: Character/character, prompt.
Keep prompts to a reasonable length; prompts should not be detailed story outlines.
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Please direct any questions to the Ask a mod post. For inspiration: list of kinks .

Prompt, write, draw, comment, and most importantly have fun! Please link to your fills on the fill post.

Here's the discussion post for all your non-prompt/fill needs.

We now have a non-DCEU prompt post for any prompts in other 'verses (comics, animated series, other movies or TV shows etc.).

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YES I LOVE THIS

I may end up writing it once finals are over ;)

I love this - it's so good!

(I hope this prompt thread never dies and people keep filling it!)

I would love to read something for this prompt whenever you find the time to write something. :D

Inspired by how incredibly hot Ben Affleck looks when he's looking annoyed ... Ben is just pissed off by how much he's into Henry. How gorgeous Henry is, how much Henry is flirting with him, that beautiful mouth smiling at him, Henry flexing those incredible muscles ... It's driving him mad how much he wants him.

Eventually Henry flirts a bit too much and Ben is just done with it, grabs him and fucks him hard (which was exactly what Henry was secretly hoping for all along). And he just takes Henry apart, makes him moan and beg and whimper.

+1 *shiftyeyes*

/suitporn anon

Second! That scent was awesome! Evil!superman but emotionally vulnerable would be a really interesting exploration.

(So, er, this isn’t exactly compliant with BvS, but I hope it’s porny enough to make up for that?)

Bruce isn’t a big fan of the freezing Arctic wasteland where Clark has his Fortress of Solitude, but needs must. He also isn’t a big fan of breaking into the Fortress, but hey, Clark told him last week that it was fine if he came by for a visit. Bruce had been trying to figure out if some of the fluid found at a crime scene in Gotham was alien, and if so, what kind. His own research equipment had only gotten him to ‘alien’, but he needed to know more.

He had mentioned the conundrum reluctantly to Clark, who had appeared a little absentminded but told Bruce that if he wanted to, he was welcome to use some of Clark’s research equipment and database.

Bruce still didn’t like relying too much on the Kryptonian, preferring to use his own gadgets and research techniques, where he knew exactly how things worked and that he could trust the results. But if there was some strange, alien creature wreaking havoc in Gotham, then Bruce wouldn’t turn down the help from another alien.

He stepped inside, shaking his head at how easy it had been to open the lock without the key. He would definitely have a word with Clark about that, and he could imagine the look of annoyed surprised on the other’s man face.

It was strange that Clark hadn’t responded to Bruce’s phonecall earlier when he had still been home, and he was starting to feel a little bit worried at how quiet it was in here.

Which was stupid, since Clark could handle anything the universe could throw at him, and more besides.

He squashed down the vague worries, and headed over to the laboratory instead. Do his tests, get the results, go back home. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t see Clark at all; he still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the other man, and while part of him wanted to find out what made Clark Kent and Superman tick, he ignored that urge too. Clark wasn’t a threat and Bruce had far more important things to think about.

He was just about to head into the lab when he heard a faint noise coming from somewhere, from a higher level, and he froze in the doorway. Was Clark here after all? Or another burglar? He’d have to investigate, perhaps it was someone intending to hurt Clark – or someone else, or an entire city.

He quietly snuck up the stairs, pausing at every door, holding his breath and listening for more noise. He heard grunts coming from further down the hallway, bitten back as if someone didn’t want anyone to hear.

Was Clark in trouble? Was that why he’d been so absentminded last week? Had he known about a threat to him – to Earth – and not mentioned it to Bruce?

Bruce narrowed his eyes as he quietly moved further down the hallway. Oh, so Superman can keep things to himself, while magnanimously offering Bruce the use of his equipment. Well, if Clark had now gotten himself into trouble because of it, Bruce was gonna chew him out before helping him.

He listened at the door of the room the noises were coming from. He could hear the hum of machinery, something was thumping rhythmically, and the bitten back grunts seemed to be the result of those thumps. Was Clark tied to some torturing device? Perhaps gagged as well, considering the suppressed noises?

And that thought of Clark tied up and gagged should not be making him feel hot. Clark was in trouble, and here was Bruce, about to rescue him, and instead of wondering who could’ve done this to Clark, his mind was coming up with some terrible porn scenarios. Shame drowned out any arousal.

He tried the door handle, surprised when it wasn’t locked, and opened the door slowly, ready to jump in and fight any mook who had been left behind to guard Clark.

But there weren’t any mooks, just Clark, and he was – he was naked, lying down on a kingsize bed, a fine sheen of sweat covering his chest, his head thrown back and his eyes firmly closed. His lips were parted, letting out the grunts Bruce had been hearing.

And the cause of those grunts, the cause of that rhythmic thumping noise Bruce had been curious about, was a device placed between Clark’s spread thighs and raised knees, and while Bruce couldn’t see any moving parts, he could tell from the way that Clark’s body moved with the thumps, that there definitely were moving parts and they were moving in and out, in an out.

“Please, please,” Clark muttered, and Bruce’s eyes flew back to his face. Clark’s eyes were still screwed shut, and he was gasping now, his expression almost one of his pain.

A thousand thoughts ran through Bruce’s mind. What was going on? Well, he could see what was going on, what was going on was that Clark was sprawled out on a bed, moaning in pleasure, one of his hands skimming across a nipple, his other hand curled into a fist around his hard, large cock and pumping up and down, thumb running across the tip every now and then, his entire body moving back and forth as the machine between his thighs did – did its work.

Even through the fog of confusion and arousal, Bruce realised that Clark must’ve created that machine for this purpose, the purpose of fucking him relentlessly.

And Bruce was watching him. And getting more and more turned on and harder by the second, because this went way beyond the filthy porn scenarios his mind had thrown at him when he had thought Clark might be in danger. This was real, this was happening right in front of his eyes and there wasn’t a single movement or sound Clark made that wasn’t burned into Bruce’s brain.

And Clark didn’t even know Bruce was here, or he would’ve done something. He would’ve got mad, thrown Bruce out, thrown him into some crevice and left him there to die.

It would be justified too, because what kind of creepy, perverted asshole stayed to watch this? Stayed to watch a man jerk off while letting some machine fuck him? Stayed to listen to those gasps and moans of pleasure? Stayed to look at the way Clark’s wrist was moving faster now, the way the expression on Clark’s face changed?

“C’mon, please, fuck,” Clark muttered, his other arm pinching his nipple. “Ah! Fuck!” He let out a low groan, and came all over his stomach and chest, covering himself in thick wads of sticky, white come.

Bruce knew he had to leave, because he could tell Clark was relaxing, his breathing slowing down, and a vague smile appeared on other’s man face. Any minute now, Clark would open his eyes and notice Bruce standing there.

He left as quickly and as quietly as possible, and as soon as he was in the Batwing and some distance away from the Fortress of Solitude and could afford to put it on autopilot, he popped open the buttons of his trousers and shoved his hand inside, wrapping it around his aching, hard cock.

He tried not to think about what he’d just seen, not to wonder about why Clark had needed to be fucked, what it would be like if he had stayed and Clark had seen him and not gotten angry, instead suggesting Bruce fuck him instead of the machine, and Bruce agreeing and joining Clark on that big bed and sinking into that tight heat – maybe not so tight after having been fucked by the machine, but that was fine, that made it all the easier to fuck Clark, if he was already prepared and lubed up, and he’d ask Bruce to fuck him harder, faster, deeper, and Clark would moan and mutter ‘please’ again, whimpering as Bruce fucked him. Maybe Clark would wrap his hand around his cock again, hard again already since Kryptonians probably didn’t need a moment to rest, and Bruce would tell him to stop touching himself and pull Clark’s hand away, because maybe after coming his superstrength didn’t return immediately, and Clark would look surprised and a little pleased, and then Clark would throw his head back and come, covering himself and Bruce in white, moaning in pleasure.

Bruce gasped his way through his own orgasm, guilt hitting him hard the split-second the initial bliss was over.

What the hell was he doing, jerking off over Clark like that, over what he’d just seen? How could he have done that to Clark?

Definitely better, Bruce decided, to avoid Clark for now.

Ooooooh, I like this, anon. I love how Bruce worries about Clark when he arrives, how he wants to figure him out and tries not to think too much about him at the same time, and then he walks in on ... that. So hot, and I also love Bruce's jerk-off fantasies after what he's seen. So happy this prompt is getting filled, I can't wait to see where things go from here. :D

YYYESSSSS to everything this in this beautiful. I love you anon, i really fucking do. From Bruce acting condescending (pat on the cheek) to trapping clark within his arms in the elevator to calling Clark son and kid - fuuuucccckkkkk why is this so unbearably hot????? I just love all the little reminders of their age difference like who knew i'd be so fucking into silverfox bruce wayne trying to smash it with a younger clark in a vaguely dom-ish way???

Zack Snyder, apparently.

Clearly the next logical step in this series is for bruce to fuck clark in the batsuit

ontop of the batmobile maybe

while Clark's still in his shitty non-fitting suit

Mod here with a small request. I'm super happy we're getting such amazing fills, but I've noticed that some of the (finished) fills haven't been linked on the fill post, which I think is a pity because then some people might miss your fills. So it'd be great if everyone could remember to link to their fill on the fill post. :)

I can do it, too, to make sure we have everything in one place, but I'd appreciate if you guys did it yourselves.

Oh, and I added some hopefully useful links (newest page, flat view, flat view newest page) to the post to make it easier to navigate. Let me know if you need anything else. Other than more porn.

Kink on, your beautiful kryptonite diamonds. :)

Edited 2016-05-08 18:20 (UTC)

YESSSSSSSSS, anon, how did this manage to get even better??? I love absolutely everything about this, from MORE SUITS to how peeved Bruce is that Clark's still wearing the ugly one to yesssssssss Clark so eager to please, trying so hard! That he wanted to kiss Bruce but didn't, that Bruce figures that out and immediately hauls him into one this time! UGH THE FEELINGS. Just wonderful, every part of it, and the last line is PERF. Thank you so, so much for this!

(Because every kinkmeme needs one of those!)

Pre-movie: Because college is pretty expensive for Clark, he needs a sidejob he can combine with studying but also has flexible hours, and being a sex worker is the most convenient and wellpaid job Clark can find.

Cue Bruce Wayne booking him for the night :D

Clark moved so the dildo could slide out of his body, and he lay back down to catch his breath. He didn’t even bother to turn the machine off, since he knew he was gonna need it in a matter of minutes.

He glanced at the door, and his heart skipped a beat when he noticed it was ajar. Bruce really had been here; it wasn’t some fantasy his lust-addled brain had come up with.

And the knowledge that Bruce had been here, and had seen him get fucked by a machine while jerking off and moaning, really should make him feel ashamed and embarrassed instead of turned on and disappointed that Bruce hadn’t stayed.

He tried to drag his mind away from what could’ve happened if Bruce had stayed, if Bruce had smirked at him, looking him up and down slowly, then reaching out to wrap one of his big hands around Clark’s cock, joining in. Clark would’ve come hard, then tried to explain what was going to Bruce even while he was still being fucked by the machine.

Bruce would’ve hushed him, telling him they could discuss that later, that they had better things to do. Bruce would’ve taken his clothes off, revealing muscle and bare skin, maybe there’d be bruises and fading scars, and Clark would worry about him all over again. Bruce was human – an extraordinary human, yes – but still human and they hurt so easily, even covered in kevlar.

Bruce would’ve moved the machine away, slowly, until it slid out of Clark, and he’d give the machine an interested look, as if he was already working out how to improve it, and then he’d settle between Clark’s thighs, smirking down as Clark lay there, still a little dazed from his orgasm and Bruce’s presence, but already feeling hot and needy and desperate and Clark would grab Bruce’s shoulders and pull him closer – trying to be careful and not hurt him, and Bruce would move with him, lie on top of him, a warm body against his own, and he’d enjoy that for a moment before pulling back so he could slide his thick, hard cock inside Clark.

He wouldn’t need any prepping, still open from the machine, but Bruce would feel so much better, he would be bigger and stretch Clark a little, and he would slide in slowly and pull back every now and then, teasing Clark, and then he would push in hard, balls-deep, making Clark scream with how good it felt to be filled by a real cock, not the cool metal one. Bruce would take him hard, thrusting in deep, a different rhythm from the machine, and it would feel good, so good, and maybe then the itch inside of him would finally be sufficiently scratched.

Clark whimpered, feeling the lust take over. Bruce was already gone, disgusted no doubt by what he had seen, and all Clark had was a machine that could only just take the edge off. Oh, the machine had multiple settings, there was even a hole for him to fuck, but he had tried that and it wasn’t as satisfying. There was nothing to touch or caress or hold.

He moved down the bed, lifting his head so he could get the dildo back in. He groaned as it pumped inside of him. Bruce’s dick would’ve felt so much better. Or maybe Bruce wouldn’t mind switching it up and getting fucked. He could straddle Clark, lowering himself and letting Clark penetrate him.

Clark wrapped his hand around his cock again, closing his eyes and imagining that, imagining Bruce gasping as Clark’s cock filled him, Bruce riding him and loving every second of it.

The orgasm cleared his brain for a moment, and the guilt slunk back in. He wasn’t supposed to jerk off or fantasise about Bruce, he was supposed to figure out why his body had decided that what it needed was sex, and lots of it, never enough. Had he gone into heat, like some animals did? Nothing in his database had mentioned that, but then there were lots of things that the database didn’t mention, like this machine that Clark had stumbled across months ago and after figuring out what it did, had put away, glad he hadn’t had company.

Maybe it was a side-effect of being on Earth? Maybe it was a new type of Kryptonite? A poison? If only his mind would focus on something besides sex and how good it felt to lie here and be fucked.

Clark sighed, hoping this would be over soon. He needed answers in order to stop this from happening again. He couldn’t go through another round of this.

*

When he returned to the Daily Planet, Perry yelled at him about sick leave and five days without hearing from him and then put him to work on some puff piece about a bakery that had been in the same family for a hundred years, and Clark figured that it could’ve been worse and if he played his cards right, he might get some free donuts out of it.

He went to work, both on the article and his side-project of figuring out what was wrong with him, but even after spending a week sifting through the database and other information available to him, he wasn’t any closer to finding an answer. He did consider asking Kara if she knew anything, but the idea of calling his cousin and going ‘so, have you ever felt the need to have sex for five days straight?’ was a mortifying one.

Surely he could figure this one out himself?

Or. Well. There was one other person who knew about it. Or at least, knew a little bit about it, and had the resources and intelligence to help him find an answer.

The thought of telling Bruce and asking him for help was even more mortifying than the thought of asking Kara, but he knew that if anyone could help him find an answer, it was Bruce. Maybe it was something that only affected male Kryptonians, and if it had something to do with the Earth’s sun, Kara wouldn’t know anything about it anyway.

He hadn’t heard from Bruce since his visit – and once Clark’s brain was able of rational thought, the evidence was even more damning than a door that was ajar. He definitely needed a word with Bruce about breaking into his Fortress. Sure, he had agreed that Bruce could visit to make use of Clark’s resources, but breaking in was ridiculous.

Perhaps that was the key to getting Bruce to help him. Anger was better than shame, and if Clark explained things clinically, they could both put the awkward moment behind them and work together to find a solution. He couldn’t stand the thought of never being able to work with Bruce again just because of something to stupid.

Hopefully, Bruce wouldn’t be too disgusted with Clark to help.

*

Arranging a meeting with Bruce took another week, and a lot of reminders from Clark and eventually Alfred, until Clark could finally see him in Wayne Manor, late at night.

Bruce was still in one of his well-tailored suits, sitting behind his desk and glaring at Clark as if Clark had just punctured all the tires of the Batmobile.

It was a tempting thought.

Clark gave Bruce an awkward smile, trying to ignore the nervous squirming of his stomach. He was here for Bruce’s help, and Bruce would surely enjoy lording that over Clark, and Clark would take Bruce’s smugness happily if it meant talking to the other man again.

“So, you broke into my Fortress.”

There was the tiniest of flinches from Bruce, but he quickly got back to glaring. “I called. You didn’t pick up.”

“You still broke into my Fortress.”

“If all you want to do is yell at me, you could’ve done that over the phone. Same if you needed security advice.” Bruce got up. “If that is all, I have better things to do.”

“Wait.” Clark jumped up as well, licking his lips nervously. “About… the other thing.”

Bruce’s shoulders stiffened. “What other thing?”

“The other thing in the Fortress. That you saw.”

“I didn’t see anything.” The denial came too fast, too hurried, and Clark could hear Bruce’s heartbeat speed up.

“I can’t figure out why it happened,” Clark told him, deciding to bite the bullet. “It was the first time that happened to me, and I need to know how to prevent it.”

Bruce frowned at him. “Prevent it? But you were…” He gestured vaguely at Clark. “I mean, I have no idea what was going on, since I didn’t see anything.”

Well, if Bruce wanted to go with denial, Clark could work with that. It was better than disgust and sneers. “It seems to have been a biological response to an unknown trigger,” he explained, folding his hands in front of him. “It lasted for five days, although the week before it started, I was already feeling restless and on edge.” Which he had noticed, but could only explain now.

Bruce stared at him, his posture stiff and awkward, but he nodded. “Biological response?” he asked.

“One of, er, increased arousal,” Clark replied, and he knew his face was red. He glanced out the window. “Unusually increased arousal.”

“Like a heat,” Bruce muttered, and Clark nodded again. “And you want to know how to stop it from happening again?”

“Yes,” Clark replied, relieved that Bruce was looking a little intrigued now.

Yay, a second part! I love Clark's POV as much as Bruce's, the embarrassment and shame and confusion. And haha, of course getting angry at Bruce seems clearly like the way to start a conversation, they're such idiots. I also love the ending with Bruce being intrigued. Is he now? :D Love this fill so much!

*waves pompom at you*

Hmmm, good, tell me more about this heat, tell meeeee.

\o/ So thrilled to see this fill, anon! Just sorry I was too slow to comment on the first part (since I think if I reply to it now, that'll appear below and kind of throw off the subthread), because I LOVED desperate Clark and SO GUILTILY AROUSED Bruce, yessssssss. :D And now a second part! And Clark also feeling guilty, plus just grateful Bruce wasn't disgusted - MY HEART. YES.

Thank you so much for this fill, and I'm so excited for more parts!

UGH Same Bruce same! The idea of Clark bound and gagged is too hot!

Aaaaa I keep forgetting to link my fills. I come from a much more chaotic kinkmeme and need retraining :D

Sorry, boss!

I hope you like, nonnie! I have only written breathplay once before, and so I apologise for my inaccuracies -- this isn't really how it works anyway, forgive me, I did it for the kink XD

I also just made up a bunch of stuff about Clark's need for breathing etc. and how kryptonite works. I'm also super sorry for typos, I know there must be some, as this is unbetad at the moment :(

Siiiighhh, I want to write mutual choking next XD

-----

Bruce knows that under ordinary circumstances, Clark doesn't need to breathe. Or if he does, it's far less regularly than any human.

Clark has learned to mimic it – the rise and fall of the chest, the open mouth, that slight movement of the throat. He had to, if he wanted to pretend to be nothing more than the Kansas farm boy come to the big city, and Bruce imagines he took to it with the dedication he takes to everything about his human disguise.

Sometimes, usually when he’s lost in thought but always when it’s just the two of them alone, Clark lapses into an unearthly stillness that, before he even realises what he’s doing, Bruce compares to a corpse (and of course there was the time that Bruce had jerked awake to find Clark still in the bed beside him; he may have said his name, fingers scrabbling after signs of life, until he heard Clark’s preternaturally calm, Bruce? What is it? It was after that that Bruce started leaving the bed – or whatever surface they’d collapsed against – and finding somewhere else to sleep).

This is all under normal circumstances. Bruce doesn’t remember how he discovered it – actually, that’s a damn lie, he knows full well when he first noticed, even if he didn’t put all the pieces together at the time – but when Clark is affected by kryptonite, he needs to breathe.

They’ve been using the collar for a while already. It had been Clark’s idea, and Bruce still remembers the way his eyes had slid away as he suggested it, the colour that rose in his cheeks and the hesitancy in his voice. He hadn’t needed to ask twice, though.

There’s nights when Bruce allows himself to let go, and be taken in any way Clark wants to take him; when he lets himself forget who he is. Clark’s fingers and lips and tongue and cock can make him forget his own name on those nights, which is exactly what he wants.

This isn’t one of these nights, however.

He’s waiting for him, the collar laced through his fingers. He hasn’t taken the cowl off – for this, he wants to leave it on. He’s not Bruce tonight; he’s not smiles and easy debauchery and the kind of sneaky innuendos that would make a mother superior blush and giggle and twirl her habit around her finger. Tonight he’s cold and hard and there’s only one body on the face of the earth that can take what he wants to dish out.

Bruce is the one who chooses when the collar comes out. It’s just one of the things they have come to an unspoken agreement over. It’s a tacitly understanding between them that Clark shouldn’t know when to expect it. He’ll be able to sense it before the full power of the kryptonite hits him, but Bruce has never asked how close he has to be before he realises; if he’d even have the chance to collect himself and fly aware before it can take hold, or if he really doesn’t have any choice but to come crashing down in front of him, his landing awkward and heavy as his powers are sapped.

That’s the first – and only – warning he gets.

“Bruce?”

Clark’s voice echoes through the caverns of the burnt-out remains of Wayne Manor, and Bruce’s fingers tighten on the collar.

Bruce doesn’t like talking – if he ever likes talking – during these times. While Clark is still on his knees on the ground he’ll reach down and pull his head back, wrapping the collar around that long white throat of his. Sometimes there’ll be a boot in the small of his back, forcing his spine in an unnatural curve that, despite his current state, Bruce knows his body can take. But more often he’ll just tug on the leash, forcing Clark to scrabble after him on his hands and knees, slipping on concrete ground and only just managing to keep up.

And Bruce is nothing if not methodical in pursuing his goals. And he’s realised by now that when he has Clark collared and completely at his mercy like this, it’s not the fact that he's feeding him his cock that's making him come so hard. It's not the tightness of Clark’s throat around him, or the sight of his lips stretched around the base.

It's also the small, desperate choking sounds he makes, the ineffectual movements of his head as he tries to either throw him off or swallow him deeper. It’s the short, wheezing gasps he makes when Bruce withdraws briefly, only shove himself back in, forcing himself past the gate of Clark’s lips and teeth. It’s the helpless look in those blue, blue eyes that has him coming harder than he ever has before in his life, before he finally pulls out, for good this time, utterly spent, and leaving ropes of come smeared across Clark’s lips and face.

Fuck. He’s already hard, standing in the darkness, watching as Clark’s shadow grows shorter on the marble floor, his footsteps echoing. He hesitates, and Bruce knows he can feel it now – the kryptonite’s dark pull on his body. He once told Bruce that it felt like someone injecting ice water into his veins and feeling it slowly spread throughout his body, and that’s an image Bruce can work with.

He waits until Clark has passed him in the entrance hall, where he’s waiting behind a pillar.

“Bruce?” Clark says again, and Bruce can see the slight tremble in his shoulders, the clench of his fists as he fights to stay upright. He can’t hear him, can’t detect his presence. Not this close to the collar, with his senses dulled like his.

He doesn’t want to wait. He slips out from where he’s standing, coming up behind Clark and wrapping one hand under his chin, forcing his head up, while the other winds the collar around his throat and snaps it closed.

“Don’t struggle,” Bruce says, voice low in his throat.

Of course, he doesn’t listen, and Bruce curls his fingers, pressing down, feeling Clark’s weak scrabble against his wrist. It's nothing like the strong grasp that even at its strongest, Bruce knows is only the merest fraction of what he’s capable of. But this – this is pathetic, his fingertips sliding over his skin as they look for purchase, the struggle as Bruce pulls him back against his body, letting him feel his hardened cock pressing into the small of his back.

Bruce can just see the wild look in his eye as he strains his head around, and then he lets him go, and Clark drops to the floor like a stone.

Bruce circles him slowly, watching Clark struggle on his hands and knees, his breath already coming at a pant. Bruce lets the leash uncoil from his palm, pooling on the floor in front of Clark, before twisting it around his hand and giving it a vicious tug, brining him down on his elbows.

“I told you,” he mutters, his voice thick, dark and filled blood.

There’s a thousand things he could do to Clark when he’s like this – a thousand things he has done. But tonight he’s only interested in one thing he’s interested in. Clark doesn’t need to breathe. Except for when he does.

This is more than just libido, Bruce sometimes realises when he lets himself think about it, which isn’t often – this is trying to fill a crack that runs so deep within him that filling it is like trying to fill an empty well. He has tried for years, filling it with everything and nothing, but until this – until Clark – he never even came close. Even if it drains empty again every morning, it doesn’t change the fact that the only moments of peace he’s known have been there, with this man.

Clark is heavy, but Bruce drags him across the floor without even feeling it. He can hear Clark’s gasps behind him, feel the tug on the leash as he rolls on the ground, pulling at the collar, trying to halt his inexorable progress deeper inside the Manor. Bruce pulls again, hearing Clark’s corresponding cough.

“I won’t tell you again.”

Things are smoother after that, Clark’s struggles stopped for now. There’s an iron reinforcing wire sticking up out of a collapsed piece of ceiling; a vast slab of concrete that used to form the floor of the dining hall. Despite the ruin, Bruce has every room still mapped out in his head, knows where every piece of rubble once used to stand. He can put it all back together in his head and take it apart again, and has done, any number of times over the years. Piece by piece, stone by stone.

The slab, with its curled and twisted wires, suits his purposes now. He winds the leash around it, pulling Clark so his back is against the concrete, leaning back propped up against it. Bruce takes one of his hands and lifts it, feeling only the slightest struggle, before he presses it back, circling it with the leash, fastening it to the wire. The other hand he leaves free; there’s no point if he can’t see Clark trying to do what he says, knowing things will only get worse if he doesn’t.

Then he leans back, to look.

Bruce is breathing now, his chest rising and falling heavily, desperately, trying to heave in enough oxygen to power his body through the effect of the kryptonite. His left hand is tied, but his right is on the collar, trying futilely to slip his fingers between it and the skin of his throat. It can’t be done, and he knows it. He knows how meticulous Bruce is, and it’s not as if they haven’t done this before.

One foot if planted on the ground, as if Clark is trying to push himself up, his hips rising as his leg scrabbles ineffectually against the floor.

“B-Bruce, I – ”

His voice is breathy and weak. Bruce stands before him, looking down. He can still see him, even in this dark – the blood rising in his cheeks, his blue eyes glazed and half-lidded, lips turning dark and swollen. It could have been fear that’s making him pant and writhe like this, except for the fact that when Clark opens his thighs, Bruce can see the growing bulge between them, pushing against the material of his uniform in a way that’s almost obscene. It reminds Bruce that, despite the effects of the kryptonite, it’s still Superman he has lying here before him, powerless and weak and desperate and panting, like a cornered animal.

The suit still traces all the thick valleys of his muscles, every perfect line of his body. Every dip and groove, from the sharp V of his hips to the straining cords of his biceps, Bruce can see everything, watching every twitch and quiver. And for a moment when Bruce drops to his knees in front of him, he forgets which one of them holds the power here.

The knife he uses to cut away the uniform is tried and tested; of course, he collected samples from Doomsday’s broken corpse before the government had it spirited away. It could punch through the suit then, and the knife Bruce had fashioned from it slices through the suit like it’s butter now, leaving Clark’s skin bare below it.

Bruce doesn’t bother with the top half; his desires, his needs are too urgent now, and he cuts away at the suit over Clark’s hips, forcing them down when Clark tries to twist away.

“Stay still, goddamn you.”

When there’s a big enough cut, he yanks it down Clark’s thighs, his cock springing free, hard and leaking against his belly. Clark moans, as if he’s beyond words, beyond the capacity to form words, even though Bruce has barely touched him. His cock leaves trails of pre-come over his abdominal muscles, clenching and twitching beneath his pale skin.

He watches Clark’s face – that inhumanly beautiful face – as he slowly trails his fingers down over his stomach, past his navel (why does he have one? Bruce has time to wonder as he passes it by), calloused fingertips scraping over the sensitive skin in the valley between hips and thigh. Clark gasps, jerking up, as if seeking more, and Bruce decides to have mercy.

Clark whimpers when Bruce wraps his fingers around his cock, the sound so pathetic that Bruce almost laughs.

When Clark is as full and straining and swollen as this, he's too thick even for Bruce's fingers to fully encircle (and if he's being honest, Bruce likes the fact that, no matter how prepared he is and how much lube they use, he still feels a dull slice of pain down his spine when Clark enters him; he still struggles to relax himself around the massive intrusion, even on the nights when Clark tells him that he will be gentle). Pre-come leaks from the head, sliding down the length of him, dripping onto Bruce’s hands as he holds him.

He doesn’t move; he simply allows Clark to make what small movements he can, thrusting up into palm. Bruce watches his face, watches the muscles in Clark’s neck cord against his skin, pressing against the collar. When Bruce tightens his fingers, even a little, Clark’s head falls back against the concrete slab, his mouth falling open in an unstifled moan.

“Keep doing that,” Bruce mutters, staring down as Clark rolled his hips, seeking more contact, his hips stuttering from the effort of keeping going, even as the collar digs deeper into his skin. He wants to watch this; there is something artless in Clark’s moves, as if he is doing this for the first time, moving wholly on instinct. It’s almost as if everything that happens still comes as a surprise to him, as if he remains a stranger to the sensations that Bruce can pull out of his body, and they still catch him unguarded every time.

So Bruce just watches, allowing Clark to fuck his hand, his face contorted, eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled back into what is almost a snarl.

Eventually, he has to close his eyes; the cords of desire that run through his body are pulled too taut inside him, and if he does not keep control of himself, he’ll do something he cannot take back. He clenches his free hand into a fist, still feeling the long slide of Clark’s cock in the other. He twists his hand and Clark cries out, hips shuddering to a stop.

Taking up the knife again, Bruce slices down the front of Clark’s uniform, not being careful, not caring if the blade bites into his skin. Clark doesn’t resist, he only moans, his body held still by Bruce’s fist around his cock. He feels it pulse against his palm as he cuts, letting the material fall away.

For a moment, Bruce traces the pale circle of Clark’s peaking nipple with the point of the knife, the pressure just shy of breaking the skin. Clark turns his face away, his eyes rolling up to look at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. Bruce watches him carefully, watching the way his pulse flutters around the collar as he presses just a little harder, driving the point into his skin. Clark’s eyes snap shut.

“Bruce, please.”

He doesn’t know what Clark is asking for, or if he’d give it to him if he knew. For a moment, he balances the knife between Clark’s skin and the tip of his finger – before letting it fall, discarded, to clatter on the marble at Clark’s side.

Bruce can tell he’s surprised from the way his eyes fly open again – he’s gotten used to that pain, Bruce reflects. So it’s time to try something different. This is what he came here for, and called Clark here for. The things he can’t do with anyone else, their bodies writhing against each other in the dark.

He released his grip on Clark’s heavy cock, his own blood stirring a little at the strangled noise that forces its way past the man’s lips. He has been painfully hard for some time now, but he’s pushed that into the corner of his mind, ignored it, the same way he has learned to ignore all the needs of his body until he’s ready to deal with them.

Sitting back on his heels, Bruce opens his suit, taking out his hard cock, holding it in his hand. Clark’s eyes fall on it immediately, as if they’re drawn to it by magnetism, and he runs the tip of his tongue over his lips. For a moment, Bruce is tempted simply to feed it to him, force it down his endless throat until he chokes.

But again, that’s not what he’s come here for tonight.

Bruce withdraws a little, and Clark moans, swaying a little, his cock swaying a little at the movement, dripping over his stomach, his balls heavy with unspilled come.

“Bruce, please, I need you – I need –”

His words are cut off as Bruce throws himself forward, one hand going to Clark’s hip, the other to his throat, pressing down just above the collar. He stares into Clark’s eyes, watching comprehension dawn, just before he presses down, and they slide shut.

Bruce looks down, looking between their bodies where their cocks are pressed against each other. He brings his hand up to wrap around them both, as far as he can manage, before thrusting his hips forward. Clark arches up off the ground, as far as Bruce’s weight pressing down on him and the bonds of the leash will allow him, the muscles in his stomach twitching, his breath coming in short, breathless gasps around Bruce’s hand.

The heat of Clark against him sends pleasure spiraling through Bruce’s body; already he can feel that dark gathering at the base of his spine, the slow build in his cock. Nonetheless, he lets himself thrust forward twice more, squeezing them together, letting pain spike through the building pleasure. When he moves back, releasing them, he buries his face in the white arch of Clark’s neck, bound by the collar, before shoving his hips forward. Clarks stiffens beneath him, every muscle going taut, as Bruce rubs his cock against him, letting him feel the length and the hardness; barely brushing over the entrance to Clark’s body. Clark jerks against him, as he’s trying to force himself down onto his dick, his back bending, desperate.

He doesn’t want it to be that easy, though; Bruce simply ruts against him, ignoring Clark’s increasingly desperate moans. Clark is so ready for him, so willing, so desperate to be filled, but Bruce needs to make himself wait. There is nothing he wants more than to bury himself to the hilt, to fuck Clark until neither of them know their own names.

But he’s methodical. When he is doing something he has never done before, he wants to devote time and attention to getting it right.

So he forces himself to heave back, taking his lips from Clark’s throat, though not without leaving a dark red mark behind him. The collar worries against it, pressing on it.

Bruce slides his hand down over Clark’s steel-perfect muscles, squares his hip to him, and then presses forward, sinking himself into the throbbing, living heat of Clark’s body.

Clark arches to meet him, his head thrown back, everything in him taut and straining. Bruce cannot hold back a groan as he pushes past the ring of his muscle; there is nothing that can compare to this, this first penetration, no matter how many times he may do it. Clark’s body holds him like a glove, seemingly trying to draw him in deeper, even when he is sheathed to the hilt, buried as deep as he can go.

He lies there a moment, simply feeling the twitch of Clark’s muscles around him, the heave of his chest. Clark’s lungs are filling with air in a way they do not ordinarily need to, pushing out and then drawing it in again, sustaining him despite the dark hold of the kryptonite at his throat. Bruce grits his teeth as Clark squeezes himself around his cock, evidently trying to spur him to some movement, but Bruce forces the surge of pleasure that nearly overtakes him back, forcing his mind to stay focused.

He is slow, at first, pulling himself in and out of Clark’s body with long, slow drags of his hips, feeling his body flutter every time he pushes forward. The next time Clarks opens his mouth, the sound that emerges is almost a sob, and Bruce feels his control wavering, if only for a second. The sound sends fire down his veins, darts of pleasure curling through his body, his dick twitching where it rests inside Clark’s body.

The cry that rises in Clark’s throat when Bruce makes his first hard thrust bounds off the walls around them, echoing through the empty chambers of the Manor, disturbing whatever creatures have made their home here since its destruction. As Bruce speeds his movements, shoving his hips forward quickly and brutally now, the cries that leave Clark’s lips and those that are still flying around them become indistinguishable. Clark has never held back the noises he makes when Bruce touches him; when he fucks him. It’s just one other thing that Bruce files away in his mind about him, and tries not to consider too hard until later, but then never quite makes the time.

He can feel dark heat gathering in his groin, feel the pull of everything within him surging towards one single point, and he forces himself to slow, pausing as he shifts his weight, the sweat over their skin making him slide against Clark’s body. The clench of Clark’s muscles around him in reaction seems to wash over his whole body, sends white heat licking over his nerves, and Bruce has to struggle to concentrate.

Leaving his left hand where it grips Clark’s hip, Bruce raises his right, catching Clark’s throat in his fingers. He presses down, his thumb over the pulse that flutters in Clark’s neck, squeezing ever so slightly. He watches as fear spreads over Clark’s face at the unfamiliar sensation – he might know that that kryptonite means he has to breath far more regularly than usual, but Bruce is sure that he has never known what it feels like to suddenly be deprived of oxygen; has never felt the panicked instinct rise in his chest when he finds he cannot breath.

Bruce eases his grip for a moment, only to tighten it again when he thrust forward, feeling Clark’s feeble struggle beneath him. His eyes are locked onto Bruce’s, mouth widening as he seeks after a breath that will not come. Bruce watches him, knowing that he’s doing so at the expense of giving himself over to his own pleasure, keeping his hips moving steadily, driving himself into Clark over and over again.

The fear in Clark’s eyes becomes panic as he realises that this time, Bruce isn’t slackening his grip; his fingers remain where there are, pressed against his windpipe, just above the collar, his thumb reducing his pulse to a thread. He watches as Clark’s lips part, hi mouth open wide, heaving in what sips of breath he can around Bruce's fingers, as his eyes slowly begin to roll back in his head, before snapping shut.

Now, Bruce thinks. It has to be now.

Shifting his weight, he takes his hand from Clark’s hip and curls it around his cock, griping it firmly, jerking up and down along his length, sticky and glistening from the copious amounts of pre-come Clark has spilled over himself. His cock is as stiff as Bruce has ever felt it, his pulse beating against Bruce’s palm, warm and solid and hard as steel.

Bruce shoves himself forward twice more, one hard digging into Clark’s throat, the other circling his dick, and then he feels Clark spilling his come over his palm, spurting in warm waves that drip down his wrist and spatter on to Clark’s own chest and abs. Bruce keeps rubbing him up and down, milking him of every last drop, until his cock is twitching in his hand, spent and useless.

The tiny cry that escapes Clark’s throat is ragged and hoarse, barely a sound at all; it’s not the sound of pleasure, but of the desperate attempt to suck air into his lungs. Bruce grunts; Clark’s muscles twitch around him, his body pulling itself tight, squeezing itself into a tight ball of panic. It’s only then that Bruce lets him go, and Clark gasps in a breath, a massive, wheezing gulp of air.

In the next second, Bruce feels his orgasm bearing down on him, coming almost unexpectedly, tearing through him with a force he has come to know, but never to expect. Every time it shocks him just how deeply he is shaken; just how powerful and engulfing. His orgasms at times like this seem almost ripped from his body, leaving his nerves ragged and tattered behind it. He empties himself into Clark, his hips jerking in spasms, gasps leaving him in spasms; for the moment at least completely empty of all thoughts; of everything except engulfing pleasure and heat.

All that remains is the husk of himself, his memories, his surroundings, all of them obliterated if only temporarily.

It's this that he is constantly chasing, every time he calls Clark to him; it’s this momentary void that, in the moment, makes him feel the kind of peace he has never found anywhere else.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to come back to himself, only that when he does, he’s curled over Clark’s body, sweat dripping from his chest and onto Clark’s, his hand still curled loosely around Clark’s throat. Clark’s hands are still tied, of course, the collar still around his neck, still necessitating the breath that is heavy in his chest. He’s still buried in Clark’s body, his softening cock only just now beginning to slide out, his come forming a slick puddle on the ground below.

Sitting up, Bruce reaches down and tears the collar off him and throwing it across the vast chamber, into the darkness beyond. Beneath him, Clark suddenly jerks awake, or at least, out of whatever state he had drifted into after Bruce had choked him, forced him to come while his breath died ragged in his throat.

Clark blinks, his blue eyes slowly focusing. Bruce watches him, curious, in a detached way, to know what he’ll see there – if this has finally been a step too far, if this is the time that Clark will say to him, no more. But as he looks up at him, his eyes clearing of the haze, Bruce sees nothing other than what he always sees: deep assurance, acceptance. The question of whether Bruce got what he wanted, and the willingness to do it again if he hasn’t.

Bruce jerks himself to standing, even when his knees protest. He shoves his soft cock back inside his pants, and then turns and walks away.

Bruce has always been very careful about not catching anything and using condoms, but there's really no need for that with Clark. So give me Bruce finally indulging in all the barebacking and comeplay he always denied himself. Bonus if they switch and Bruce gets off both on filling Clark up and on Clark filling him up.

I'm really sick of seeing Omegaverse fics in this fandom because they're either all a) rape/noncon tagged or b) the omegas are obligated to make babies and "societal pressure" on them is worse than how reality treats women.

So I'd like to see an Omegaverse fic where couples get to be couples with their usual or less than usual problems where the only Omegaverse thing is that they really want to fuck sometimes but the urge to do so doesn't turn them into mindless, insane sex zombies.

I have a preference for Bruce/Clark with Bruce topping but honestly I'd take anything that isn't just another rape/omega-dystopia fic.

OP here, and I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. You are amazing, nonny, no apologies of any kind needed. <3 (I threw mutual choking in there just for fun, but I'd love to see how that actually turns out, haha.)

I love how many details there are in this. How Clark has taught himself to appear more human, for one, but also how comfortable he is around Bruce (and how it actually freaks Bruce out a little). I also love that the collar makes an appearance! Fuck yeah, kryptonite collar!

Tonight he’s cold and hard and there’s only one body on the face of the earth that can take what he wants to dish out.
I am so, so into this. And I love how hard Bruce gets off on the power trip of having Clark at his mercy. And there's something so hot about Clark's helpless struggling.

This is more than just libido, Bruce sometimes realises when he lets himself think about it, which isn’t often – this is trying to fill a crack that runs so deep within him that filling it is like trying to fill an empty well. He has tried for years, filling it with everything and nothing, but until this – until Clark – he never even came close. Even if it drains empty again every morning, it doesn’t change the fact that the only moments of peace he’s known have been there, with this man.
AND THEN YOU GIVE ME FEELS! I also love that they're doing this in the ruined manor, like that's a normal thing to do, fucking your superhuman totally-not-boyfriend in the burnt out ruin of your parents' house. :D And that Clark is wearing his Superman suit and Bruce just cuts it open, unf. ALSO YES SIZE KINK, CLARK BEING HUGE AND BRUCE LOVING IT, I AM ALWAYS HERE FOR THAT.

I love that Clark is such a mess in this whole fic, needy and helpless and so turned on. And then the choking at the end and the actual fucking, I don't even have WORDS for how hot this is, especially when Clark starts to panic. I'm dead and you killed me, congrats.

The ending is so bittersweet - that moment when they just lie there together, but then Bruce gets up immediately, how Bruce worries that he went too far, but Clark is still there for him and cares about him and OF COURSE Bruce runs away from that, because what are feelings? This is absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much for writing this. :D And I hope you write many more fics for this ship because this is so great.

Oooh. I'm not OP, but thank you for filling this. Quite lovely and delicious.

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Page 11 of 99

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Re: Bruce/Clark, involuntary soulbonding

Re: Flashfic Challenge - ghostly monosyllable

Re: Bruce/Clark, involuntary soulbonding

[RPF] Ben/Henry, angry sex

Re: Clark/Bruce, nsfw, Bruce wearing his three-piece suit

Re: Bruce/Clark, Nightmare scene, Powerbottom Superman

Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 1/? (with a fuck machine and masturbation)

Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 1/? (with a fuck machine and masturbation)

Re: FILL: Sometimes, Always, Never (2/2!)

Modly request

Re: FILL: Sometimes, Always, Never (2/2!)

Clark/Bruce, rentboy!Clark

Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 2/?

Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 2/?

Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 2/?

Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 2/?

Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 1/? (with a fuck machine and masturbation)

Re: Modly request

Bruce/Clark, breathplay fill - pt 1

Bruce/Clark, breathplay fill - pt 2

Bruce/Clark, breathplay fill - pt 3

Bruce/Clark, barebacking, comeplay

Less Crappy Omegaverse

Re: Bruce/Clark, breathplay fill - pt 3

Re: Bruce/Clark, heat - Fill, 2/?