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.
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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.

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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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I did consider making that the first line of the next part! And then I thought, "Nah. They'll love it ending on that!" :D

Oh, man, thank you so much for all of this, anon - I LOVE porn with feels but haven't actually written all that much of it, and I read and reread and edited this part so many times that I basically had no idea how it actually might come off by the time I posted it ...

I loved Clark submitting to it even though he doesn't really want to because that way is best, right? And then Bruce who just can't BEAR to do this to Clark, ohhhhhh

... but evidently it successfully conveyed exactly what I intended! \o/ BOOYAH. I'm so, so glad you enjoyed it (and/or are rolling around on the floor feeling things about it :D), I can't even tell you! And I hope you get just as much out of the emotional resolution in the next couple parts, because you DESERVE IT FOR READING ALL THIS. ♥!

:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD OH THANK GOD YOU LIKED IT. *lies down for a little bit* I continue to be relieved/delighted that our taste in feelings is so similar, OP, because I wanted to write you a fill you'd enjoy and I'm so lucky that this RANK SELF-INDULGENCE can do that. :D

I always appreciate little bits of suit porn

Suit porn forever!

Oh, Bruce, you and your thing about what's necessary! ~~JUST LET CLARK GROPE YOU ADMIRINGLY AT HIS LEISURE, OKAY. JESUS~~ I loved writing this just - way, way too much, because FEELINGS EVERYWHERE, and I'm so glad it wasn't too OTT for you. Bruce trying to do what he thinks he needs to and failing because of his feelings, and Clark forgiving him for it, is a thing I will never get tired of (and is probably why I enjoyed BvS so much, because that's basically the whole point of that movie).

and then of course Bruce leaves before Clark wakes up, of course he does, because WHAT ARE FEELINGS

:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD I knew you'd like that. ~~and/or want to kill me~~

And I've said this to you like fifteen times already, but THANK YOU SO MUCH. Your compliments are always so kind and so extensive, and it just means the world to me that you like this fill so much - I'm so glad to have proven capable of writing it in a way you enjoy! YOU ARE GREAT AND SO ARE YOUR PROMPTS AND COMMENTS AND EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH. orz ♥

Bruce. What are you doing...? What is he doing!?

MAKING EXTREMELY GOOD DECISIONS, OF COURSE.

More seriously - trying to force a thing that means a lot to him to mean nothing and completely failing, pretty much. Oh, Bruce.

Is he so caught up in his overwhelming feelings (one I'm going to guess being self-loathing) that he does not realize that Superman is still there, hasn't said no

:D Haha, you're not wrong. And I don't know whether the Superman bit helps or hurts, really - like, Superman could obviously make Bruce stop banging him like it doesn't matter if he wanted to. He's SUPERMAN. So if he doesn't, then clearly he must want Bruce to bang him like it doesn't matter? It's simple Bat-logic. *nods*

I see you have returned to twisting that knife in my heart

:D

Thank you so, so much, anon! That you want to check all the time is a compliment in and of itself - I'm delighted you're enjoying the heartbreak as much as the happy and that you're so willing to come back for more. ♥ THANK YOU.

Hey, check it out, Bruce is continuing to make ~~terrible~~ extremely logical decisions that coincidentally maximize Clark's angst! HOW REMARKABLE.

and for fuck's sake, someone take the em dashes away from me /o\

Clark wishes he were surprised.

But he wakes up in Bruce's bed, sunlight pouring in, and even before he blinks his eyes open, he knows perfectly well that there's no one there. He can't even fool himself the way humans do, pretending that maybe Bruce is just downstairs or in the shower; his hearing yields nothing but Alfred, moving easily around the kitchen. (And Clark has stretched it far enough to catch the wind in the trees outside, a few drops of dew scattering from the leaves and falling.)

Bruce is gone. And it would have been more surprising if he hadn't been.

Clark lies there and stares at the wall, watches the light creep across it. It's the weekend, he has nowhere to be—nowhere he wants to be, either, except here; but everything's gone wrong and he can't stay. Everything's gone wrong and he has no idea what to do about it, and he has to leave.

He gets up. His clothes are still everywhere—Bruce must have had to step over them to get out. Clark wonders distantly whether he hesitated at all.

It's hard to imagine he did.

Clark's suit jacket is still somewhere on the floor in the car, probably. But then it's one of the ones Bruce got for him—it's technically Bruce's anyway. He can keep it.

Alfred maybe has supersenses of his own: he doesn't interrupt Clark at any point during the process of dressing, but appears just as Clark's finished rolling up his second sleeve. "Good morning, Master Kent."

He says it so gently there's no way he doesn't know, no way he hasn't figured out exactly what's happened. And that should be desperately embarrassing, but Clark mostly just feels sort of tired.

"Good morning, Alfred," he says automatically, managing half a smile; and Alfred's expression is so kind and sorry that it doesn't feel strange to add, "He's gone, isn't he?"

"Yes," Alfred says, very low.

And Clark knew that already, but it still means something to hear it from someone else, to say it out loud. He draws in a long slow breath, lets it out, and finds himself staring down helplessly at his own bare feet. (Socks—he'd had socks, hadn't he? Where had those managed to end up?)

"Come have breakfast, Master Kent."

"No," Clark says, "no," and he flashes Alfred another little smile and hopes Alfred's kindness will extend to pretending to believe it. God, he should have just run for it—Alfred might not even have noticed the breeze he'd leave by passing, if he'd chosen his route carefully enough. "No, thank you, but I—I'd better go—"

Alfred lets him run out of words, lets the silence stretch for a moment; and then he crosses the space between them in two quick steps and touches Clark's elbow. "Come have breakfast, Master Kent," he says again.

Clark swallows and meets his eyes. "Okay."

Alfred also seems to have sensed that Clark has no interest in anything complex or substantial—the pancakes he serves up look like something Mom might make, except for the picture-perfect round edges. As hard as it is to picture him soberly flipping them in the lake house's terrifyingly clean kitchen.

He eats one himself, even though Clark's pretty sure he must've had breakfast already. It feels almost easy for a few minutes: quiet, not uncomfortable, the sun still shining in wide warm stripes across the floor, the table, their plates. Clark's not all that hungry, but the pancakes still taste good, and there's strawberries too, in a little glass bowl Alfred has positioned so that it's very precisely equidistant between his seat and Clark's.

And then Alfred swallows a bite of pancake and looks up at Clark, for the first time since they sat down, and says, "He is making a mistake."

Clark manages not to choke on half a strawberry. "I—uh—"

"He is," Alfred repeats. "I can't say whether he will figure it out. But however Master Wayne chooses to deal with this—or to fail to deal with it, as the case may be—there is something you should know: you will always, always be welcome here. As, indeed," he adds, "you will always be welcome in any building to which I possess the keys."

His voice is warm and a little droll, and the words startle Clark into half of a laugh, a short quick breath out the nose.

And this is going to be bad, with Bruce. Clark has no doubt about that. But—hey, he's been impaled through the chest, and he's all right.

Maybe he really will survive this.

"Thank you, Alfred," he says.

Alfred smiles. "You're welcome, Master Kent."

"Clark," Clark says softly.

And Alfred looks at him for a long moment and then says, gentle, "Clark." He waits a beat; and then he points his fork at Clark and adds, "Just this once, you understand. Don't start thinking you've won."

"Never, Master Pennyworth," Clark assures him.

"Oh, sweet Mother of God, never do that again."

Wherever Bruce has gone, whatever it is he's doing, he wouldn't have left like that if he wanted Clark to be there when he came back. So Clark doesn't linger long enough to force Alfred to make him lunch, too.

The weekend's not a loss, at least. He goes back to his apartment, cleans up a little—does errands, because he hadn't really bothered to restock the fridge properly after those weeks at the lake house. He makes a run to Mom's, speeds through a handful of comfortingly familiar old farm chores and then sits on the step with her and drinks a tall cool glass of lemonade. If she notices that he seems off (and it's Mom: she does), she must guess that it has something to do with Bruce, and she's kind to him; she smiles, ruffles his hair, and doesn't ask.

On Monday, he goes into work about an hour and a half earlier than usual. Not because anything's worse, not because there's anything to worry about—just because he can't sleep, and lying awake listening to the clock tick felt silly. He might as well get something done.

There's a few other people there already, because the Planet building is almost never completely empty. But once he reaches his desk, he's as good as alone: there's nothing but the morning fog outside the windows, the tap of keys as he types, and the low distant hum of Metropolis being Metropolis. He does some research he's been putting off, and pulls together a list of contacts to try at a more reasonable hour, plus a good six hundred words based off the notes he took at that press conference with the city chief of police.

It's actually kind of nice. Peaceful. He lifts his head when Cat Grant comes in and finds himself smiling at her for real.

Which lasts right up until she stares back at him and says, "Oh—Clark. I'm so sorry."

She shows him the photos in her office. And it's not—he's not surprised. He understands what Bruce is doing, he's pretty sure. He can look at them with objective eyes. Bruce is leaning in for all of them; is touching both of the dark-haired women a little too much, hands a little too far above the knees to look innocent; doesn't seem to have actually kissed the blond man, but has his hand cupped around the back of his neck, is feeding him a line or telling him a joke with his lips almost touching the guy's ear. Nothing conclusive, and yet still enough to draw conclusions.

It's strategic, Clark thinks. Bruce has made a decision, is sending a message—that's all.

It doesn't really help.

Cat looks up at him after the last one, unusually grave. "You didn't know," she summarizes.

"I—had an inkling," Clark says, quiet.

Because he had, hadn't he? Bruce had been trying to find a line, but maybe Clark had found one instead—had found one and had shoved Bruce full-tilt over it. And this is Bruce telling him: no further. This is Bruce saying that they need to stop.

It's fair to think Bruce should have talked to him about it first—isn't it? Or is Clark just telling himself that because he wants Bruce to have talked to him?

Not that it matters now. It's done.

It's lucky he came in early—the reporters start arriving not too long after Cat, Clark can see them from the window. More of them than there ever were, even right before the first date: the dinner going well is less interesting than the dinner going badly, Clark remembers, and this is the worst things have ever gone.

Everybody in the office is weird. They're all trying to be careful with him. Even Ron looks at him gently, talks quietly around him, like a loud noise might hurt him.

By lunch he's so sick of it he can't stand it anymore, and he escapes up to the roof. That's where Lois finds him.

He hears her coming and braces himself for even more smothering sympathy, but he should have known better. Lois wouldn't. Instead she comes up to him where he's sitting, back against the low wall that runs around the roof's edge, and sits down next to him. "Are you two—is it over?" she asks after a moment.

"I think he's made his opinion pretty clear," Clark says, without looking up, and then, because he can say it when it's Lois, "Please, I—I don't want to talk about it."

"What do you want to do?" she says.

Clark closes his eyes, rubs a hand across his face. He couldn't sleep earlier, but now he feels so tired. "Just sit for a while."

"Okay," she says—as though that's reasonable, as though he's not acting like a kid getting dumped for the first time. He lets himself glance at her, and she catches him at it and smiles, small but real. "Do you have to do it alone?"

"No," he allows; and she puts a hand over his on his knee and stays.

He's not sure how long they sit there, but it must be at least half an hour. Lois doesn't get impatient, doesn't even seem to need to shift position—then again, Clark thinks, they met for the first time in Antarctica. She's probably sat for much longer times in much less comfortable places than the roof of the Planet building.

"Was there somebody to do this for you?" He doesn't realize he's decided to say it out loud until he hears it come out of his mouth, and rushes to clarify, "After I—after what happened."

Lois smiles and pats his hand. "Sure," she says. "Lucy. And your mom." She hesitates, and then adds slowly, "And, well—Bruce, actually."

Clark blinks.

"He stopped by a few times while I was at the house with your mother." She shrugs a shoulder. "I don't think he ever meant to catch me there, but sometimes we just—had decided to go see her at the same time. I didn't even know he knew you, the first time it happened, but your mom explained everything."

Clark wonders distantly what Mom had come up with.

"And he was really—I don't know. He was really thoughtful. Really kind. Not that he's not being a dick to you today," Lois adds, "because he is. Cat probably showed you that statement he released: 'not answering any questions about my personal life', as if it's ever bothered him before. I totally do have plenty of mean things to say about him right now—"

"No," Clark says, "no, it's—" and he can't tell her everything, he knows that, but surely it's safe enough to say, "It's not what it looks like, with the pictures. He didn't do anything. He's just—he's just telling me what he wants me to do."

"Mmhmm," and Lois's tone is dubious but Clark can't blame her, because it kind of does sound like Clark's just making excuses.

And maybe he is. Bruce wants to stop pretending to date Clark, which is—which is fine, Clark can live with that. But Bruce is thoughtful, sometimes; Bruce can be kind, almost unbearably so. Mom loves him. And Clark—

Clark doesn't want to lose him. Even if Bruce never kisses him, never touches him, ever again—that was never all of it. Clark liked getting to know him, learning how to be around him. And for all he knows, if Bruce gets his way it's only ever going to be Superman and Batman from here on out.

Clark closes his eyes and lets his head drop back into the wall. (A little bit too hard: there's a crunch, and a dusting of concrete bits skitters down his back.)

Lois squeezes his hand. "Well," she says, "I'm repeating myself, but—what do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Clark says, hoarse; and Lois squeezes his hand again and stays silent.

Oh, Clark :'(

Cover or no that's the worst way to find out

And I loved Alfred trying to comfort Clark. The "Master Pennyworth" was a nice touch

Oh, Clark, it's really sad how unsurprised he is by Bruce's bullshit everything. And then, oh, that bit about how he wants to stay but he can't because everything went wrong and he can't fix it, I'm already hurting again.

Alfred maybe has supersenses of his own
I am pretty sure he does. :D And aw, gentle Alfred. <3 I love Alfred so much, how he's trying to take care a little of Clark because he knows how awful Bruce can be. There are just so many beautiful details in this, like Alfred not making a fancy breakfast for Clark. And just everything Alfred says to Clark, eeeeeeeeeeh. Beautiful. Alfred just gets it, and he knows that he can't change Bruce, but he still tries his best to fix the situation a little bit.

"Never, Master Pennyworth," Clark assures him.

"Oh, sweet Mother of God, never do that again."
Haha, thanks, I needed a laugh in all this sadness. ;)

It's strategic, Clark thinks. Bruce has made a decision, is sending a message—that's all.
And then you hurt me again! God, Bruce is really the worst, I need Clark to talk some fucking sense into him, if they ever fucking talked to each other. And they're not even talking in this part, anon, why are you doings this to me??? I need them to talk. Oooh, and then this, this hurts so good again:
And maybe he is. Bruce wants to stop pretending to date Clark, which is—which is fine, Clark can live with that. But Bruce is thoughtful, sometimes; Bruce can be kind, almost unbearably so. Mom loves him. And Clark—

Clark doesn't want to lose him. Even if Bruce never kisses him, never touches him, ever again—that was never all of it. Clark liked getting to know him, learning how to be around him. And for all he knows, if Bruce gets his way it's only ever going to be Superman and Batman from here on out.
Brings me back to something I mentioned before, about how much I love people acknowledging their feelings while also acknowledging that they can't ever have what they want, and that's just what Clark is doing, hoping that he can at least be friends with Bruce even if they can't ever be together the way Clark wants it.

But, anon, how are you going to fix all of this in just one last past? I am so curious and excited and so very ready for them to make up and finally talk and figure things out. <3333 You continue to be amazing.

/OP

(Oh Bruce, you big dummy. Clark, you poor poor boy.)

I love how this story has developed, author!anon.

In this segment, it's great to see how the supporting cast interacts with Clark after the breakup. (God Bruce, you can be such a jerk.) The supporting cast's perceptions of entire debacle ring true - anyone who knows Clark loves and supports him, and even those who understand and love Bruce greatly want to smack him on the back of the head for being a frustrating man.

Also, can I say how much I enjoy the fact everyone likes Clark Kent? My favorite segment was this:

He lifts his head when Cat Grant comes in and finds himself smiling at her for real.

Which lasts right up until she stares back at him and says, "Oh—Clark. I'm so sorry."

Even though this stuff is Cat's bread and butter, she still feels genuine sympathy for Clark.

Great, addictive writing as always, anon.

Ugh...my heart hurts...just...take it. It's not like I need it anyway...

So...with the chapter count--it really means there's only one more part of these angsty idiots being uncommunicative and secretly in love with each other followed by like, fifty more parts of them being happy idiots in love with each other--and they both are aware of it, right? Right? No? I'll work on my sale's pitch, then. ;-P

Alfred. Like Martha, I love him. I love how you write him.

It's fair to think Bruce should have talked to him about it first—isn't it?

I thought so! I mean I was prepared for Clark to get a break-up text. Not a photograph and a hoard of reporters staked outside the Planet.

Bruce.

Lois! She's wonderful, too. Clark needs some wonderful after Bruce's logical decision-making skills lead him to failing at being a human being.

I want my heartache to end, but I hate to see this lovely fill come to an end... But all good things, I suppose.

As always, thanks!

:DDD Thank you, nonnie! I am so glad you're enjoying this XD I wanted to get the cliffhanger resolved today, but UGH, why must my weekends be so busy :(

They are both so lonely! Making out is the only answer. Once Bruce has retrieved him, that is!

XD Thank you so much for this awesomely amazing and kind comment, nonnie. I will have more tomorrow! Stupid busy weekends.

Haha, I have to take it back to its damsel-y roots, nonnie XD I am so glad you're enjoying the fill, it's so cool to know the prompter is happy <3

XDDD I wanted to write more today but I was sucked into weekend activities! Terrible. More tomorrow XD

Thank you so very much -- I really appreciate you taking the time to comment <3

Poor Clark indeed! Glad you enjoyed the conversation with Alfred, anon - that was one of my favorite scenes in this section, so I'm doubly pleased it worked for you. :)

/o\ I admit it, I enjoyed rolling around in Clark's feelings a lot! This got a little angstier than I was anticipating (though I guess not as angsty as it could have), but I hope it didn't hurt too much. ;)

:D I will never not love Clark&Alfred, and I'm so glad I had the chance to put a couple different scenes with the two of them in here! Haha, and I'm glad you enjoyed the Master Pennyworth line, too. I love a proper angsty fic, but it always feels a little more real to me when there's some humor mixed in there too. :)

I need them to talk.

:D Well, it's your lucky day, because the next part is basically 2k of talking! \o/ I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING WOULD BE FINE. And I would never lie to you, OP. ♥

how much I love people acknowledging their feelings while also acknowledging that they can't ever have what they want

Ugh, yes - I just can't resist adding a side of devoted resignation to my pining, I guess. /o\ *wallows shamelessly* :D

But, anon, how are you going to fix all of this in just one last past?

/o\ Well, I'm going to do my best! I hope you find the final wrapup convincing and satisfying, OP (and I've been pounding away at this thing for so long that I honestly can't tell anymore, so if it's not what you were hoping for OH GOD PLEASE TELL ME I PROMISE I CAN DO BETTER D:). You have been so delightful and amazing through this entire thing and I'm so thrilled to have had the chance to write you a fill that I enjoyed working on so much! :D ♥ Thank you thank you thank you.

Oh, thank you so so much, anon! It wasn't supposed to be quite this epic a trip through my Bruce/Clark feelings - I can't tell you how much I appreciate you sticking with it all the way to the end. :D

even those who understand and love Bruce greatly want to smack him on the back of the head for being a frustrating man

Haha, too true - god knows I do. :D

can I say how much I enjoy the fact everyone likes Clark Kent?

:D By all means! I love Clark so much and it was great to be able to add in a little bit of his relationships with people besides Bruce - when I put the Planet staff in at the beginning, I had no idea I'd be able to work my way back around to them at the end, and I'm so glad you like how it came out! Especially with Cat, who got the whole thing rolling for me in the first place. :)

/o\ Oh gosh, thank you again - I had a lot of fun writing this, and I can only hope it was as much fun to read. I'm so delighted you've enjoyed it, anon, and I hope you enjoy the ending just as much!

there's only one more part of these angsty idiots being uncommunicative and secretly in love with each other followed by like, fifty more parts of them being happy idiots in love with each other

... In my heart there is! :D (Another thirty thousand words in this thread is prrrrrobably not the right place for me to show exactly how these goofs go through this whole dating process all-over-again-but-for-real-this-time, but that is 200% what happens. :DDDDDDD)

/o\ Oh, thank you so much, anon - I love Alfred a lot and I loved being able to get him back into the mix here, and I'm so glad you liked how that scene worked out!

I was prepared for Clark to get a break-up text. Not a photograph and a hoard of reporters staked outside the Planet

:D That probably would have been a better way for Bruce to manage things, yes. But when has Bruce ever managed things the best way?

I'm so pleased to hear you liked Lois too, anon - that was another conversation I was really glad to be able to get in here! :D And as sorry as I'll be to wrap this fill up, I hope you enjoy the happy ending and I'm so glad to have had you along for the ride. ♥ Thanks so much for reading and commenting, anon, it was a delight to have you and I've loved hearing your thoughts!

BET YOU NEVER THOUGHT WE'D GET HERE. ♥ x many thousands to everyone who's commented on or read any part of this—you guys are all great and I'm so grateful to share a fandom and a kinkmeme with you! Thank you for your patience and generosity, and for sticking with me through this ridiculous 30k+ (!!!) of tropey feelings. YOU'RE THE BEST EVER.

The afternoon passes in long weird dollops, excruciatingly slow until suddenly an hour's gone by, and then another, another. Lois stops by Clark's desk at the end of the day, touches his wrist as he's shrugging his jacket on. "I'd offer to walk out with you," she says, wry, "except I'm guessing that wouldn't really help."

"No," Clark agrees grimly. It's briefly satisfying to imagine, in a really petty way—but he's pretty sure he knows what he'd be saying to Bruce by doing that, and it's not something he actually wants to say.

"Good luck," Lois adds. "Good luck with all of it."

"Thanks," Clark says, and then she goes, and he braces himself to run the gauntlet alone.

Strictly in terms of numbers, he's dealt with more reporters as Superman, but that doesn't make it any easier. (He supposes he could have used the speed, or flown from the roof. But that would have felt a little more like running away than he was comfortable with.)

They move toward the door when they see him coming, and he has to push a bit to make his way through the crowd of them—carefully, of course. He's upset and they're here to get pictures of it, it's frustrating; but they're just doing their jobs, and he can't go tossing people around for that.

"No comment," he says, rote, into the buzz of questions. Cat'll be proud. "No comment—excuse me, thank you; no comment."

"Mr. Kent—! Mr. Kent, have you and Bruce Wayne separated?"

He should just keep saying no comment—or, better yet, he should say yes. That's what Bruce wants, after all; that's why he's done what he's done, and of course he'd follow up with his awful coy Bruce Wayne thing and leave it to Clark to—

To construct the narrative.

Clark draws a slow breath, wondering whether he's really got it in him to pull this off. What Bruce wants him to do is clear as anything—but that doesn't mean Clark has to do it. And it's not that he's trying to trap Bruce, or force him into a corner; but Lois had asked Clark what he wanted, and—

And he wants a lot of things, more than he can list. But at the heart of it all, Clark just wants to talk to Bruce. He just wants to make sure they're all right, or at least might be able to get there, even after everything. And Bruce has accidentally handed him the means to make it happen.

(Make it part of one of his Batman plans—there are worse playbooks to steal from than Mom's, Clark thinks.)

For someone with so many secrets, he's never actually been any good at lying. But he doesn't have to, does he? He can just—tell the truth.

He turns around to face the woman who asked, and shoots her a self-conscious little smile; all he has to do is hold it through a few flashes to make sure it'll get seen. "No," he says, "we haven't," because they haven't—they were never together properly in the first place, were they? So they can't have separated now. "Bruce is only human," also true. "He's made mistakes, but so have I—who hasn't?" and no one could call that a lie. "I'm not going to try to tell you those photos don't bother me. They do," because that's a lie only in the sense that it's a staggering understatement. "But I care about him, and I'm confident that we can work this out like adults." He smiles again, hoping it looks like the smile of someone self-aware, capable, resilient, and gives the reporter a little nod. "Any other questions?"

"—and I'm confident we can work this out like adults," the tiny upside-down Clark on Bruce's tablet screen says; and then Bruce taps with one finger and the video pauses, and Bruce's office is abruptly silent.

Clark does his best not to let it rattle him. He looks Bruce in the eye, unwavering, and raises his eyebrows. "I know what I said, Bruce. I was there."

"You have to see you're only dragging this out," Bruce says, raising an eyebrow right back. "This doesn't have to become a problem, Clark. I realize I should have let you know before I moved forward with the exit strategy, and I apologize for that. But this," and he flicks a finger toward the tablet screen, "is only going to complicate things."

The words are measured; the tone is conversational, matter-of-fact. There's even a hint of humor in it—as though Bruce is being friendly, gently pointing out that Clark's made a misstep, expecting Clark to acknowledge it with a laugh and then ask him for advice.

Not exactly what Clark was hoping for. But they're in the same room, at least. That's something.

"Maybe I don't mind complicated things," Clark tells him.

Bruce has the nerve to look at him incredulously. "There's no advantage to it. The media deals best with simplicity, with dynamics that are easy to follow. Those pictures make me the bad guy, and no one's asking you to forgive me.

"This is the out, Clark," Bruce adds calmly. "Take it."

An out—an excuse. Another one. They've been piling them up, him and Bruce, finding reasons to say things they don't mean, or mean things they don't say; or say things they do mean and then treat them like lies. At the idea of doing it again, Clark feels something almost like anger. But not quite: it's clearer, steadier, and makes it suddenly easy to say, "Who said I wanted one?"

And Bruce—Bruce's eyes narrow. The tiniest of frowns flickers across his face before he shakes his head a little and sighs. Dismissive, mildly frustrated, as if to say he's not sure why Clark's being so difficult about this. "Look," he says carefully. "This can't—this can't possibly be making you happy."

"Wh—of course it's not making me happy," Clark says, bewildered. "I'm pretty sure you're not happy either, and I—that's the last thing I want. If that video really is going to cause you problems, then I'm sorry about that. It's—I—I only ever wanted you to be happy."

The second it leaves his mouth, he realizes what a weirdly revealing thing it is to say and grimaces, his face going hot. But Bruce doesn't mock him for it. Bruce looks at him and says nothing, and his expression isn't saying anything either, every inch of him cool, sharp, and somehow very, very far away.

"And if ending this will do that," Clark adds a little more quietly, "then I will. I just—" He bites his lip. Maybe it's the wrong thing to say, but what can it hurt at this point? "I just wanted to talk to you about it first, I guess." He draws in a breath and then lets it out, feeling suddenly tired again. He did want to talk to Bruce, and—and he has. Bruce didn't have him thrown out of the building; and he isn't pretending not to know why Clark is here; and he's being polite, courteous, which isn't what Clark wants from him but is a place to start. That needs to be good enough. "Sorry. Sorry, I'll go—"

"I was cruel to you," Bruce interrupts, before Clark can even turn. His tone is still casual—but his gaze is hard, uncompromising, his eyes clear. "I know that. I slept with you and then I left, I didn't come back, and I didn't tell you what I was going to do before I did it. I hurt you and I did it on purpose. I don't see what there could be to discuss."

And that, of all things, is what makes Clark pause. Because—because yes, Bruce had done it on purpose. Bruce had done it with purpose, for a purpose. And what could that purpose have been?

"You were making it easier for me," Clark says slowly.

Bruce has already turned his attention back to his desk, his tablet; and he doesn't move, doesn't look at Clark, but he's listening anyway. Clark is certain of it.

"You were—you were making it easier for me. You wanted me to walk away, you—you wanted me to want to walk away." Except that doesn't really make more sense, does it? "You have to know you didn't need to do it that way. If you wanted to end this, you could've just—"

"No," Bruce says.

Clark blinks.

Bruce still hasn't moved, except to raise his head, and he still isn't looking at Clark, either: he's gazing off somewhere into the middle distance, expression perfect and placid.

But Bruce, Clark reminds himself, is a really good actor.

And then his jaw works, and he swallows, and he does look at Clark; and "placid" isn't the word for his face anymore.

"No," Bruce says again. "I couldn't have."

"Bruce," Clark begins, because that's—that's ridiculous, that's nonsensical. Bruce could have sent Clark away whenever he wanted to. He's talking like Clark's the only one who could have ended things; but he could have broken up with Clark just as easily as Clark could have broken up with him—

And then Clark stops, mouth partway open, as something in his chest flips over almost painfully. As easily as Clark could have broken up with him; except Clark hadn't. Not through any of it—not after the kissing, not after the sex, not any of the dozen times he'd told himself that he really, really should, if only for the sake of his own sanity. Not even after Bruce had been his most unkind, when it should have been the easiest: because—

Because even then, the truth is that leaving Bruce still hadn't been easy at all.

Bruce had given him a dozen reasons to, a hundred, but Clark had had a better reason not to. Clark had had the best reason there is. And he'd—he hadn't ever imagined that Bruce might be in love with him, too, hadn't thought it was possible. But, miraculously, Bruce has as good as said it. I couldn't—coming from him, of all people, who'd gone down to the Batcave workshop with staples in his back, who was a billionaire all day and a superhero all night, who worked and worried and blamed himself and never ever stopped, never let himself fail at anything if he could help it; who was a stubborn, frustrating, uncommunicative dick—and a good man.

Clark startles himself by laughing—himself and Bruce, who looks like he's not sure whether he needs to buzz for security or for an ambulance. "Clark—"

"Bruce," he says, and it comes out disgustingly tender, but he can't bring himself to be embarrassed about it. Bruce is standing with his hands pressed flat against his desk; but they come away easily enough when Clark takes them. They're a little cold, Clark thinks. But he can fix that, if Bruce will let him.

And now Bruce looks like he's thinking about erring on the side of the ambulance.

Clark can't help it: he laughs again, and ducks down to press his forehead briefly against Bruce's knuckles before he looks up at Bruce again and smiles. "Bruce, you realize why we're having this argument, right? I mean, why I'm here at all?"

Bruce stares at him silently, eyes narrowing.

"You did make it easy," Clark tells him, feeling merciful, "as easy as you could. You gave me the out, because you couldn't make yourself take it. But look at me, Bruce. Look where I am." And surely, surely if he puts it in Bruce's own terms, Bruce can't fail to understand him. So he looks down at their joined hands and then, careful, explains: "I couldn't make myself take it either."

It doesn't sound like it should be enough. But Clark knows what he's saying—and so does Bruce. He must, because he sucks in a sharp breath; which might have been too quiet for anyone but Clark to catch, but Clark's there and he catches it. And then—then he can hear Bruce's heart start pounding, too.

"Clark," Bruce says. His voice has gone flat and he's looking away, withdrawing in the half-dozen small ways he's able to control.

Except he doesn't try to pull his hands back.

"Bruce," Clark says, and doesn't let go either. "I want to stay with you. For real."

And that makes Bruce look at him again. Bruce's expression has gone back to empty, wiped clean; but his gaze is flicking back and forth across Clark's face. Looking for something, something he wants to find there, even if it's despite himself. That's all Clark needs to see.

"This is a bad idea," Bruce says, very low.

"Maybe," Clark agrees, but he can't stop himself from smiling. "I want to stay with you anyway."

And Bruce swallows, and tightens his hands in Clark's, and then something new ripples across his face: something a little like anger and a little like longing, and maybe a little like hope. After a moment he does shake one hand loose, but only so he can lean over and wrap it around the nape of Clark's neck. And then he tugs Clark forward across the desk and into a kiss—a kiss, Clark thinks dazedly, that absolutely nobody is watching.

I have the biggest shit eating getting on my face because this ending had made me so happy!! See Bruce, this is what happens when you actually communicate things!

Though there is a part of me wondering if Martha is going to call any second with an earful.

"This is the end,
hold your breath and count to ten,
feel the earth move and then,
hear my heart burst again"

*totally doesn't have Adele's Skyfall running in her head because its dramatic flavor is somehow an apt description of my feelings*

Oh, nonnie, I really never thought they'd get around to stop being idiots without another 30k, but lo! They just needed to start *talking* Jesus.

How I loved Clark using his Mom's advice and being all Batman about it, to get to talk to Bruce, to figure out the motivation behind his actions, oh.

And then his jaw works, and he swallows, and he does look at Clark; and "placid" isn't the word for his face anymore.

"No," Bruce says again. "I couldn't have."

Ugh, WHAT A DECLARATION, Bruce is such a restrained mess that this is SUCH a big deal, I can't even :D I apparently have very low standards for Bruce because I totally imagined him keeping on making BAD DECISIONS for a while.

Now excuse me while I daydream about the scene following this one with Clark riding Bruce in his office chair, Bruce heaving him onto the desk at some point before they end up in a heap on the floor :DDD

:D Thank you so very much, anon - I'm glad you liked the conclusion! WHEW I'm sure Bruce is going to make an effort to do better now that they're dating properly (although, let's face it, he's still going to fuck up sometimes).

there is a part of me wondering if Martha is going to call any second with an earful

:D Oh, I'm sure she's going to tell Bruce he was an idiot more than a few times, the next time he and Clark are over for dinner. Possibly while she makes him help her wash the dishes - because Martha knows how to make people stick around for an awkward conversation, BRUCE.

(Another thirty thousand words in this thread is prrrrrobably not the right place for me to show exactly how these goofs go through this whole dating process all-over-again-but-for-real-this-time, but that is 200% what happens. :DDDDDDD)

THAT WOULD ABSOLUTELY BE THE RIGHT PLACE FOR IT, ANON. :DDD

OH MY GOD DON'T TEMPT ME :P

DA

DO IT, NONNIE, DO IT FOR THE KINKMEME :DDDDD

BUT I WANT TO TEMPT YOU

Or ask you if you're planning any other Bruce/Clark fics because I NEED MORE

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FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (18/19)

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Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (18/19)

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

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

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

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

Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (18/19)

Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (18/19)

Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (18/19)

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FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (19/19)

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Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (19/19)

Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (18/19)

Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (18/19)

Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (18/19)

Re: FILL: tell all the truth (but tell it slant); Bruce/Clark, fake dating (18/19)