dceu_kinkmeme | DCEU Prompt Post #1

Nonny, nonny, nonny, you're so good to us. All of this *gestures to the amazing fields of smut and tenderness and aborted love confessions that are still love confessions* and still there is more to come? Thank you.

I love how of the two of them, it's Clark that's laying it on thick the next day. In superbat, it's almost always Bruce who's distancing... but here, a very vulnerable Bruce gets the full force of Clark!snark and it just floored me how you handled that scene. There's a way in which DCEU Batman feels to be the more vulnerable character. His emotions aren't as in-check, they're flying free. So naturally it stands to reason, his positive ones would be too. It's such a heady feeling, how you inhabit this world.

AND THEN THEY HUG. Fuck. I'll never be over this fill.

No established relationship. Bruce spent a lot of time researching Superman, watching him on the news, staring at him. His obsession takes an unexpected turn.

Clark and Bruce are in an established relationship, after clearing the air and having to work really hard to trust each other. In an unexpected twist, Clark finds that he's pregnant with Bruce's baby. Cue the epic freak outs, with Alfred just happy Bruce will finally have a little one of his own.

Earlier, before the events of Batman v. Superman, Clark found another Kryptonian ship and secretly moved it to Antarctica, while also quietly collecting as much Kryptonian technology as he could to keep others from doing what Lex did.

When it comes close to Clark's due date, he and Bruce head up to the new Fortress of Solitude and eagerly await the arrival of their baby.

Seconded!

Oh yes please!

Holy shit this was THE most amazing read!!! Where is this on Ao3 PLEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAASSSSEEE?!?!? Why aren't there a gazillion comments this was just so so great. I utterly loved every damn wonderful brilliant word of it AHHHHHHHHHH ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

NAYRT -- pretty sure that nonny will upload this to AO3 once it's done (if my sneaking suspicion about the filler's AO3 handle is correct). So when it's done, we can smother the fic with kudos. 'Cause *damn*.

Damn.

SA, barely more coherent, but still.

I love Alfred and I love his reaction and omg, did Bruce really consider this from the start?! I love this! BRUCE, YOU HAVE SO MANY ISSUES, ILU <333

Oh, my heart, what have you done to me.

:DDDDD

Clark is ashamed of wanting Bruce so much, and when he has sex with him, of how much he likes it. Maybe Clark is something of a prude, maybe he has some internalized homophobia, maybe Clark has a sneaking suspicion that he's only being used by Bruce Wayne™ for sex.

Any way, he "gives in" to Bruce's advances and fully expects to be fucked hard and put away wet, little more than a one night stand. Instead Bruce just goes on seducing him, giving him amazing orgasms and being sneakily thoughtful. Gimme all the misunderstandings and needless angst, please! :D

Seconded!

They both get off on Bruce being older and taller than Clark.

Hi, this got weird. Have too many em-dashes, some mixed metaphors, religious imagery and general confusion and pretentiousness. JUST LOOK AT PORN LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, JESUS BRUCE /o\

March 27th, Bridgeport, Connecticut. Extinguishing house fire. Three-quarter profile view, low quality capture from cellphone, blurry.

May 9th, Buenos Aires, Argentine Republic. Averting multi-vehicle collision. Low, distorted angle as subject is floating several feet above the ground. High res, blurry.

June 11th, Metropolis. Brief appearance at press conference after preventing assassination attempt on visiting diplomat. 1080p footage, face-on.

Blurry.

Bruce doesn't know how he's doing it--he'd try to find out if he thought it was important, but he's confident that it's too subtle for Spyral's IPI, at least. The salient point is that he's protecting himself, and that means he has something to protect. An alter ego, a daytime persona. Or, night-time, as the case may be; this is not a creature that flourishes in shadow. Bruce wants to know exactly who he is, who he knows, who he cares about, who cares about him. What will break him when enough pressure is applied.

Bruce pushes his keyboard across his desk and rubs at his eyes. He has gathered approximately three terabytes of data on this man--this alien, this walking WMD--since the Black Zero event: folder upon folder full of amateur YouTube footage and news broadcasts from all around the world, an unfathomable number of stills cribbed from every social media site that exists. Every time the Superman so much as breathes in public, the internet erupts with a flurry of candid shots and the tantalizing promise of new data points, but his crawler only ever brings him more Instagram pics of someone who looks like he watched a slightly cursed videotape.

Bruce sets up every new batch to run through facial recognition anyway, cross-references the results with what he's extrapolated about his height and weight and body mass, his chest and arm and inner goddamn thigh measurements, and collates a list of people from whatever his algorithms spit out.

It's mostly actors and athletes and a startling number of underwear models. The outliers, the everyday folk--those are the ones Bruce has more interest in. The quiet ones, keeping their heads down. When the frequency of any given name hits a certain threshold, that's when he starts digging further.

(Two months from now, Bruce will meet Clark Kent. He will be set on a different goal that night, but the name will be familiar enough that Bruce will pay him more attention than he would otherwise warrant. Enough that their tense interaction will devolve into an aggressive rut against the rear of the building.)

Bruce takes a gulp of his coffee. It's cold, but he tips his head back and finishes the rest anyway.

His eyes hurt. The clock on his taskbar reads 4:32 am, and he decides that a little sleep before tomorrow's eight a.m. board meeting would be prudent if not useful. He sets off another web crawler before he turns in, and resigns himself to the trashpile of animated gifs and dubious photomanipulations that the morning will bring.

*

He's straining on his toes atop an ornate gargoyle, high above the inky streets of Gotham. It's teeming with rain, slanting over the skyline and beading on his gauntlets, trickling down into the grooved detailing. It collects there and then drops onto his face, slides along the seam between the cowl and his skin. His hands twist against the slippery brickwork, but that only serves to tangle him further in his own grapnel wire.

"Well," the Superman says, voice like a thunderhead. He steps towards him across the smoggy air. "Look at the state of you."

His face is vivid, flawless: high-boned cheeks and cleft chin; mouth as hard as marble. He looms over him, the personification of judgment, reaching out to press his palm over the symbol on Bruce's chest. Bruce jerks beneath his touch, pulls the wire tighter around his wrists. The Superman's eyes transfix him, colder and bluer than Arctic water as his fingers walk up Bruce's neck, his chin, slip between Bruce's lips and curl behind his teeth. He tastes like ozone.

"My fish on a hook."

Bruce jolts awake a handful of seconds before it happens--enough time to register the weight between his legs, the hot slam of his blood--and then it belts him like a suckerpunch, drives the breath out of him as he comes in a long, brutal wave.

It's been a while, he tells himself as he cleans up, hands shaking. It's been a while since he's taken someone to his bed. Too fixated on his mission, he has neglected to indulge in even his own utilitarian touch.

He tries to remember the face in his dream, and can't.

*

Mid-afternoon, and he's sifting through the detritus collected in his database. His friend has been busy; there's new footage from Europe and Australia, as well as dotted around the States. One picture in particular keeps cropping up repeatedly--his system does a decent job of sieving out the duplicates when one goes viral and blankets social media like kudzu, but it's not infallible.

Bruce can't be annoyed about it, not this time.

The Superman is twisted in midair, his back a graceful arch against the sky. He's framed by Metropolis' skyscrapers, and whoever snapped the shot has inadvertently hit upon the golden ratio. His cape billows, backlit and radiant, and every sleek line of his body is limned in sunlight.

He looks like a renaissance painting, an angel ascending. It's breathtaking. That his face is smeared and grainy doesn't matter. The fact that Bruce hates him to the core of his being--it doesn't matter.

The hair pricks up along Bruce's arms and the back of his neck, and he knows what he is going to do.

*

Bruce closes his eyes and tightens his fist and tries to remember the face in his dream. Whenever he feels like he's close, almost has his features solidified, the man's eyes spark like electricity, cruel and blue, and the image he's painstakingly building flares up and disperses like smoke.

He grunts in frustration, tries a different approach.

Nobody can agree on how strong the Superman is, only that he is phenomenally so. He could hold Bruce's wrists down, for example, above his head, one-handed, with ease. Bruce hasn't had a partner who could do that, or who seemed inclined to even try, for a very long time.

(Two months from now, Bruce will meet Clark Kent, and find himself pressed against warm brickwork.)

A man like him--this weapon, this threat--he could pick Bruce up as though he is made of nothing, render him helpless with the bare minimum of effort. He could draw his fingers down Bruce's suit--down Batman's uniform, split the seams like he's opening an envelope. He will only find a poison pen letter inside. Perhaps that will anger him.

And perhaps that what Bruce wants, to see the wrath of a god, to smile in his face they dismantle each other--

Bruce pushes his head back against his pillows, drags his hand; his feet slide against the sheets.

--and it might be a mutually-assured destruction, because Bruce may be weak in the shadow of such a being, but he is clever and he is resourceful and most of all he is tenacious. He will find a way to put his hand to the Superman's throat, and he will--

(Two months from now, Clark Kent will float to the top of Bruce's list, caught by his surveillance devices around the Gotham docks. Bruce will call him, Clark Kent will come to him, and afterwards, satisfied, Bruce will harden his heart.)

--he will pull his head back, bare his neck for ritual sacrifice, carry him over his shoulder like a lamb, hook a finger into his mouth, reel him in and land him in the gutter with the rest of the human race.

But he is not human and he doesn't recognize his place, and he will fight--

Bruce arches up from the mattress, breath caught between his teeth.

--he will fight, with all that he has, all that power focused into a singularity, bearing down onto Bruce like a thunderbolt and enduring it will be the most crucial thing he'll ever do, his life's work in the balance. He will resist, and won't be struck down or transfixed by his fists, his mouth, his eyes, crushed by his magnitude; he will strain against him with all of his might, with every inch of his ferocity, hands clawing--

(Two months from now, Bruce will try to kill Clark Kent.)

--he will find something, find a weakness, because he knows there must be a way to get under his skin, to crawl into his veins, to penetrate--

--and Bruce comes with a shudder, hoarse cry reverberating off the glass walls, echoing back at him like an unheard prayer.

*

Mmmmmm, Bruce, you are so difficult and Gosh, those excerpts of that rut against a wall were so tantalizing! *____*

Headcanon accepted, nonnie \o/

JUST LOOK AT PORN LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, JESUS BRUCE /o\

Ahahaha, when does Bruce ever act like a normal person, I ask you :DDD

sa

Gah, I'd meant to quote Bruce's kinky sexdream before the headcanon line, because it's totally canon that Bruce has kinky dreams <333 (ahhh, Snyder and his dripping id, lol)

This is great. The little parentheticals are great!

Oh, Bruce. Though this is something I could see this version doing. Obsessive much?

There are never too many em dashes, anon! :D More seriously, this is such a perfect portrait of BvS's paranoid and obsessive Bruce and I absolutely love it. You've captured the essence of kinky fever lust that shades basically everything about BvS and Bruce's Thing About Superman so so exactly, and the double meaning of how desperately Bruce wants to find Superman's weakness, gah. GAH. Thank you so much for this, it is MAGNIFICENT.

Holy shit, this is absolutely incredible, anon. Just gorgeously written and so intense and so perfectly Bruce.

His face is vivid, flawless: high-boned cheeks and cleft chin; mouth as hard as marble. He looms over him, the personification of judgment, reaching out to press his palm over the symbol on Bruce's chest. Bruce jerks beneath his touch, pulls the wire tighter around his wrists. The Superman's eyes transfix him, colder and bluer than Arctic water as his fingers walk up Bruce's neck, his chin, slip between Bruce's lips and curl behind his teeth. He tastes like ozone.
This description alone is stunning, I generally love Bruce's nightmare sex dream there. And his fantasies about fighting Clark, oh my god.

--he will fight, with all that he has, all that power focused into a singularity, bearing down onto Bruce like a thunderbolt and enduring it will be the most crucial thing he'll ever do, his life's work in the balance. He will resist, and won't be struck down or transfixed by his fists, his mouth, his eyes, crushed by his magnitude; he will strain against him with all of his might, with every inch of his ferocity, hands clawing--
And I really adore this part because I think enduring is such a crucial part of who Bruce is, taking everything he thinks he needs to take and still going on. Aaaaaaaaaaaah, wow, this is just amazing, I will reread it right away.

Oh, and that rut against the wall? Sounds super hot and should totally be a fic of its own. ;D

Yes please!

Before Lex's manipulations are brought to light, when Clark and Bruce meet, Clark immediately feels a bond to the other man. It's the Kryptonian version of a Soul Bond. Bruce feels the pull as well, but when he finds out that Clark is Superman, he angrily, and maybe even cruelly rejects Clark. This causes Clark immeasurable pain both physical and emotional.

He can feel Bruce's hatred towards him through the bond, but instead of sending hate back to Bruce, all he does is send Bruce love and want. That love is the purest thing Bruce has ever felt and it makes him angrier, but also guilty. The big brawl happens, without Martha being kidnapped and Clark just lets Bruce beat him. Bruce keeps trying to get Clark to fight him until he finally breaks down and yells that he doesn't deserve someone like Clark. Cue the long road to recovery and reconciliation.

Oh my goodness, yes!

Yay, I'm glad you like it. It's good to know it's not just me and the OP that like the idea of the pairing!

ALFRED AND DIANA HAVING TEA, anon, what an utter delight.

Ahah, be careful what you call delightful, they will have SO MUCH TEA by the end of this thing it's not even funny.

Thank you! I was excited to see the prompt, so I'm glad you're excited it's being filled. Alfred staying in touch with Dick just made sense to me. He's got to be out there somewhere!

First I just want to say your writing is gorgeous and flows so well as to seem effortless (though I know that is rarely the case!).

Wow, thank you so much.

Bruce is definitely wearing his cranky pants for this one. I think he's not used to someone else having Alfred's attention ;)

Bruce beat Alfred to the door the next time, and opened it with a droll, "And how is your reconnaissance today, Ms. Prince?"

She gave him an apple-cheeked smile. "Very well, actually. Clark gives his regards." She hefted the duffel bag she was carrying into Bruce's arms and looked past him. "Good morning, Alfred."

"Will you be staying for tea today, Ms. Prince?"

"No, sorry, not today. I would love to another time. I only came to bring that." She tipped her head towards Bruce, who had set the bag down on the desk near the entryway and opened it partway with some suspicion. As they watched he unzipped it farther to stick a hand in and push the contents around.

"Two whole and intact," Diana said, then, as Bruce pulled out what looked like a mechanized wing, "and what Victor thinks are protoypes for airborne propulsion systems."

"Thank you." Bruce looked as though it only pained him slightly to say. He continued fishing through the bag while Alfred saw her out to the carport and watched the silver Carrera take off like a slingshot down the drive and out of sight.

Back inside, Bruce was still frowning at the duffel.

"For someone who claims to dislike technology she can't reason with she certainly seems comfortable behind the wheel," Alfred said.

"You should see her on a horse," Bruce said, and finally zipped the bag closed and slung it over his shoulder. "Did you want to help me take a look at these or will you be too busy?"

"Oh, have no fear on that score. Ms. Prince may have my tea, but you'll always have my weapons analysis." Alfred waved a gracious hand in the direction of the back stairs. "Shall we?"
___

After so many years of plying his acting skills among Gotham's social elite, Bruce was an expert at the sort of obnoxious, insouciant lean he employed against the workbench Alfred was working at.

"Diana Prince will be coming by this afternoon for the radiation scanners if you want to clear some room in your schedule to admire her driving."

Alfred sighed. The slow, creeping return of Bruce's sense of humor in the time he'd been working with the metahumans was a mixed blessing. "Duly noted."

Ms. Prince appeared promptly at three o'clock, and she and Alfred were just sitting down when Bruce emerged from the panelled wall at the far end of the kitchen with two small black Pelican cases.

"Victor says he can pick up the radiation signatures on his own, so there's one for Clark and one for you," he said in lieu of a greeting, stacking the cases on the table next to Diana's teacup. "There are instructions inside. The fluid the nanites are in is the part that's irradiated, so that's where it will read the strongest. If there are components stored separately the other parts will be a lot harder to find."

"And still no progress in determining their purpose?" Diana said.

Bruce shook his head. "Barry's had a little luck tracking police reports for dispersal patterns. Nothing else. Enjoy your tea," he said, and vanished back into the panelling. Alfred would have despaired for his manners if he had any left for them after all this time. As it was he could only appreciate that Bruce was comfortable enough with her not to bother.

"It must have been more convenient for Superman to come for these," Alfred said as he poured. Earl Grey today. He took his with lemon, and watched her do the same.

"It would have," she sighed. "If the strongest man on the planet weren't too scared to come himself. Those two are. . ." she rolled her eyes in fond exasperation.

"Cautious of one another?" he offered.

"Like children is more like it. As different as they are their ways are more alike than they are opposed, and yet they can barely admit they tolerate each other if they're not fighting something."

"I think," Alfred said carefully, "that as long as the fighting part holds the rest will come in time."

Diana watched him with a thoughtful tilt to her head, as though she could tell it was more than idle observation, then shook it. "I will have to take your word on that. It has been a long time since I've fought alongside someone I wasn't already close to."

Alfred gratefully let the vague explanation he was concocting dissolve when he realized she would not pry despite her curiosity. "Because you grew up with your. . ."

"Sisters," she said, "yes," and smiled like the sun coming up. She glowed as she talked about her homeland, through one cup of tea and another. It wasn't until the pot was down to the dregs and Ms. Prince had taken her leave that Bruce reappeared.

"You could have given that to him yourself."

"If she's going to keep showing up at my house I'm going to keep putting her to work."

"She came at your invitation."

"This time."

"You ought to see that it happens again."

Bruce didn't bother peddling the lie about working alone; he did learn, eventually. "And why is that?"

"Batman," Alfred said, "isn't the only one who could use a bigger "us" in their "us against them."
___

Bruce, of course, did not.

It wasn't until some weeks later that Alfred saw Diana Prince again. The security system pinged with a somewhat euphemistic "visitor alert", and the video feed that linked to his phone showed a familiar silver Porsche entering the gates of the estate.

She apologized for dropping in unannounced. He welcomed her in, of course, although he warned her that Bruce wasn't home at the moment.

"Oh, that's all right." She didn't ask for an update on the robots, which Alfred would be able to offer nearly as much information on as Bruce would, nor did she offer any to pass along.

For lack of other options, Alfred fell back on offering tea, a first flush Darjeeling. He didn't expect her to take a sip and then light up laughing.

"You have had something different every time I've come here. How many kinds of tea do you have?"

"Oh, never enough," Alfred chuckled, feeling a bit caught out. He'd been doing it for his own amusement more than anything else, with no idea that she would know or care. "If you have any particular favorites you're always welcome to make a request, of course."

"I wouldn't even know where to start. Everything's been wonderful. This is--" there could be nothing new under the sun for someone like her, and yet she was fascinated, taking a deep inhale over her teacup, "it's like flowers."

If there were such a thing as the opposite of fidgeting, a sudden stillness not out of fear but a total lack of knowing how to respond, that would've been him. The teacup and saucer made a convenient scapegoat.

Perplexingly, she made no mention of the robots, of Clark Kent, or even of Bruce Wayne. Instead, he learned that in her guise as an antiques dealer she made a hobby of recovering and returning stolen art and artifacts, as she recounted the story of a painting she'd been tracking down.

She was long gone before Bruce returned from the opening of a new library the Wayne Foundation was funding. Alfred was steeled for interrogation, as the same surveillance system that had alerted him also operated remotely. As he expected, Bruce's first words upon entering were, "What did she want this time?"

"I've had a lovely afternoon, Master Wayne, thank you for asking. And how was the ribbon-cutting?" Alfred sighed and threw down his rag. "To be perfectly honest," he said, "I've no idea."

"Did she say anything strange? Ask any questions?"

"Yes." Alfred turned and leaned back against the desk to crossing his arms, the picture of consideration. He hardly needed to deal with Bruce's busybodying on top of his own befuddlement. "She did ask one that surprised me. She wanted to know how many kinds of tea I have."

Bruce's mouth flattened like a belligerent bullfrog. "Anything useful."

"Not for your purposes. I was pleased she'd noticed the tea selections."

And that was the end of it.

Alfred made sure the sugar bowl remained full.

On the occasions Diana Prince dropped in, which happened with some frequency if not regularity, Bruce vacillated between gentle teasing and the suspicion that two of the only people on earth he couldn't buy or bully were doing something he might not approve of.

Then, as Alfred suspected would occur more than once in his life, Timothy Drake happened.

After Clark comes back, he seems okay, but in private he is a wreck dealing with the trauma if having died, come back to life, and then having to claw his way out of his own grave. Bruce is dealing with his tremendous guilt over how much he misjudged Clark and then hurt him.

It's when they run into each other in either Gotham or Metropolis that Bruce notices how bad Clark looks. Bruce confronts Clark which leads to a heated argument between them. The argument looks like its heading for another brawl, but then Bruce just looks really tired and worn and tells Clark how sorry he is for what he did to the Kryptonian and also that he knows Clark isn't alright. The understanding in Bruce's eyes is what finally gets Clark to let his veneer crumble. Things escalate after that. Afterwards, they both have nightmares about what they've been through, what's eating at them. Only now they won't have to deal with it alone.

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (14/probably 18ish)

Bruce, masturbation, fantasizing about Clark

Bruce/Clark: The Two of Them At the Fortress of Solitude, Mpreg.

Re: Bruce/Clark: The Two of Them At the Fortress of Solitude, Mpreg.

Re: Bruce, masturbation, fantasizing about Clark

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (14/probably 18ish)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (14/probably 18ish)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (14/probably 18ish)

Bruce/Clark - Clark uneasy about sex/his sexuality

Re: Bruce/Clark - Clark uneasy about sex/his sexuality

Bruce/Clark - Height & Age Difference

Fill: An Open Eye, Bruce/Clark, masturbation, fantasizing about Clark

Re: Fill: An Open Eye, Bruce/Clark, masturbation, fantasizing about Clark

Re: Fill: An Open Eye, Bruce/Clark, masturbation, fantasizing about Clark

Re: Fill: An Open Eye, Bruce/Clark, masturbation, fantasizing about Clark

Re: Fill: An Open Eye, Bruce/Clark, masturbation, fantasizing about Clark

Re: Fill: An Open Eye, Bruce/Clark, masturbation, fantasizing about Clark

Re: Bruce/Clark - Height & Age Difference

Clark/Bruce: Clark Soul Bonds to Bruce

Re: Clark/Bruce: Clark Soul Bonds to Bruce

Re: FILL: Alfred/Diana, friendship + getting together (1/?)

Re: FILL: Alfred/Diana, friendship + getting together (1/?)

Re: FILL: Alfred/Diana, friendship + getting together (1/?)

FILL: Alfred/Diana, friendship + getting together (2/?)

Bruce/Clark: They Help Each Other with their Guilt and PTSD