DCEU Prompt Post #1

[dceu_kinkmod]

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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Comments

[RPF] Ben/Henry, first time with a guy

[(Anonymous)]

Don't care for which one of them, I just have a soft spot for first time with a guy fics. All that inexperience and eagerness and enthusiasm and being overwhelmed by how good it feels. :D

Lex/Zod, low-key xeno

[(Anonymous)]

Man, however the hell it has to happen (extended dream vision? interfacing with freaky Kryptonian tech? horrible Kryptonian zombies? Lex getting waylaid from the whole "make Batman and Superman fight" plot by his own huge issues with metahumans and theology?) but I totally want to see more weird stuff with Lex creeping on not-so-dead Zod. Or hell, dead Zod, if the filler feels up to it, but I am just delighted by the idea of him relishing having his very own Kryptonian in his metaphorical pocket at the same time as he's full of fascination and horror at this alien's alien-ness. It can even be in that weird fluidy/tentacle-y ship interior, if you want to go wild with it. (Dubcon and noncon are both fine by me, but not obligatory.)

Re: Lex/Zod, low-key xeno

[(Anonymous)]

Wow, I just came here to post a Lex/Zod prompt!

Yeah, the way Lex strokes Zod's (DEAD) face before the Doomsday thing is, uh. A little bit creepy and a little bit hot.

Nightmare scene

[(Anonymous)]

Nightmare scene. Evil Superman captures Batman and has his wicked way with him. Bondage (preferably various restraints and positions other than the ceiling chains in the movie), non-con, physical abuse, the works. Bruce has been a very bad boy and Superman wants to punish him. Severely.

Re: Superman/Batman: Nightmare scene

[(Anonymous)]

Sorry, don't know how to edit the subject line in the original post. (edited here to follow proper format)

Alfred/Martha + Clark & Bruce as awkward "brothers"

[(Anonymous)]

So if Bruce feels like he owes Clark something, after the funeral, and sends Alfred to the farm a few times to make sure Martha has everything she needs... and the two of them hit it off... and eventually maybe move in together at... wherever Alfred lives now that Bruce lives in a big glass box by a lake... and Martha mothers Bruce a little, because he clearly needs it SO MUCH and she needs someone to mother...

And then Clark comes back... and they're this weird blended family and it's super awkward. Can be Clark/Bruce or stick to gen (or Bruce/Diana or Clark/Lois.) I just want weird family, with Clark and Bruce last remembering trying to fight each other to the death, and now being expected to have Thanksgiving dinner together. :D :D

Re: Alfred/Martha + Clark & Bruce as awkward "brothers"

[(Anonymous)]

this is amazing omg, all the love for this prompt op!

Bruce Wayne/Martha Kent, mommy issues and/or kink

[(Anonymous)]

Bruce just wants to show her a low-key good time, but his issues are totally bleeding through. (Bonus points: she totally gets it, even if they can't really talk about it in frank terms.)

This is not at all inspired by the We Hate Movies thing with him wanting Martha to tell him he's a good boy... not at all... that would be ridiculous.

[RPF] Gal/Amy

[(Anonymous)]

So apparently they got to be good friends during filming. Gal said they "slept together" before she corrected herself and meant a sleepover. She has also admitted to having a girl crush on Amy right before taking her hand to hold and grinning at her. And they were so huggy on the red carpet!

So just give me all the moments in between filming and the press tour and their beautiful blooming friendship.

Clark/Lex, Bruce/Clark, post-rape hurt/comfort

[(Anonymous)]

Warning for non-con and torture.

Lex (after escaping from prison) manages to capture Clark, keeping him weak and helpless with kryptonite, and decides to take his revenge on him and let out all his pent-up hatred - torturing Clark, carving his skin up, raping him, humiliating him, making him beg to be raped/tortured so Lex won't hurt innocents instead ...

He covered his tracks well, so it takes Bruce a few weeks or so to track him down and rescue Clark. And then Bruce is left with a traumatised, abused, messed up Clark to take care of. Cue Bruce being caring in the gruffest possible way, stern and strict, but also with the world's biggest paternal streak when he thinks nobody's watching. Eventual Bruce/Clark would be great (though I'd prefer if it was as a result of a developing relationship and Clark already feeling a bit better, and not magical healing cock that immediately makes all of Clark's issues go away).

This prompt got long, sorry, focus on whatever part of it you like, though I'd prefer a hopeful ending (but feel free to go really dark before that).

Re: Clark/Lex, Bruce/Clark, post-rape hurt/comfort

[(Anonymous)]

Great prompt. Love protective!Bruce. Really hope it gets filled!

Bruce/Clark. Mpreg

[(Anonymous)]

So...even though it isn't brought up in BvS, I'm sure Clark still carries in his body the codex that contains DNA of thousand of Kryptonians, right? And there has been rumours about how Darkseid will try to resurrect Clark and gets him to his side in JL. What if he considers Clark the key to give him an entire army of Kryptonians? I mean I literally sat through MoS wondering why did they waste time and energy trying to extract the codex from Clark when they could just...impregnant him? Because an alien race doesn't have to follow human's biology, really (but then it'd be scandalous so let's just keep that in fanfiction route)

So my point is I'd love to see a story in which the Leagues trying to save Clark from Darkseid before his plan can proceed further. Maybe Clark has already given birth once or twice, and he begs them to save his babies too but they can't. Darkseid has taken them all away from Clark as soon as they are born. The Leagues save Clark, but he's not whole anymore. And Bruce has to help him heal. It takes time but slowly romance blossoms between them. But even when they've got together for a while and maybe even married, Clark still tries to avoid everytime the subject of children being brought up. He wants to have a child with Bruce but at the same time he still has nightmares about the children he didn't get to save. How the story progresses from here can be your choice. I just want some pregnant Clark in my life.

Re: Bruce/Clark. Mpreg

[(Anonymous)]

Clark being used as some sort of fucked up breeding horse for Darkseid really appeals to me.

Bruce/Clark, dubcon: Lex makes Clark fuck Batman in SvB instead of kill him

[(Anonymous)]

I can't believe this hasn't already been requested lol because it's the first thing my twisted mind thought of while watching that scene of Superman kneeling in front of Lex.

So anyway: Lex threatens to kill Martha unless Clark fucks Batman as a power-play thing. And Bruce agrees to let Clark fuck him because there's an innocent person at risk but he doesn't want it at all and pretty much hates every second of it while it's happening.

The plot isn't important - just gimmie some dirtybadwrong Bruce/Clark dubcon sex

Re: Bruce/Clark, dubcon: Lex makes Clark fuck Batman in SvB instead of kill him

[(Anonymous)]

seem like a good porn-verse batman v superman!
someone pls fill this!

Bruce/Clark, kryptonite-lined leather gloves

[(Anonymous)]

Bruce wearing kryptonite-lined leather gloves for kink purposes. Because they weaken Clark to the point where he can feel pain and can't fight back all that easily, but there's still little enough kryptonite that it doesn't just make him writhe in pain.

Bruce could choke him with his gloved hands, hold him down, finger him, fist him, all of those things ... and Clark loves every second of it.

Clark/Diana - anal sex

[(Anonymous)]

Diana teaches Clark the delights of doing it the Greek way, and they both enjoy it a lot.

With Diana receiving, please. No strap-ons.

Bruce/Clark, sparring

[(Anonymous)]

Clark obviously has super strength and speed, but he's never really learnt how to fight, which puts him at a disadvantage when facing off against any being as strong as him that also has actual fighting skills. So Bruce offers to teach him/Clark suggests Bruce teach him. Cue sweaty sparring during which Clark is not allowed to use his super strength and speed and Bruce probably kicks his ass a lot while teaching him. All of which leads to sweaty fight sex.

Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (1/4ish)

[(Anonymous)]

Time moves strangely when you've been dead.

It's not just in the parts that Clark missed--the way the seasons have turned without him, cold winds and dark evenings transmuted to a late golden summer overnight. Not just in the sheer volume of media surrounding the Doomsday catastrophe, miles of column inches and none of them written by him. Or the way his ma's hair has a few more grays, how her face is a little more lined, and knowing his absence is what put them there.

It's in the parts that are happening now, as well. He's recuperating well, now that the initial shock of his revival is wearing off. His body's slowed regeneration is steadily wearing away the gnarls of scar tissue over his heart, but it's taking months where once it would have been minutes. Sometimes he thinks he can still feel the faintest thread of scarring on his cheek.

The days are endless and unremarkable and slide into one another, one sun-dappled evening after the next, suspending him in the vague nostalgia of a mundane life. His days are spent helping on the farm, and the nights spent gradually depleting a stack of newspapers. He's catching up with the world slowly, but it doesn't feel like the world is catching up with him.

Except whenever Bruce Wayne comes to visit; a somber figure cut dark against the endless blue of the Kansas sky. To see that Clark's keeping okay, he says, but Clark can read between those lines well enough. Bruce talks about what's happening in Gotham and Metropolis and sometimes shares a few of his case notes. Ostensibly so that Clark can fill in some of the less obvious blanks that the newspapers leave, but Clark knows it's part olive branch, part lure. Bruce is giving him a glimpse into the comprehensive, systematic, exhaustive and exhausting gravity well of his life.

(It's difficult to reconcile the Batman's ruthless methodology with the man he first encountered in full socialite swing. It must take a lot of self-control to appear to have so little, and it makes Clark's head hurt at first.)

Sometimes Bruce talks about the new heroes. They were drawn out in the wake of Superman's death, moths to a funeral pyre. He doesn't say it outright, but Bruce wants Clark to join them. Clark can sense his frustration--and he understands it, understands that he is trying to assemble a team that remains resolutely incomplete while Clark is held here in this melancholy, also incomplete.

Clark is frustrated, too.

*

Today, Bruce agrees to have dinner with them. He calls his ma Mrs. Kent, again, and Ma tells him to call her Martha, again. Clark has to take her aside and gently ask her to stop, because he's learned that Bruce has several degrees of unreadable and the one that blanks his face so utterly is by far the worst.

*

"When are you going to come back?" Bruce eventually asks, ankle crossed over one knee, fresh-mown grass clinging to the cuff of his pants. The late evening breeze rustles the fields of young corn, susurration winding its way back to where they sit on the porch.

Clark rolls his empty lemonade glass between his palms, ice cubes clinking delicately. "Seems kinda pointless while I'm still essentially human."

"So you're just going to mope around here forever?" Bruce takes a sip of his coffee and then looks up at the darkening sky, at the emerging firmament of stars. His profile is cast in the warm light spilling out from the kitchen window.

Clark is beginning to anticipate Bruce's brand of baiting, but even if he can see it, that doesn't mean he can help himself. "I'm not moping," he says, "I'm introspecting."

Bruce's mouth quirks into a half-smile, face still turned skyward. "You know there's more you could be doing."

"Are you telling me to get a job?" He might be joking, but the uncertainty of his future keeps threatening to hit home. All of his documents belong to a dead man, and he's not sure what to do about that yet. It is kind of alienating. He can't quite appreciate the irony.

"I'm not telling you to do anything. I just want to keep you on point. I think you need to learn to protect yourself."

"I don't think that's necessary." Clark crunches an ice cube in his back teeth. "When I'm back, I mean, I'm back."

Bruce's smile has vanished. He places his coffee mug down abruptly. "And next time? What then?"

"It won't happen again."

"Clark." Bruce gets to his feet, the old wooden bench complaining as his weight shifts. He stands in front of Clark, arms folded. "It'll happen again."

Clark heart thumps hard. He takes a deep breath through his nose, feels the tight pull of healing skin over his chest.

"There's more kryptonite out there. When the Superman returns, there's going to be an all-star battle royale in the underworld. Every megalomaniacal freak will want a piece of it so they can get a piece of you. And some of them will manage. They'll weaponize it and won't hesitate to use it against you, and when that happens I will not have you flailing around like an idiot."

"Flailing."

Bruce unfolds his arms, gestures for Clark to get up with upturned palms. "Like an idiot."

Clark grins ruefully at him, shakes his head. Being strong is one thing, that's just how he is. Learning to genuinely fight is something else entirely. He doesn't want to be a weapon, and he doesn't know how to explain that to someone like Bruce.

He stands anyway. Bruce drops his hands to his sides, looking all the world like a harmless civilian in an expensive suit. "Do your best, Clark," he says.

Clark sighs, rolls his shoulders, takes a half-hearted swing and greets the decking with his face for his troubles. Bruce is as fast as he is uncompromising; blunt pressure of his knee in the middle of Clark's back, wide hand on the nape of his neck. The other pins one of Clark's wrist to the boards. His arm is trapped under him, squashed between his chest and the deck. A resurging memory of Bruce's weight threatens him into stillness.

"It's not just about you," Bruce says in his ear, voice low and even. Clark doesn't need to be able to hear his heartbeat to know it hasn't accelerated even a fraction. "You need to consider your team. I need to trust that you can have my back in any scenario, even when things have gone to hell and it's down to the wire."

"So, what you're saying is-- ow." Clark's voice is hoarse. His lungs feel crushed. A phantom burn of gas sends pinpricks of fear down his spine. "I'm basically a liability waiting to happen."

"Pretty much." The porch creaks, and the weight on Clark's back eases off; his ribs and chest ache with the sudden relief. Bruce dusts off his knees, then offers Clark a hand up. "But I can change that. Think about it, please."

Clark accepts, and is if Bruce notices his hands are shaking, he is grateful that he doesn't mention it--though Bruce doesn't release him right away, even when he's back on his feet. Instead, he clasps his other hand over Clark's, like a handshake. Steadying.

(Clark discovers that he was wrong about his heart rate, but only a little.)

The kitchen window cracks open and Bruce lets his hand drop, casual as you like. Ma leans out, sleeves rolled up over her elbows. "There's pie on the table, if you boys are done tussling."

*

Bruce/Clark, chains

[(Anonymous)]

Very straightforward, but I need Clark chaining Bruce up. Maybe Bruce wants to re-enact his nightmare in a more pleasant way.

Fill: Wreck Me

[(Anonymous)]

I've adored this ship for about 10 years but this is my first fic. The fill and scenario made me think of something silly, but also something hot (but that's probably just Snyder aesthetics). This probably wasn't what OP was expecting, but I hope you get some enjoyment out of this. Thanks for writing a prompt that finally got me to write a SuperBat.

-------

The Batman flexed his wrists against the metal bindings, chains rattled above as he swayed, the toes of his boots scraping the floor. Unfortunately for him, his captor actually didn't bind his forearms, so he couldn't even trigger the blades in his gauntlets to cut his way out of this situation. The darkness smelled of home, and the trickle of water echoing off stone walls told him that it was the Batcave. Batman could feel the cowl pressed against his face, and the cool brush of his cape against his back.

Up ahead, the Batman heard one of the cave exits open with the scrape of stone and metal, and the red glow of dusk illuminated the rocky russet walls before him. The Superman flew down, landing on one knee with a crash that cracked the earth, red cape settling around him like a pool of blood that cascaded down as he rose to his feet. The halo revealed an expression of hunger as the son of Krypton raised his head to lock his gaze with the knight of Gotham.

The Batman felt his pulse speed up as the Superman slipped into the darkness towards him, like that nightmare all over again. Adrenaline spiked as he pulled against the bindings once more, but he stilled when a light above him switched on. He flinched away as a hand reached out of the darkness, but was unable to stop it from tearing the mantle from him. He grit his teeth as he turned to look into the Superman's eyes, but felt his jaw go slack as Kal-El stepped into view, completely bared to Bruce with his red cape clenched in one fist.

Bruce drew in a sharp breath when a hand capable of crushing steel pressed against his stomach and skated upwards. Up, up, up over his ribs, pausing to brush over a nipple ever so lightly that it drew a faint moan out of him. Anxiety gripped his diaphragm when the hand stopped right over his heart, and he was surprised to hear himself breathe out a sigh of relief when it resumed its path up to neck. Finally the hand settled against the side of his face, and Bruce leaned into it like a cat.

“You took everything from me,” Kal whispered into his neck, Bruce grunted with frustration that he was laden down with so many layers while Kal stood nude in front of him. Kal brushed his thumb over a sharp cheekbone, “It's only fair that you let me take something from you,” and he slunk to his knees, nuzzling a cheek into Bruce's trapped length. Chains rattled above them as Bruce yanked at his bindings again, but remained unable to escape. He felt his utility belt slither from around his waist, falling to the floor with a clatter.

“Careful with that!” Bruce growled irritably, “You're familiar with the kind of firepower I carry.”

Kal smirked up at him as he pulled Bruce's stiff member from their confines. Bruce locked onto those unearthly blue eyes as Kal bent forward and engulfed him in wet heat. He keened loudly into the cave as a hot, velvet tongue stroked and pressed against the thick vein on the underside of his cock. Bruce never understood how anyone could mistake the creature of delightful sin knelt before him as a god. Kal's head bobbed beneath him with a bounce of curls, then he swallowed Bruce down, held him deep in his mouth and pulled off completely, a trail of saliva connected them and Kal stuck his tongue as he looked through his lashes up to Bruce.

Kal leaned back on a hand and wrapped his free hand around himself, cape splashed around him on the cave floor. Bruce watched, enthralled as Kal flexed his hips and thrust into his own fist like a dance. He watched as Kal bent back onto an elbow into the cape that twisted beneath him as he pulled and writhed and stroked himself to orgasm, his body pulled taut with a soft cry of, “Bruce,” as he came with a splash into his hand.

“Clark,” Bruce rasped desperately, his own cock twitched upwards, still hard as a rock. He tipped his forehead into his own arm, destroyed before his destruction. He watched Clark pull himself back up onto his knees, and lean forward to kiss the tip of Bruce's cock. He thrust forward into emptiness when Clark pulled his face back at the first sign of movement.

He tilted his face up to Bruce and said firmly, “Remember. This is mine to take, not yours to give.”

Bruce reigned in his breathing and allowed the tension to release from his body, “Alright, Clark.”

Clark leaned in and wrapped his lips around the tip of Bruce's cock. Bruce watched a soiled hand disappear behind Clark, watched Clark's thighs tense and relax as he stretched himself with his own come as lubricant. He trembled when Clark moaned around him and tongued his hard length until Bruce was slick with his saliva. Then Clark pulled away again before he could finish, and Bruce cried out breathlessly, “Son of a--.”

Clark levitated into the air until he was eye level with Bruce, the cape in his hand rippled behind him like the fins of a fighter fish. Bruce drank his beauty in greedily, all the ethereal, sun-kissed skin, the cock that hadn't even softened after orgasm. They leaned into each other as they met in a hungry kiss, Clark wrapped an arm around Bruce and floated up through bound wrists so that Bruce embraced him around the shoulders. He pulled one of Bruce's thighs up to a sitting position and guided Bruce's length into himself, letting out a pornographically satisfied moan as Bruce sank into him.

“You're so ridiculous,” Bruce laughed at their flying sex gymnastics, “Beautiful and ridiculous.”

Clark locked his legs around Bruce's waist, “Bring your other leg up, babe,” Bruce pulled his leg up as instructed and Clark wrapped his other hand under the thigh, then started fucking himself on Bruce. The length of chain above--now slackened by Clark taking all of Bruce's weight--rattled noisily.

“Fuck! Clark, I'm close,” his hands were now wrapped around the back of Clark's neck, hanging down as Clark fucked down at a steady rhythm, his cock drooling a messy trail of come onto Bruce's torso. He felt Clark tighten around his length, listened as Clark moaned louder and louder, then heard himself yell out, “Oh fuck, yes,” when Clark came again, milking Bruce as he continued to fuck himself through the haze of pleasure.

“Come on, Bruce,” he whined and ground Bruce deeper, and deeper still until he coaxed a screaming orgasm out of him at last, “Yeah, there you go. It's all mine.”

Their breaths began to even as they swayed through the air with Clark holding them up, and as the blood stopped rushing through Bruce's ears, he heard Clark humming softly. He twisted in the embrace, and grumbled in disbelief, “Is that the song about the wrecking ball?”

“Well, we are swinging from a chain attached to the ceiling, and I just let you wre-e-eck me,” Clark grinned as he sang out the last two words.

“I'm pretty sure I'm the one that was wrecked, and someone needs a spanking to correct bad taste when I get out of these chains,” Bruce muttered. Clark just tipped his head to one side and raised a brow at him.

“I'm up for it, but your hand would hurt more than my ass.”

Bruce's lips pulled into a smirk, “There's ways to make you feel it.”

Clark shivered at the sensation of Bruce's softened cock slipping out of him along with some come, “Mmmmmhm. Has anyone ever ejaculated inside of you? It feels disgusting. And really hot,” he embraced Bruce tighter, “So, when can I take some more?”

“I'm neither young nor Kryptonian. Now bring me to my bedroom,” Bruce commanded as he wrapped his palms around Clark's ass.

“Bossy. Hey, when did you get out of the chains?” Clark asked, looking up with surprise, yelping when Bruce dug the claws of his gauntlets into invulnerable but over-sensitized skin, “Gosh okay, bedroom.”

------

In case you aren't familiar with the song referenced at the end, it's Miley Cyrus's "Wrecking Ball."

Bruce/Clark, rough hatesex

[(Anonymous)]

Maybe they fuck at that gala or out in the rain or after Supes rips the door off the batmobile.

FILL: Regroup (1/many) -- Bruce/Clark, rough hatesex

[(Anonymous)]

Warnings for: canon-typical violence; blood; Bruce deifying Clark in that way he sometimes does; Bruce’s weirdly self-destructive behavior; Bruce just has a lot of issues, okay?; plot as foreplay

Nonny, I tried to hit the prompt, but I’m not sure if I succeeded.

William Shakespeare, you deserved better.


================================================================

AU where Lex Jr. hops right over the favs showdown to his next
phase of his plan——creating the kryptonian abomination. We’re
also going to assume that Clark & Lois are just really awesome
besties in this.

================================================================

Chapter 1: Desperate Ground

* * *

On the day Batman chose to kill the god with the face of a man, an angry squall line that stretched across half the eastern seaboard broke across Gotham city. The Bat-signal slashed through the rain, reflecting off of the massed underside of stormclouds. He had stabbed the kryptonite spear into the earth, arranged the field of battle to lead (as he would be inevitably pushed back) to his weapon of last resort.

When Superman had ripped the Batmobile with his bare hands, he brought the fight to Gotham City. But the god hadn't chosen his terrain wisely: Gotham was the Bat's territory; and he had given Bruce time to prepare.

(He ran through the checklist. Sonic emitters. Anti-tank artillery. Smoke grenades. Weaponized kryptonite gas. The kryptonite spear.)

Bruce loved the classics. Sun Tzu said: on terrain with no way out, you take the battle to your enemies.

Bruce flexed his fists in their armored gauntlets.

Let him come; he was more than prepared to bury the Bat tonight.

Rain sluiced through the narrow channels of the cowl as Bruce tipped his face to the sky. The seal between the armor and his skin was tight, but not waterproof. Water trickled through the cracks, cold as it ran down his spine. Eliminating a future tyrant would be the greatest victory the Batman ever claimed. If it took his heart's blood to do it: so be it. If it required this quiet slight against his dignity (how did the rain manage to slide there?; there was a secondary thick seal between the neck and the cowl.), then he would give it.

Bruce limbered up his joints to make sure they wouldn't lock up in the heavy suit.

He waited in the center of the intensifying storm.

* * *

By the time midnight chimed on his HUD, a certain heaviness pervaded the abandoned forecourt. Bruce admitted the alien would not come. The signal had lit up the sky for hours. Aside from a few curious GCPD flatfoots poking around the abandoned major crimes unit (who had been sent scurrying back into the night with an uncivil growl), nothing.

He tapped the side of his cowl to activate the HUD’s external connection. A quick scan of the Bat’s aggregated news feed presented no active disasters at a national level, nothing on a worldwide level that, based on Superman’s historical activity patterns, would require more than a few minutes of the alien’s time. What could possibly absorb the Superman for this long? Some unaccounted-for variable had skewed the plan. Had the Bat miscalculated the alien’s anger?

The spotlight flickered and whined as he disengaged the power.

Bruce activated his comms. A gentle click, then the hum of an open connection. No one spoke for a minute in the weighted silence.

"I trust you do not assume I condone your course of action, Master Wayne.”

Alfred’s acerbic tone flooded Bruce with relief. He wanted to say, I don’t deserve you. He wanted to apologize for his insane quest. He felt unaccountably glad that he’d been given another chance to try to shape a goodbye, that wasn’t as self-serving as his last had been.

“Never,” Bruce said, instead.

“I am merely relieved to know that I don't have to schedule your funeral. Catering an auditorium-sized crowd is brutal, even for the Wayne name."

Bruce let out a bark of disbelieving laughter. "It’s a temporary stay of execution only, Alfred."

"He didn't show."

"Not very punctual, our alien," Bruce agreed.

"In all of your planning, did you ever reach any insight as to how or where to find our alien?" The sarcasm seeped through Alfred's tone, and Bruce felt a mixture of relieved affection and bitter disappointment. Alfred’s sarcasm was as good as forgiveness, but—

Bruce’s disappointment in the Bat’s failure was undeniable. The Superman’s motivations and reactions had always been taken as a given.

Stupid, Bruce thought. He had been willfully blind. Beyond the Superman’s public appearances, his research into the alien had been utterly stymied.

(If he was a paranoid man (no one would accuse him differently), he’d believe that the information had been expertly buried. But who would have the subtlety to go toe-to-toe with the Batman—certainly not the primary-color hero-hopeful.)

He had stopped being a detective, until he had found Lex’s hidden information cache. Among the other metahumans, it had outlined the Superman’s powers in terms of limits and and equations, and conjectured his weakness…

(Bruce had smirked when he realized that Lex, too, was only working off public data.)

“He can’t help himself, Alfred,” Bruce’s voice cracked, ugly, as the depth of his failure was felt. “He has the power, and he acts on it. He cares, but only within limited boundaries. He responds without humor, without emotion. When his life is on the line, everything else becomes irrelevant. When his authority is questioned, he responds with hostile action. He should have—” His tone lost its sharpness, aimed for conciliatory, and fell into marginally-less-harsh-than-usual command. "Check the military frequencies. If there's an event that I don't know about, I need—"

A sharp discharge of lightning that had nothing to do with the storm cut across the sky. Unearthly harmonics washed the sky to a green pale.

"Sir, an explosion in Metropolis!"

Moments later, a streak faster than thought cut through the storm clouds, and blew them apart with unimaginable force.

Bruce shut down the warmth that curled over the sickness in his heart.

"Will you need the Batwing, sir?"

"Yes. Now, Alfred. Please."

* * *

The night had become the third reel of a sci-fi-horror film as an alien trashed Metropolis for the second time in as many years. The Bat barely thought as he catapulted himself out of the Batwing cockpit mid-air, and launched a grapple line to pull himself into a tight arc. He released the line at the apex of his swing, landing heavily at the alien’s back. He recognized Diana at the alien’s side, dressed for war.

Bruce’s entire body tensed to be this close to the alien. His fist clenched in the armored suit. The spear was in Gotham, but he could still…

A savage satisfaction crossed Diana’s face. “Now we are three,” Diana said with grim delight.

The alien turned to him, haggard and bleeding. His eyes warmed just a touch, relief and—gratitude?—mingling in the determined set of his face. Bruce startled, but schooled himself to impassivity. Yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Superman dragged the back of his hand across his bleeding lip; Bruce’s eyes helplessly tracked the motion. Superman bled. Worlds burned to the ground in that moment. Bruce closed his eyes, opened them, and with his preconceived notions of the Superman in tatters, somehow a slightly different reality greeted him.

Superman—far from the remote savoir who hovered over the outstretched hands of terrified mankind—looked young. One of his hands worried the edge of his cape. He sucked at the place where the rest of his blood had pooled, tongue darting into the corner of his mouth. Bruce could not for the life of him find another place to look, as his pulse slammed into overdrive. The god with the face of a man—blinked.

“Does this answer your question?” The alien asked, calm as you please, too earnest to be—Bruce’s brain stuttered. Was Superman joking with him?

Bruce settled on asking the only safe question he could think to, and the alien and Bruce settled into a pattern of question-response. When Superman suggested taking the creature into space, Bruce rounded on him with contemptuous disbelief.

“Not while it’s still got fight in it. We need to control the field of battle, or we've already lost.”

The alien seemed to understand the source of Bruce’s frustration, transparent as the walls of his lake house. “I underestimated Zod. I won’t repeat that mistake. Taking him to space—I could save lives.”

The alien had miscalculated his ability to contain a foe of similar or greater strength. So Superman hadn’t been uncaring; he was just ill-prepared. The Bat knew which he considered the greater sin.

Diana’s shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. Bruce could only imagine what she thought. “Do you have an alternate strategy, Knight?”

Bruce shifted his gaze from Diana back to Superman. He couldn’t forgive the alien, he couldn’t give up his all-consuming anger: it was too familiar, too old, calcified over older despair (pearls scattering in a dark alley, a bloody crowbar dropped in a pool of water). Power corrupted all of the good men it touched in this world. But as Bruce watched the abomination roar, spew its death-born light into the sky, a new anger took hold. This was Bruce’s goddamn world. No monster would be tolerated here.

Bruce re-calibrated his mission parameters. The decision took only an instant to process. “Contain, subdue, kill,” Bruce snapped, as he reassessed the battlefield.

“I’d love an idea about how to do any of those things,” Superman said, a touch of sarcasm, and a touch—warm, like he genuinely meant it.

“I’ll let you know,” Bruce returned with a half-smirk. Their banter came so easily.

Under any other circumstances, Bruce would say that he was flirting.

Unreal, he thought.

The uneasy alliance scattered, and the fight began in earnest.

* * *

“We have a problem,” Bruce growled, as he watched the creature’s power levels climb in his HUD. Moments later, he was surrounded on both sides, as Diana and the alien formed a wall around him. A blast of energy lashed the air, and Bruce’s teeth clenched, angry and helpless and burning to kill something.

“I could contain it in the scout ship—”

Bruce suppressed the sarcasm that threatened to spill over his dispassionate assessment of how completely idiotic the alien could be.

"Distract the beast," Diana said. Bruce knew a command when he heard one. So, apparently, did Superman. The alien tipped his head once, and re-engaged the creature.

"Knight," she said moving into his line of sight, pulling his attention away from the earth-shaking clash of fist against flesh. "What are your resources? Do you have anything that can—" her eyes flicked back towards the battlefield. Kill his kind, was the unspoken part of the question.

Bruce’s Superman plan unspooled in his mind, hiccuping and racing ahead a little drunkenly. The Gotham docks were two square miles of deserted warehouses. Bruce had intimidated, cajoled, bribed the area clear for this night.

"Lead them both to Gotham," Bruce yelled, sprinting toward the Batwing.

Diana joined the fray with a glorious shout. A second later, Superman hovered next to the open canopy of the plane. Bruce punched in the startup sequence on the engine, and before Superman could ask the question so clearly on the tip of his tongue, Bruce cut in: "Is it Kryptonian?"

Superman turned from him, and narrowed his eyes at the beast as Diana parried its blows with her shield. "It's cellular structure appears to be more similar to mine, and more dissimilar to yours. It’s mostly Kryptonian."

Faint but definite surprise floored him. Had he just read the creature’s DNA at a distance, with his eyes? Bruce couldn’t help himself: “Lex’s files on the Superman were criminally uninformed.”

Superman jerked his head back to Bruce, and looked at him with the same penetrating gaze. The emotions that crossed the alien’s face in the slow march of epochs: wonderment, confusion, (fond?) disbelief.

This was it. His big advantage, gone in an instant if he offered—"I have a weapon that might work," Bruce said quickly, before he could talk himself out of it.

"Bruce—" he murmured, the subsided. Bruce struggled to keep shock from registering on his face. The alien knew? What did that mean for his—no, not the time to throw himself off that emotional cliff.

"Gotham port," Bruce reiterated, the anger (or something like it) burning high in cheeks. "Bring it there, and I'll kill it."

“Okay,” Superman said.

As easy as that.

As thought Bruce hadn’t just admitted he had planned to kill him.

“Wait—” Bruce’s gauntleted hand shot out to grip Superman’s forearm. He squeezed until he felt the immovable bar of his arm through the armor. “Who are you?”

“Really, Bruce?” The name slid across the Superman’s tongue like silk, tasting it. “Does it matter?”

“It matters,” Bruce ground out. Because if he was going to trade the Earth’s future to stop the destruction now, he would have the alien’s name for it.

“Call me Kal.” Superman lingered. He edged closer, leaning across the Batwing cockpit. He flashed the Bat a small, but genuine smile. In a quiet voice, he said: “Who knew that you’d be saving the world tonight, huh?”

“I had an inkling,” he said dryly.

Alfred’s disbelieving snort as he gunned the engines was his reward.

* * *

Bruce/Clark, age difference, paternal!Bruce

[(Anonymous)]

We all know Bruce has a bit of a paternal side, and he's older than Clark in this verse, so whenever Clark is insecure about anything, Bruce's paternal urges come through. I blame the scene in which he calls Clark "son" (and I'm all for that appearing in porn). Maybe they're doing something in bed Clark has never done before and Bruce talks him through it?

Doesn't have to be full blown daddy kink, but that is fine, too.

(I know someone already filled this on the old kinkmeme and I loved that fill, but I'm greedy and still want more. ;))

Bruce/Clark, identity porn

[(Anonymous)]

Slight canon divergence in which Clark doesn't know who Batman is - and for some reason hooks up with Bruce Wayne. Not flirty playboy Bruce Wayne the way he was at 30, but bitter, world-weary, empty inside Bruce Wayne who occasionally bangs/gets banged by hot men to distract himself from how lonely he is.

Would prefer if this was somehow set post-canon, after Clark's return to life, rather than right at their first canon meeting.

Basically I want all the identity porn and related angst. :D

Re: Bruce/Clark, identity porn

[(Anonymous)]

Please!

Bruce/Clark, fisting

[(Anonymous)]

Bruce fisting Clark (because Affleck has such gloriously big hands). With or without those Batsuit leather gloves.

Bruce/Clark, bloodplay

[(Anonymous)]

Bruce makes Clark bleed (again). And then plays with his blood/licks it off his skin/kisses him with bloody lips. Clark loves it.

He might also return the favour and make Bruce bleed.

Bruce/Clark - No Capes AU, Human AU, A/B/O

[(Anonymous)]

Omega Bruce has been systematically working his way through Gotham's alpha elite, looking for a good father for his horde of adopted children (it's not that Bruce can't have kids, he just prefers adopting any orphan he meets).

Enter alpha reporter Clark - who smells like sunshine or whatever and is the epitome of bumbling country boy in the big city.

Bruce sets about wooing him immediately.

Re: Bruce/Clark - No Capes AU, Human AU, A/B/O

[(Anonymous)]

+1 because this fandom needs more quality a/b/o.

Flashfic Challenge

[(Anonymous)]

Go here:
http://watchout4snakes.com/wo4snakes/Random/RandomPhrase

Write a ficlet/microfill based on the words you are presented with. Refreshing until you get something inspiring/ridiculous is allowed and encouraged!

Kick back and be silly! All's fair in love and makeshift prompt generators.

Flashfic Challenge fill: lofty ownership

[(Anonymous)]

"I remember now," Bruce Wayne says to him two hours and half a dozen glasses of champagne later. The man grabbed him by the elbow a little while ago, apparently to take a moonlit stroll around the Luthor estate. "I do own that one."

"Right," Clark says, clutching his own drink like a lifeline. He takes a sip so he doesn't have to think of anything else to say.

"Which means," Wayne continues, with an air of ostentation afforded to the very wealthy or the very inebriated, "in turn, I own you."

"Oh," Clarks says. "Kay." He notes the way Wayne is slurring his words with some interest. He's not as drunk as he'd like Clark to think. Certainly not drunk enough to hook his thumb into Clark's belt loop like that.

"So what I want to know is," Wayne says, and tugs, frowns, tugs again and this time Clark lets himself be reeled in, close enough to smell Wayne's expensive cologne, the alcohol on his breath--and something earthy that reminds Clark of dark, secret places. The moonlight catches Wayne's eye in a hard glint. "What can you do for me, son?"

Lex/Anyone, Fucked up dirty talk

[(Anonymous)]

Lex tries to talk dirty. It goes dark places. His partner is not entirely sure they're okay with where this is going.

(I’m imagining Lex giving some kind of extremely creepy and sexualized retelling of his abuse as a child, but you can come up with literally anything as long as it’s deeply, deeply uncomfortable.)

Re: Lex/Anyone, Fucked up dirty talk

[(Anonymous)]

Oh, wow, this is a great idea. Especially the creepy and sexualised retelling of his childhood abuse. Filing this under "things I didn't know I wanted".

any/any, sexual crying

[(Anonymous)]

Angst crying, fear crying, happy tears, deliberate crying kink or accidental spontaneous weeping, whatever the filler pleases. Does Clark have a lot of tender feelings toward humankind... in the sack? Is Bruce super not over Robin's death, only to have his sorrows bubble up at a vulnerable moment? Is Diana a hurts-so-good crier? Is Lois just overwhelmed in a good way? Is Lex all kinds of weird between the sheets? Surprise me, anon.

Bruce/Clark, heat

[(Anonymous)]

Some time after BvS, Clark finds out a part of Kryptonian biology he didn't know about yet ... he goes into heat. (Feel free to handwave why that didn't happen earlier to him, maybe Kryptonians only mature sexually at a later age or whatever.) Maybe Bruce finds out because Clark has disappeared to isolate himself, maybe Clark actually comes to Bruce because he knows Bruce is resourceful and can maybe help him. Would prefer if they weren't together yet so there can be all the angst about whether the other one really wants it when they eventually fuck (for hours and days until the heat abates).

No mpreg please. Just Clark who desperately needs to fuck someone, hard and long, again and again. Clark who's out of his mind with lust, who feels terrible for ~making Bruce do this~, who feels even more guilty because he's wanted to sleep with Bruce for so long. And Bruce who's wanted Clark and feels bad for what feels like taking advantage of his biological impulses.

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

[(Anonymous)]

(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.

Any/Diana, bondage, dirty talk, maybe humiliation

[(Anonymous)]

Diana uses her lasso to tie up her partner(s!), then uses its truthiness to extract from them all their deepest, dirtiest sexual fantasies.

Clark/Lex, mpreg

[(Anonymous)]

Clark and Lex have sex. Lex gets pregnant, finds out Clark is Superman, and completely loses his shit. Cue lots of inner turmoil and "oh god I have an alien inside me".

I’d prefer he ends up keeping the baby, but only for some kind of creepy Lex-logic reason - like he wants to experiment on it, or lord it over Clark. If you'd rather write an abortion that's fine too.