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.
No prompt spamming.

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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Oh no, another long part, how awful. ;D And by that I mean how awesome. Bruce being as considerate as he can be about their fake relationship is incredibly cute, I love it. And, again, I love identity stuff, so Clark looking at public!Bruce and interpreting his behaviour is like the fun kind of kryptonite. :D And I love how Clark does his best of playing along, too.

(Bruce doesn't do anything but keep a hand on Clark's elbow, stand a little too close, and keep smiling. By the time the party's over, Clark's teeth ache with waiting.)
I think Clark might just be a bit oblivious about what he wants, eh? :D And I loved this line here: Definitely not Batman's brusque goal-oriented focus, but not really Bruce Wayne's brand of slick ostentation either—it is ostentatious, of course, but also kind of—courteous? Because if it's neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne, it might be just ... Bruce? Who secretly likes doing nice things for the people he loves?

"By all means, send him up," Bruce says, and his tone is teetering on the edge of implying filthy, filthy things; Clark shuts the hearing back down immediately, but he can feel his ears going red.

He decides not to think about what the receptionist is going to imagine is happening in Bruce's office.
Sure, Clark, don't think about that. O:-) And awwwwwww, my heart skipped a little at Clark snapping at him more than he intended and Bruce freezing up like that.

because you haven't kissed me yet but I know you're going to is a totally inappropriate answer.
ANONNNNN, THIS IS PERFECT. And I'm as impatient and excited for that kiss as Clark is. :D

with a brief sharp smirk at Clark, "some very good sex."
Bastard. :D

And this time he's still looking at Clark, voice so coolly disengaged he might as well be reading the phone book, when he says, "I have to have fallen hard, Clark. It doesn't make sense any other way."
Again, I love Bruce being all methodical and cool about this, systematic, and of course logic dictates that he's madly in love with Clark. Yep. Bruce is so going to bite off more than he can chew. :D Seriously, this fic is so exciting and awesome and I love every single sentence of it. You're the best. <3

/OP

Clark is too embarrassed to talk much in bed, so Bruce forces him to talk dirty - to ask for what he wants, to tell Bruce what he wants to do to him, and to say all of it in the filthiest words he can think of. Because if he doesn't, he's not getting anything. Blushing, stammering, embarrassed Clark doing his best to talk dirty - and probably eventually getting really, really good at it.

Here's part one of the fill, prompter! I'm hoping to post one part each day until... uh, well, until it's done.

This is a bit of a mish-mash, I slightly mention a few things from the comics, but it's really not important. Basically I just needed an explanation for Clark being depowered.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, more will be along soon :)

-----------------

When Bruce gets the call, the first thought in his head is, I hope to God Clark isn’t flying right now.

Bruce hasn’t got superpowers, so he guesses the quickest way to be sure that he isn’t is to call his desk phone at the Daily Planet. Clark is nothing if not diligent about answering his phone within three rings. It’s common courtesy, he says.

So five, Bruce supposes, would be an intolerable insult to whoever was calling, and Clark would probably blow his cover using his super speed to get to his desk. Bruce lets it ring five times before he hangs up.

So he’s not at his desk. That doesn’t mean anything, though, Bruce tells himself – Clark’s job takes him away from his desk with reasonable regularity. He’s not necessarily miles above the city or in the middle of a blazing inferno just because he’s not parked in his cubicle. It occurs to Bruce that Clark might not be in North America at all – that he might have nipped across the Pacific to collect some award for rescuing a French kitten or something like that – and that this would take some explaining later. It would be better than most of the alternatives, but still hardly ideal.

Bruce dials his cell phone.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” Clark says, after exactly three rings.

“Clark. It’s me. What’re you doing right now?”

Clark hesitates. “I’m at the docks.”

“The docks.” Bruce does a mental run-down of all the possible things Clark could be doing at the docks. Only some of them are things he likes. “What’re you doing there?”

“I was meeting with a source.” Clark’s voice is only slightly defensive – they’re long past the arguments they used to have about these things, where Clark would insist that, no matter what, it was a matter of his journalistic integrity to keep the identity of his sources a secret, no matter how much use it might be for Batman, if not Bruce Wayne, to know who they are and what they’re involved in.

“Stay where you are,” Bruce tells him. “I mean it. Under no circumstances are you to move from that spot.”

“What’s the matter?” Clark asks. “If it’s urgent, I can just –”

For a split second, Bruce lets himself think: maybe Power Girl was wrong, and Booster’s knocking over that mystical artifact in Doctor Fate’s room meant nothing. Maybe Clark never lost his powers after all. He certainly doesn’t seem to have noticed if he has.

“ – fly over to the lake house, if that’s where you are. There’s no one around. Why don’t I – huh.”

Huh.

Bruce doesn’t have to ask what that huh meant. “Like I said. Stay. Where. You. Are.”

***

In the stark minimalism of the lake house, Clark looks out of place. He’s wearing a cheap tweed jacket with – Bruce’s lip twitches – patches on the elbows. It’s as if someone, deep in Clark’s Midwestern past, had shown him a picture of how a big city reporter was supposed to dress, and that’s the image he’d doggedly stuck with for the next thirty years, totally impervious to any outside forces.

Bruce has always been struck by how unnervingly human Clark looks when he’s wearing his civilian – he’s every inch the mild mannered reporter he’s supposed to be. Except this time is different. This time, he actually is exactly what he appears to be.

Clark looks unsure as he stands in the middle of the concrete floor. Bruce can understand that – it must be strange to have gone from being so powerful to being suddenly, by comparison, so fragile. Bruce has to remind himself that despite that, Clark is hardly going to snap in halves in a stiff breeze – depowered doesn’t mean helpless. Most people would consider Clark Kent to be abnormally muscular for someone with a desk job.

But still…

“Tell me again – what exactly did Power Girl say to you?” Clark asks.

“Not much. Something about Booster using one of Doctor Fate’s artifacts as a pencil sharpener. They’re trying to get in contact with him to reverse the effect, but seeing as he’s hardly at anyone’s beck and call it could take a while. And until they get it sorted out, you’ve lost your powers.”

Clark glances up, looking out over the water. “Is anyone else affected?”

“Not as far as we know,” Bruce says. “But there’s still others to check on.”

Clark says nothing. He just keeps looking out over the lake. Bruce realises that sooner or later he’s going to have to say something.

“Do you want me to… do anything?” he settles on eventually.

Clark turns to face him, and to Bruce’s surprise, he’s actually smiling. That weirdly boyish smile that Bruce always thinks looks incorrigible on the face of someone who could punch him into a fine paste if he chose to.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.” Clark takes a deep breath, licking his lips. “Perhaps I should be more worried, but… I know Power Girl can handle it. And honestly, Bruce…”

He trails off. He’s staring out over the water again, as if he’s never seen it before.

Though maybe he hasn’t, Bruce suddenly realises. Or at least, not in the way he’s seeing it now. Bruce still isn’t sure he fully understands the true extent of Superman’s powers, or how he uses them – what he can turn on and off, what he hears and what he’s learned to filter out. Whether he has to wake up every morning and make a conscious choice not to be looking up through his upstairs neighbour’s floor.

So maybe this is something different for him. Maybe he’s seeing the world through truly human eyes, for the very first time in his life.

“In any case,” Bruce says gruffly after a moment of silence, and it becomes clear Clark isn’t going to continue. “I think it’s best if you just lay low until your powers are restored. However long that takes.”

Clark’s brows furrow. Bruce knew he wasn’t going to like that, but really, he can’t see how Clark can refuse. He doesn’t have to say it – it hangs heavily in the air between them. The last time Clark had a fight at less than full power, it was… well, it wasn’t much of a fight. Bruce swallows. He hopes he doesn’t have to bring that up.

“I don’t see why that should be a problem,” Clark says, frowning. “I can still fight crime, even without my powers. You do.”

There’s a thousand things Bruce wants to say to that. Yes, but I’ve trained every day of my life for thirty-five years for it. Yes, but you have no idea what it’s like to actually get punched and feel it, and I’m still feeling punches I got three weeks ago. Yes, but my God sometimes I can’t even get out of bed without every joint in my body cracking when I sit up.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. He just says, “I think that would be ill-advised.”

Clark looks a little rankled and inclined to argue, but Bruce doesn’t especially want to hear it. “But – ” he starts, but before he can get further, Bruce has already turned away.

“Can I get Alfred to call you a cab?” he asks as he walks across the room.

He pauses in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. Clark’s face is all screwed up, and he’s clearly trying to think of some clever retort; however, given that the only way he can get back into Gotham and then take the train to Metropolis right now is by cab, be doesn’t exactly have many options open to him.

“Yes. Please.”

As Bruce presses the intercom for Alfred, he watches as Clark strides across the room, stubs his toe on the step, almost keels over, and then tries to surreptitiously limp his way out of the room.

I'm just catching up on this now now, and OMG I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS. I wish I could pick out every single line and tell you what I love about it, but given I have a limited amount of time, I can only choose a few:

"I'm sending this to your desktop so you can read it later and think about what you've done."
Oh God snarky Alfred is the best Alfred, I snorted out loud.

He's blindsided by how keenly he wants it. The idea has tapped into a wellspring of longing he didn't realize was there.
Oh goodness, this hit me right in the heart -- especially after Clark has isolated himself so much, when that's not essentially his nature. I love the way you write his conversations with his mother, too -- and I LOVE the bits of headcanon that Martha and Bruce spent a lot of time together while Clark was dead. I LOVE LOVE LOVE all of this.

"Amateur," Bruce growls, thighs tensed against Clark's flanks. Clark can feel his own pulse where Bruce's grip is tight on his wrists.
:DDDDDDDDDDDDDD I cannot wait for more, nonnie. You are the best :D

!!!!

I'm so excited you're filling my prompt! And hey, set up is always great. I love that Bruce's protectiveness is already there.

And lolol at the last line. Oh Clark, please do not try to be a vigilante at the moment.

Thank you, prompter :D This prompt was so awesome and it made me laugh, I just hope I can do it justice with all the scrapes Clark gets into, all the percocet he takes, and all the cuts and bruises Bruce has to kiss better XD

I was hoping someone would fill this prompt, and I'm really enjoying your fill so far. I love how protective and worried Bruce becomes immediately because something might have happened to Clark. I'm also enjoying that there's still some lingering tension between them, that's always great.

He’s wearing a cheap tweed jacket with – Bruce’s lip twitches – patches on the elbows.
I'm always here for Bruce being offended by Clark's horrible clothes. :D And Clark who's so reluctant to lay low because of course he still wants to help people. The last line made me laugh so hard, oh Clark. You are in for something. I'm looking forward to more of this (I may or may not have a huge thing for Bruce patching Clark up O:-)).

Clark gets drunk somehow - he was depowered and got drunk from one drink, there was some silver or whatever kryptonite, or weird space alien booze that can get Superman drunk. I don't care how it happens.

I just want drunk Clark happily hitting on Bruce. Or starting to strip. Or even just obliviously starting to ramble about how awesome Bruce is, how clever and strong and brilliant and graceful, how he always has a plan, and Clark loves to watch him fight, loves his little smirk, loves the rare occasions when he can get Bruce to smile, loves the way his hair looks all mussed when Bruce takes off the cowl ...

And then drunk sex happens? Or it doesn't, but it's all out there now and sex happens once Clark has sobered up. Both are fine by me.

I look forward to Clark crying over trying to make an omelet with his messed up arm because of his pain meds while Bruce mother hens the whole time ;)

And I have faith you'll take this to great heights

This is a wonderful start, anon, and I'm so very much looking forward to the rest of this fill! I LOVE Bruce immediately worried about where Clark might be/what he might be doing, and how blasé Clark is by contrast. ♥ Bruce trying to work out exactly how different being depowered really is for Clark! CLARK STUBBING HIS TOE. Thank you so much for this, what a delight!

+1 love this! Great idea, op :)

I severely misjudged myself. I am normally a lot more succinct than this, I promise!

I admits I had a bit of a snicker over the bullshit physics thing. I am channeling my reaction when I die to videogame glitches. :D

THANK YOU! You are so kind, everyone here is such an A++ commenter. Best meme.

Aaa I'm so glad you're enjoying this, thank you! It's fun to write, even if it's a rather meandering take on the prompt, hahaha. We don't do things simply around here, apparently.

I love Alfred keeping Bruce in line. It is the best. And I'm so glad everyone is quoting that bit about Clark wanting to be part of something. He strikes me as so lonely in the films, I just want him to have lots of friends ;_;

Thank you nonny <3 <3

Apparently, amateurs like Clark have to start at the very beginning, which doesn't involve much beyond repeatedly throwing himself onto the tatami mat. Bruce demonstrates a series of rolls for him, dropping down and the gliding back to his feet effortlessly, every motion a fluid extension of the last. He makes it look incredibly easy.

Clark discovers pretty quickly that it is not. In fact, it's more hard work than falling over has any right to be.

"It's called ukemi," Bruce informs him, patiently guiding Clark on how to turn out correctly: when to land on his back or shoulder; when to break his fall with his hands; how to roll onto his feet quickly, if not smoothly. "The art of falling. It is critical for minimizing injury and vulnerability, and probably the most important thing you'll learn here."

And boy, is Bruce determined that he's going to learn. After who knows how many hours of graceless tumbling, Clark lies splayed out on the mat, panting hard while sweat collects in a variety of uncomfortable places.

"Up," Bruce says. "One more time."

"Nope, can't." Every part of Clark's body is rebelling; he is hurting in muscles he didn't even know he had. Bruce Wayne was definitely a sadistic gym teacher in a past life.

"Yes, you can," Bruce repeats, in a tone that brooks no argument. "Once more, Clark."

Clark takes a deep breath, sighs it out again and then wobbles to his feet. He hasn't felt so wrung out since those indistinct first few days after his return, a lethargic weight that clings to his limbs and settles an ache deep in his bones.

"This kind of sucks," he says.

"You'll get used to it." Bruce presses the heel of his hand against Clark's shoulder, correcting his stance. "Okay. Meet the mat."

Clark takes a couple of seconds to collect himself, which is apparently a couple of seconds too long for Bruce. There's a hand on his wrist; his arm is twisted and then the world tilts. He has enough time to think that maybe Bruce enjoys throwing him around a little too much, then his back impacts the mat. He exhales sharply, rolls with the momentum and feels the reflexive shift of his body as it makes minute, instinctive adjustments for angle and velocity, muscle memory already dictating where he should put his hands, when to push off against the ground.

"Huh," Clark says. He's come to rest in a crouch, primed to spring upright if he could find a scrap of wherewithal.

"Good," Bruce says. He sounds pleased, and Clark feels an unbidden swell of pride. "Now we're getting somewhere."

*

It's mid-afternoon by the time they resurface in the lakehouse. Alfred has left them a platter of food and a jug of ice water; Bruce pours himself a glass and demolishes a sandwich before disappearing again. Clark takes the opportunity to sit on the couch and zone out for a while until it occurs to him that he should probably have showered before imposing upon his host's invariably expensive furniture.

He's staggered to his feet and is checking for incriminating patches on the upholstery when Bruce sweeps back into the room. He's dressed in a navy suit and groomed to precision, moving with an easy swagger that's more Wayne than Clark's seen him since that first time.

"You'll have to excuse me," he says, fastening his watch. "I have a meeting in an hour, and then some--" he makes a vague hand gesture, "--some other things to take care of."

Clark doesn't envy Bruce that at all; he feels exhausted just thinking about it. "Don't you ever stop?" he asks.

Bruce's fingers pause on the strap of his watch. "And do what?"

Clark shrugs. Technically, he meant it as a rhetorical question. He changes the subject instead. "Mind if I shower?"

"You don't need to ask. And fix yourself a protein shake," Bruce says, eyeing Clark as he limps toward the bedroom. "You'll thank yourself for it in the morning."

"I don't think I'll be thanking anyone for anything in the morning," Clark says. "Jeez."

*

Using Bruce's shower doesn't seem quite as intrusive as sleeping in his bed, but despite the explicit permission, it's a close thing. He almost considers washing in the kitchen sink, but besides being raised with better manners than that, he's already failed to ingratiate himself, and also he wouldn't want to risk Alfred walking in on a spectacle.

He finally decides that he's being ridiculous and stumbles his way into the en suite, stripping down as he goes. The shower has far too many dials, but through trial and error and one particularly icy drenching, Clark figures out which one controls the water and which one does the temperature. (And, incidentally, which one is the radio and which one is the police scanner.) The water pounds down on his shoulders with satisfying pressure, just hot enough to stand.

It's a little unnerving to be pushed like this, and to feel it so acutely. When he's been accustomed to lifting ton weights like nothing or casually backstroking through the mesosphere or eating a Hot Pocket direct from the microwave, realizing his hard physical limits--never mind hitting them--is something of a shock.

(He knows Bruce's limits must be similarly restricted by his physiology, and yet--)

Clark tips his head back, lets the water sluice over him. He forgot to bring soap, he realizes. He casts about for a bar, but the only thing in the shower cubicle is a bottle of body wash.

He pictures Bruce stepping up close to guide him through a fall and catching his own scent on Clark's skin, and it is maybe a warning that he has no idea how Bruce would react.

His own reaction is somewhat more alarming.

*

Clark spends the rest of the afternoon reading the same page of his book about three dozen times, then once the sun is done refracting itself through the lakehouse windows and dips below the horizon, decides to nap. His blanket has been folded into a crisp square and set on the couch, so he figures he may as well.

He wakes to his feet being shoved off the edge of the couch. "Hey," he says, voice thick and bleary with sleep.

The cushions dip, and he hears the clink of wine glasses. "Hi," Bruce says. He clicks on a lamp, and Clark blinks as they're enveloped in a sphere of yellow light, shadows chased against the lakehouse glass. "Sorry I woke you."

"No you're not," Clark says.

"Heh." Bruce loosens his tie with one hand, sets the wine down with the other. "Well. If you slept in the bed I--"

"Yeah, I know."

Bruce falls silent for a moment, eyes dark in the diffuse light. Clark can see the muscle in his jaw tense. "You did well today," he says. "Drink?"

"I, uh," Clark says, catching sight of the label on the bottle--and the date on the label. "It would be wasted on me."

The glass rings as the bottleneck touches it, glugs gently as the wine pours. "Suit yourself," Bruce says, though there's no bite to it, just a deep weariness. He puts his feet up on the coffee table.

"Rough night?"

Bruce says nothing, just exhales hard and takes a long sip from his glass.

Clark can take a hint. He shuffles off the couch, gathers the blanket up. "Goodnight, Bruce," he murmurs. Bruce raises the glass to him in a silent toast.

At the threshold Clark glances back, half-expecting him to be lounging against the couch, legs spread and glass dangling from his fingers like the consummate playboy he projects, but he's not. He's leaning over his knees, glass clasped in both hands.

*

Clark lies in Bruce's bed and, for the first time since he came back from the dead, wonders what in the sweet hell is going on with him.

*

*claps hands* Oh nonnie, you have no idea how delighted I was to wake up this morning and find a new part to read!! I have to dash out, but I just wanted to let you know how much I'm loving this :D

When he's been accustomed to lifting ton weights like nothing or casually backstroking through the mesosphere or eating a Hot Pocket direct from the microwave
Nonnie, I loled.

And that last line :D Heart eyes, motherfucker!

Haha, thank you so much! I'm really glad you're enjoying it :D

And you are definitely not alone in the Bruce patching Clark up thing XD It maaaaaay have been the main reason I chose this prompt. Poor Clark being all baffled as to how something like getting showered in breaking glass actually hurt him, and poor Bruce trying to be all gruff and professional while he pokes around on Clark's bare chest, making sure there's no glass left over :D

Thank you again :)

Thank YOU nonnie for this kind feedback! This prompt was so exciting and intriguing, I really hope I can do it justice, and find some dumb situations to put them both in XD

Thanks again!

Anon, this is so great! I love the sparring, or rather teaching scene. I can definitely see Bruce being so very stern and demanding, but also patient enough with him - he did raise and train two Robins, after all, he knows what he's doing. :D

"Don't you ever stop?" he asks.

Bruce's fingers pause on the strap of his watch. "And do what?"
Wow, this line is utterly perfect. Of course Bruce would ask that.

And, incidentally, which one is the radio and which one is the police scanner.)
:DDDD Oh, Bruce. Of course.

He pictures Bruce stepping up close to guide him through a fall and catching his own scent on Clark's skin, and it is maybe a warning that he has no idea how Bruce would react.
I have the biggest thing for people starting to smell like each other because they use the same soap and stuff like that, so I'm very happy right now. :DDDD And Clark thinking of Bruce in the shower ... And I just love Bruce pushing Clark to the side so he can sit on the couch. Obviously not letting it go that Clark doesn't use the bed, and just kind of ... chasing Clark from the couch until he goes and takes the bed is so very Bruce. And awwww, Bruce looking all tired and exhausted and Clark not pushing him, but Bruce still letting him see him like that. You rock, anon author, this fic makes me so happy. :D

/OP

Bruce has a lot of repressed sadistic kinks - but he feels bad about wanting to hurt his sexual partners too brutally, even if they're into it, so he keeps his violent tendencies confined to his work as Batman. After he accidentally made Clark discover his masochistic side during their fight, Clark is determined to coax Bruce into indulging them both and hurting Clark again.(That's what kryptonite is for, right?)

Give me all the flogging, caning, whipping, cutting, bruising, marking, and whatever else you can think of. Clark will just heal anyway the next time he's in sunlight, so Bruce has nothing to feel guilty about, although Bruce will probably still angst about it.

Bruce and Clark are in a secret relationship, they are at the point where they both personally acknowledged that they have strong feelings for one another, but are not ready to officially announce it to each other. Bruce is openly bisexual; while Clark is gay but in the closet, the only people really knowing about his sexuality being Lois and of course Bruce; he's iffy about coming out to his mother because he has no idea how she will react, knowing that if his father was alive he would strongly disagree with his sexuality.

Clark convinces Bruce to take a few nights off from duty, Bruce begrudgingly agrees after Alfred tells Bruce that he has a good thing going with Clark and that if this relationship ends badly so god help him. (Alfred really likes the relationship with Bruce and Clark and hopes all the best for them; hoping that the two will eventually marry and at last adopt). To meet with Bruce's comfort, more or less, they travel just outside the city to a nice resort hotel for a couple days of relaxation; Clark makes Bruce promise that there will be absolutely not mention of their vigilante activities during their time there, to which Bruce also agree.

With the hotel being a trusted site by Bruce as he's a partial owner, he lets his guard down, and in trusting in Bruce, so does Clark. So they don't notice the very well hidden cameras placed in their room, some pointed directly at their bed. They go about their activities has a couple would do on vacation; (Lemons and bottom!Clark preferred). They eventually leave their paradise back into the real world none the wiser.

Cut to a month later and their worlds are in shambles, at least Clark's. They become a hot topic the world through as the sex tapes that have been recorded become available the world over. This most definitely doesn't help Clark who only just got the promotion to be one the the Daily Planet's faces for their attempt to stretch to multimedia, including the likes of Twitter and YouTube where he's the star anchor for the channel. Though his sudden popularity helps boost up the views and follows, he's constantly harassed on all mediums; especially with not having come out of closet on his own will. He's refusing the take calls from Bruce because he's afraid he's angry at him for forcing him to take a vacation he didn't want. Batman doesn't come to Metropolis for awhile.

During all of his attempts of personal damage control and thoughts of leaving the company, his mother comes for a visit and reassure him that she will love him no matter what and that she's disappointed in him for not telling her sooner. Bruce comes in shortly after to tell Clark that he's not angry at him and would really like to continue their relationship, basically telling Clark how he truly feels about him.

Pick and chose the plots here, add your own twists; but I would like the base to be that Bruce and Clark are secretly recorded being intimate (again, bottom!Clark preferred) and their relationship is revealed in that fashion. I would go into more detail, I have my head thrumming with details, but I feel this plot is more than long enough now.

You'll receive no help from me about that chapter count. ;-)

I love this fiercely. I love how self-aware Clark is becoming, however unwelcoming it may be for him.

I imagine if he did bring a bar of soap, it would be promptly trashed and Clark would still be in his current situation. Bruce is nothing, if not calculating. And Clark didn't make that shake, did he?

And your Bruce is lovely and gruff and fairly uncommunicative. It's interesting getting glimpses of him through Clark, who isn't inclined to speculate about him beyond his past life as a sadistic gym coach.

I also love that I'm learning, too! Ukemi is actually pretty neat too watch.

Thanks for this!

Clark want to give Bruce a strip dance on his birthday!

WANT!!!

Lol, I love the hot pocket line.

I'm actually a little vague on what they are, but by cultural osmosis I have come to understand they contain molten death. :D

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Page 18 of 99

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (6/?)

Bruce/Clark, forced dirty talk

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part One

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (3/who the fuck knows)

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part One

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part One

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part One

Bruce/Clark, drunk!Clark

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part One

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part One

Re: Bruce/Clark, nightmares

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (3/who the fuck knows)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (3/who the fuck knows)

Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part One

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part One

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Bruce/Clark, repressed sadism

Bruce/Clark, revealed to the world through sex (Sorry for the long plot; pick and choose)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Clark/Bruce, Strip Dance, Birthday boy Bruce, nsfw

Re: Bruce/Clark, come play

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)