dceu_kinkmeme | DCEU Prompt Post #1

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

Welcome to Round One of the DCEU Kink Meme!

Please have a look at the extended rules here.

The important rules in short:

Post anonymously.
Negative comments on other people's prompts (kink-shaming, pairing-bashing etc.) and personal attacks of any kind will not be tolerated.
One prompt per comment. Warnings for common triggers and squicks are encouraged, but not required.
Prompts should follow the format: Character/character, prompt.
Keep prompts to a reasonable length; prompts should not be detailed story outlines.
No prompt spamming.

Please direct any questions to the Ask a mod post. For inspiration: list of kinks .

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

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

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

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Oh, anon, I read this once and can't entirely be sorry I failed to comment on it then, because I've just gotten to read it again and savor it now that I have time to, and just, yes. I love this SO MUCH. I love the descriptions of Diana's smiles, I love Alfred's wry little observations about Bruce, and talking to Diana about her sister Amazons, yes yes yes. *claps hands* ALL ALFRED'S DIFFERENT TEAS. Bruce's mouth flattened like a belligerent bullfrog, LOL BRILLIANT. :D God, this is all just so fantastic, and then TIM YAY. I absolutely cannot overstate how much I'm looking forward to the next part of this! ♥

:D Oh, anon, this is so adorable! The dynamic here is so light and sweet and simmering hot underneath, and so very them. Lovely!

Oh my gosh, anon, this is so very lovely - Diana's POV is just so rich, I think all the allusion and hints of poetry really work for her, and I adore the brief references to her sisters-in-arms and Themyscira. I also really love the focus on the lasso and on her association with truth; it makes so much sense that that's the angle she comes at Bruce from, wanting to get through the deliberate blankness he's showing her and find the truth of him. Thank you so much for writing this fill - no pressure, of course, but I'm looking forward to the next part! :D

What an absolute delight, anon, feel free to accidentally update this with new parts any time. :D Seriously, I just feel so embarrassed with riches I don't even know where to begin - I love Bruce dodging, and every line of Clark's conversation with Alfred is PURE GOLD. :DDDDDDD (As a side note, I really like how self-aware Clark is: that he can acknowledge he wants Alfred's approval and that he feels a little silly for it. ♥) And I am, of course, always always here for Clark managing to push through the Wayneing and get to Bruce. :D And then, as if all of that magnificence weren't enough: PORN :D SCARS :D PEOPLE COMING FASTER THAN THEY EXPECTED :D YAY THANK YOU SO MUCH. SO MUCH.

This turned out to be a super smarmy h/c fest but I hope you enjoy!

~~

Clark looks at Bruce one day, and that's how it starts.

A year ago, Bruce promised a simple gravestone that he wouldn't wrongly blame Clark for anything again. He means to keep that promise now. Sipping his beer, Bruce nods, half at Clark's rambling and half at his own thought: Clark is not flirting with him. The man's in the middle of telling a joke. He's just making a facial expression.

And yet, it's an expression that leaves a crisp, vivid image imprinted on Bruce's memory. He closes his eyes and sees Clark's black cowlick. His raised eyebrows. His sheepish, teasing look over wide-rimmed glasses. His mouth about to burst open in laughter.

It's Friday night. Gotham and Metropolis are sleeping decently enough. Tonight, Bruce and Clark can have a conversation, drink beer, pretend to be normal friends. Jokes are allowed. Sly, bright, happy looks are allowed.

Clark snorts his way through the punchline and gulps down the rest of his beer. He's not drunk; Bruce knows Kryptonian physiology too well to think that. No, Clark is content. After everything -- dying, being left to rot, clawing out of a grave with wet soil in his lungs -- Clark Kent can still laugh. He can still shake off the weight of Superman's burdens and let that golden-boy personality shine through.

In spite of himself, Bruce smirks behind his beer glass. He's come to appreciate that.

Clark catches him and grins wider.

~~

Lois and Clark are through. Bruce falls in love with Clark nine months later, and it takes a month for them to find each other. Clark melts for Bruce, touch-starved and shy and so, so sweet. It's not at all how Bruce imagines it would be, as the main word to describe it is tender. Bruce should want it rough and wild, he should be enjoying Clark's powerful body or testing the limits of his own. But instead he gets used to doings things slowly. Languidly.

Like now, for instance. Clark is panting, pumping himself slowly while Bruce pets his hole with a slick finger. Shiny with sweat, Clark keens, runs a finger over the tip of his penis, and spurts out a bit of precum as Bruce pushes in.

"Shhh," says Bruce, close to Clark's ear. Clark squeezes his eyes shut as more precum leaks from his plump, twitching member.

"Bruce," he huffs. They're facing each other on one of Bruce's plush beds, legs tangled together. Clark moves just a bit closer, and their foreheads and noses brush. "Holy God, I *can't*--"

"It's okay, Clark. You don't have to." Bruce slides his finger all the way into Clark's ass, searching. He finds that sensitive little spot easily and rubs until Clark shudders against his chest. Ah, Bruce thinks, there we are.

He closes his free hand over Clark's fist, helping Clark pump his own cock. Pressing on Clark's prostate, he kisses Clark's ear and whispers, "That's it, Clark. You can come."

Clark's mouth falls open, then snaps closed. Bruce actually chuckles, surprised that Clark still has enough presence of mind to stifle himself. But what comes next shocks Bruce to his core, makes his neglected cock swell. In his attempts to stay quiet, Clark has started pressing his mouth to Bruce's chest. He kisses the flushed skin over and over, trailing to the right. When Bruce doesn't pull away, Clark moans low in his throat and latches on to Bruce's nipple as he comes.

He suckles as if to drink, and Bruce shouts.

~~

Bruce feels raw in the chest for days afterward. The memory makes him orgasm so hard he sees stars.

~~

Unsurprisingly, nipples become a thing.

Clark takes to using Bruce's nipples to soothe his own cries of ecstasy before he comes. Then he starts using it at random during sex. One day, he catches Bruce in the kitchen, rucks up his clean dress shirt, and kisses each nipple in turn until both of them spill in their pants like teenagers. Bruce acts like he's indulging Clark, calmly petting Clark's thick hair every time, but on the inside Bruce feels cracked open. This is so intimate that it aches.

He sucks on Clark's nipples too, of course. Clark's ministrations have Bruce sighing and holding him close, but Bruce's attentions make Clark scream. Either way, it's all about Clark. It's about giving Clark the comfort Bruce never had. Bruce will never take it for himself -- vulnerability doesn't jibe with the Batman identity he's so carefully carved out after all these years -- but giving comfort to Clark...

Well. Clark is undoubtedly eager to take.

~~

Clark shows up at Wayne manor one day, eyes sunken and haunted. Bruce has been standing at the door for ten minutes by then, waiting to let him in. The TV blares in the background. Bruce cuts it off, interrupting a breaking news broadcast about the disturbed, hard-eyed widow who spat on Superman. He puts a hand on the small of Clark's back, guides him into the warmth of Wayne manor.

They sit around for a while. Both of them know that Batman recovers so much more quickly from things like this. So when these things do happen, Clark's touch always feels extra reverent, as if he wants to take some of Bruce's emotional resilience for himself.

Tonight, Clark bows his head against Bruce's chest, shaking.

Bruce cups the back of his neck, coaxing him into place.

I had such a wide grin on my face reading this. It just gave me that much joy.

And, awwww, I liked the smarmy h/c in the end! It was sweet. The sex was hot too.

Yay for the trinity!

Bruce, being human, ends up with the flu at some point. Bruce, being Bruce, insists on trying to Batman while running a fever and hacking his lungs up.

I would love to see the lengths Clark and/or Alfred have to go to in order to keep him in bed with a bowl of soup. Gimme all the exasperated h/c and grudging acceptance and tender feels.

This was excellent, love the bits of characterization and feels you out in amongst the sweet hotness. Lovely H/c!

Aw, this is adorable, anon. <3

Ah, more porn, and such amazingly hot porn, too! Awesome, anon. :D I also adored that scene between Clark and Alfred and Alfred trying to warn Clark of Bruce's inevitable Bruce-ness.

And those little bits of identity porn, the detail about how good Bruce is at hiding. You almost make me wish "that guy" had stuck around for longer just for the identity porniness of it all, but I am not complaining when Bruce being himself again gets us lines like this one: the slick marble of his public voice crushed back into its natural gravel.
Unfffffffffff.

"Bruce leaned over, and… his fingers curled away from Kal-El’s hair, as though he’d meant to comb his fingers through it, but couldn’t."

Beautiful line- though my first thought was that he tried and that Superman's hair was just invulverable. This is a great fill, and Diana's voice is very poetic. Thanks for writing!

Oh, anon, this is so delightful - I love all the different moods you capture here, the smoking hot and the tender, the easy/casual and the cut-deep + comforting. And of course I'm always here for Bruce being deeply affected by things but trying to pretend he isn't. :D Thank you so much for sharing this!

Thank you anon ! Op here !
I didn't expect to have a reply and here I have this fun series of vignettes! I love it.
I love how Bruce always wants to be in control but loses it too from time to time. It is also interesting to see their relationship progress and see them care for each other.
You covered a lot more than one kink with your fic. A fun read !

I don't care who's rimming who. Just give me Bruce or Clark really enjoying rimming the other, face between those powerful thighs.

I just want smarmy, sleazy, seductive, shamelessly hedonistic playboy!Bruce seducing Clark and giving him the best night of his life and making him blush throughout all of it.

With lots of identity porn - either the kind where one or both don't know the other's secret identity, or the kind where they do know but still like pretending they don't.

I'm also fine with playboy!Bruce seducing Superman rather than Clark Kent.

I love you, nonnie! I keep thinking this last part is the best yet when the new one comes around and I'm all out of words from how awesome it is and all those feels you're making me feel <3333

Unbeknownst to Clark, when a Kryptonian meets their ideal mate, their teeth will elongate into fangs and they have the insatiable urge to bite and claim. Clark and Bruce are working together on a mission when Clark feels a heat course through him and an ache in his canines, all while he's near Bruce. When they get back to the Bat Cave Bruce notices how quiet Clark is being. When he comes closer, Clark snaps. He overwhelms Bruce and sinks his now elongated teeth into Bruce's neck, claiming him and also making Bruce feel pleasure the likes of which he has never felt before.

Things escalate from there, with Clark and Bruce both claiming each other thoroughly. It's when sense returns that the epic freak outs begin, along with the chance of actually being together.

The Committee for Superterrestial Defense had been deadlocked on the salvage rights for the Kryptonian spacecraft for months. Call it a lack of imagination, but they simply could not understand the full ramifications of a technologically superior, hostile alien life, and anxiety ran high about awarding the contract to the wrong company. So the committee bickered and wheedled and counter-proposed. A motion to increase their salary passed 15-2. Business as usual.

The public clambered for news about the alien technology as the alien himself flew around the world in form-fitting armor and a little red cape.

Still the committee dragged their heels. Then little red cape rescued two schoolbuses from a sudden volcanic fissure, and the pressure was on.

The senior senator from Washington felt the squeeze from the White House, and he put the squeeze on the committee. Choose some company--any company--to award the technology rights.

Promising bids pulled with apologies and stammered apologies. Lex Luthor's latest proposal read like a Iain Banks wet-dream, with no less than five pages devoted to hovertrains. But as all of the other bids evaporated, it was only satisfactory choice left. Before the steering committee released the General's body into Lex Luthor's custody, they suffered themselves to hear one more bid.

Lucius Fox talked a good game on Wayne Enterprises' behalf. Department of Defense lackies were given the appropriate tours, practically drooling over the state-of-the-art equipment in Wayne Biotech labs. Bruce Wayne had even put in an appearance at Capitol Hill that hadn't shamed or embarrassed his company's good name.

All in all, Wayne had a solid bid.

There was just one problem.

Wayne Enterprises (Bruce? No, what would a world renowned playboy care about research contracts) wanted the body, and refused to share.

With anybody.

* (B) *

On the day the steering committee decided to say yes to Lex, the senior senator from Washington hosted a party in Metropolis at the Met. Under the watchful eyes of Matisse and Van Gogh, partygoers nibbled finger-foods and laughed (discreetly). On a whole, it was one of those to-dos where Capitol Hill rubbed elbows with the urban elite, and everyone who attended came away with a little more faith in the political process, and everyone who didn't couldn't feel the gears of democracy creak along just a bit smoother with extra money greasing its joints. Everyone was such a good sport, and all of the losing bidders were more than happy to sip someone else's champagne for an evening.

Bruce Wayne ran his eyes across the DC jet-setters and trust-fund set. The billionaire playboy couldn't remember what this party was for, only that he'd not-so-subtly invited himself along as a plus-one to a handsome party whip who had arrived on the red carpet alone, but hadn't stayed that way when Bruce stepped out of the paparazzi to attach himself to the man's side.

There of course could be no motive for Bruce Wayne suddenly ditching his companion inside the party, just his naturally fickle nature. No discernible motive for Bruce Wayne, scion of the Wayne family, glad-handing his way through each of the Department of Defense steering committee members.

Bruce laughed at the jokes about his company's pitch, and picked up a martini glass full of a verdant liquid from the circulating trays. Hey, no hard feelings right? Wayne Enterprises had made the same pitch Lex Luthor made, (minus the monologue about man's Promethean burdens and the five pages of hovertrains). But out of the mouth of Bruce Wayne--his martini glass hovering suspiciously close to one of the more partisan steering committee stooges--WayneCorp's pitch sounded lascivious, unscientific, wrong. The stooge made an off-color joke about dead bodies and one of the more baseless rumors about Bruce's sexual appetites.

Monologuing seemed catching, and Bruce stopped himself before he launched himself into a Luthor-esque tirade. Junior raised a glass at Bruce from across the room. Lex had the same shark grin as the company's first CEO, and in the privacy of his mind, Bruce found himself conflating the son with the father.

The General’s body arrived in Luthor's lab the next day.

Meanwhile, Bruce helped towel the martini off the stooge's lapels...really, what were the chances that an appletini would stain gabardine?

* (B) *

But let's not lose focus on the party. Bruce Wayne may not have remembered why he was at the Metropolis party, but the Bat did. The Bat had a plan--an oldie, but a goodie. Bruce lived for a well-executed plan; it kept him from feeling his forty-five years.

This plan had several parts.

Step One. Identify the most objectionable committee stooge.

Objectionable committee stooge behavior can be identified by unnecessary toadying, fund grubbing, overt moral hypocrisy.

Bruce observed a junior senator from Louisiana fiddled with his wedding ring, then slipped it into his pants pocket as the Kane heiress brushed up against him on her way to the side-exit. Good, not great.

A junior aide to the senior senator from Washington was hitting up funds from Queen Industries. Promising, but not high enough to warrant a--

And there was the man himself, the senior senator from Washington, pressing the flesh with Lex Luthor. He didn’t pat his pants pockets nervously overtly, but his fingers brushed the outside of his pocket in Lex’s presence too many times to be a coincidence.

Step Two. Aggressively flirt to keep the stooge in a state of discomfort.

A hand on the shoulder, a few seconds longer than it needed to be. A brush of hips against the other’s side, that couldn’t be seen as entirely accidental. Prolonged eye contact. Sip the drink. Smirk. Assess.

Step Three. Confirm only borderline-distasteful rumors. Remain vague about the more niche ones. Who knows when Bruce Wayne's taste for fire cupping might come in handy to explain a strange set of bruises?

“Why Bruce, I didn’t know you had such an interest in frozen bodies.” The senator smirked. “Does this explain your trip with Miss America to the Antarctic next month?”

“No, but I hear that Etyanna’s does brisk business in that line of work, senator,” Bruce quips back. “I should ask her the next time I’m in the neighborhood.” The joke’s not especially witty. But Etyanna’s brothel, catering to ultra-high-end clientele is just infamous enough on the Hill to make the senator double-take, eye Bruce just a little more closely, wonder just what a man like Bruce Wayne might spend a hundred thousand dollars on for an evening.

Step Four. Lure stooge into a sense of camaraderie by laughing at tasteless joke. Especially if it is about Bruce Wayne’s borderline-distasteful media presence.

The speculative looks faded as Bruce Wayne got a few more drinks into the senator, and they moved on to sports (neither of them watched anything), models (Bruce wasn’t particularly interested, the senator seemed to be politely disinclined), and foreign policy.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about how thorny inter-agency space travel has become in the wake of the Incident,” the senator said. “I suppose you wouldn’t know about inter-agency anything, unless you were entering the agency.”

Bruce tried not to die inside as he laughed.

Step Five. Spill a drink down stooge's suit, lift a keycard during the awkward patting down that follows.

Bruce couldn’t even bring himself to feel remorseful (see: the flashburn of horror left over from step four.) , as he watched in slow-motion: his arm came up, a socialite brushed up against him on the way to the hors d'oeuvres, and Bruce exaggeratedly slumped against the senator, the glass tipping its contents against the senator’s jacket.

The scene played out clockwork from there: outrage on the senator’s part, a very hangdog look on Bruce’s, a golly-gee routine that shouldn’t earn him any points, but the senator’s very drunk and Bruce looks very drunk too. Minutes later, Bruce and the senator are as chummy as a bat vigilante and a badly punning stooge can be, and the keycard to Lex’s lab complex is tucked snugly in Bruce’s inner jacket pocket.

Step Six. Remove Suit jacket. Offer to pay for dry cleaning.

Bruce even manages a genuine smile when he suggests that he can pick up the dry cleaning tab. If he weren’t selling out Earth’s best interests to Junior, he might kind of like congressional stooge. But he’s making good now, isn’t he, even if he doesn’t know it. Bruce offers him a handkerchief when congressional stooge is suddenly sweating, and excuses himself to the bathroom to run his cell’s RFID cloner.

Step Seven. Return keycard to suit jacket after card RFID has been cloned. Leave jacket on the back of random chair at host's party to divert suspicion if absence of keycard has been noted.

Step Eight. (and this is key to the entire operation) Do not under any circumstances actually pay for dry cleaning.

It was a preventative measure, really. If Bruce Wayne paid for the dry cleaning of every society wonk he poured a drink down, the Wayne Family trust wouldn't survive the year.

* (B) *

After three guards have been tied to their security terminals and the lab cameras have been disabled, Bruce slipped through the halls of LexCorp like smoke. The keycard bypassed the last three security layers. A satisfying chirp accompanied the final security lock as the cryo-storage room opened.

Bruce stood in front of the dead general. He had access to Zod's body for twenty minutes before an alarm would trip. Twenty minutes before Luthor could lay a finger on anything kryptonian. A lifetime for the Batman.

He spread his collection kit on the counter.

...How the hell is he supposed to get a sample off an invulnerable slab of extraterrestrial, anyway?

Bruce sighed as he lowered his bat-cutter, now mangled beyond repair. He really liked the tactical high-energy laser attachment. He’d have to hide the next one in the R&D budget. The Batman ran his tests as quickly as he could, muttering something about the fate of man who doesn’t equip for a backup plan.

When Bruce slipped out of the building nineteen minutes later with an astounding array of data loaded into his jump drive, the alarms did not trip. The guards woke later with a hole in their memories, but they chalked it up to bad booze and the boss was none the wiser the next morning when the the General’s body was wheeled from cryo-storage into his lab, the gleam of victory in his eye.

* (B) *

Step Nine. The Wrap-Up. Wherein the plan is judged by the fruits of its labor. All good swindles have a Step Nine. And Batman was nothing if not a consummate planner.

(Even so, more often than not, the Bat skipped this step, as the number of his plans that required new plans to deal with the contingencies his previous plans had created was, well, depressing even for a revenge-fueled vigilante.)

It took months before Bruce had worked out what Step Nine to his Prevent Alien Tyranny plan had even been.

It finally occurred to him, as Superman stood before Batman, the Bat crouched on a gargoyle, and the Kryptonian floating in his house’s shield, color high and eyes blazing (figure of speech) so clearly not dead, that step nine might require more of him than he could reasonably be expected to give.

“You look good,” he said, because at that point, Bruce Wayne wasn’t actually thinking, and his plans weren’t actually planned, but the words had come out of his mouth and he couldn’t recall them through force of will.

“Don’t break my city,” he added after another moment of thought.

The boyscout grinned like he’d won the lottery *and* discovered the true meaning of Christmas--he had just come back from the dead, so even drying paint must seem miraculous, in context--and Bruce felt something odd vibrate in the region of his heart.

God...he was going to need another plan, wasn’t he.

This was so great! Some of the lines were just killer--the whole thing about the dry-cleaning cracked me up, and Bruce's plans to deal with his contingencies is so very Bruce.

The boyscout grinned like he’d won the lottery *and* discovered the true meaning of Christmas--he had just come back from the dead, so even drying paint must seem miraculous, in context--and Bruce felt something odd vibrate in the region of his heart.

God...he was going to need another plan, wasn’t he.

Oh, Bruce. I don't think you're ever going to be able to plan enough to fully take Clark into acccount.

Hey, when you've been around Bruce as long as Alfred has you start to forget what people being unreservedly friendly looks like. Diana will just have to teach him. ;)

I'm glad someone else is happy about Tim, I was excited when I figured out getting him and Dick in here!

Bruce's mouth flattened like a belligerent bullfrog, LOL BRILLIANT.

Ben Affleck's mouth is just...really big okay? And at some point I'm sure I'll write something involving something equally big getting put in it, but for it's relegated to cameos.

I'm glad you're enjoying it <3

Aww, I love this! Obsessive planner!Bruce is great, and that last part is just the best thing ever. :D

You heat the brand until it blazes as hot as your fury.

You can almost taste the distortions it makes in the air, heavy and metallic like blood in the back of your throat. You are sweltering as though in the epicenter of a battle, face and chest running with perspiration. The steel kicks off tremendous heat even with your gauntleted fist holding it at arm's length.

The body beneath you, however, does not sweat. Nor does it bleed, or burn, or otherwise scar. You could press the searing metal to the side of Clark's face and he might flinch, might grit his teeth, but he wouldn't feel a thing.

For now, though, Clark gazes steadily up at you, and waits. He can have the patience of a mountain when he sets his mind to it, and sometimes you think that's the only reason the two of you haven't already sheared apart like a fault plane, everything laid to waste by your tectonic moods.

Often, it's this constancy that sparks the anger, sets off the fulminations in your head. It gets you thinking about how you'll turn back to earth someday, be nothing but ash and dirt while Clark will remain for centuries, maybe, millennia, eons, until the sun expands into a red giant--and how here, in this moment, you can't leave a mark on him that lasts any longer than an exhale.

(You tried to explain it, once, and Clark had looked at you as though you'd said something absurd. "Do you think you're that easy to forget, Bruce?"

"By then," you had replied, "I will have been gone for longer than the Earth has currently existed. Tell me, is your memory that good?")

You don't know that you can call it compassion, that Clark has decided to allow it. It seems like the wrong word for this kind of behavior, with its connotations of tenderness. It's indulgence, perhaps. Or pity, because you both know what will come of it: nothing.

But whatever it is that causes him to endure this repeated exercise in futility, you can only ever be grateful with the first press of the brand against his body, emblazoning your sign over his heart. There is a hiss--not of burning flesh but of evaporating moisture, your own sweat where it's glazed Clark's skin--and that's all. No cloying odor of burning hair or blistering skin, no agonized writhing, no pained gasps. No cruelty to it, in practice or intention.

Clark's eyes are open, sharp and blue; his chest steadily rises and falls. You take the brand away. Underneath he is turned a lurid pink, though it's quickly fading, like a fingerprint pressed into flushed skin might.

You bend his head and kiss the mark. It's too hot against your lips. You keep your mouth to it anyway, take a deep breath, and another, pull the heat into your lungs.

You know what grief feels like. It isn't quite like this, but it's something that needs to be weathered, regardless. It can't be allayed by gentle words or fingers in your hair, as much as Clark always tries. It doesn't leave, only changes, steadily transmuting back into a slow anger, as inexorable as a lava flow.

He murmurs your name and draws you up, touches the tight line of your mouth, the gray that creeps along your temple. He asks if you need to talk.

You do, but there's nothing to say that hasn't already been said. Eventually you spin Clark in enough circles that he arrives at the Kryptonite almost of his own volition.

*

It's straightforward to grind it down into a fine dust. Nothing you haven't done before. With a little trial and error, you devise a fluidized powder. After that, it's just a case of applying it with an electrostatic spray.

Your brand glows a savage green.

*

The cave is dark except for a single point of sickly light. Clark breaks a sweat as soon as he arrives. By the time he gets his shirt off and you've settled across his thighs, his hair is soaked, plastered to his forehead. You check in with him as you go--nonverbal questions in the weight of your touch, the crease of your brow. His response is forbearance incarnate.

It will hurt him, this time. You both know this.

You push his hair from his forehead, then draw your hand down his cheek. He turns into it and presses his nose into your palm, trusting. He is an awful color, and when you bring the brand closer, it only gets worse. Your adrenaline surges. He tremors between your thighs.

You decide you're going to make him stay the night so that you can see him bathed in tomorrow's morning sun.

"Here," he says. "Bruce." He guides your hand. His eyes are glassy. It'd be easy to tell yourself it's lust and not fear, but you've seen that look before.

You touch the brand to his skin, only briefly. There is a fine line between marking and maiming, and Clark Kent is thin-skinned. His mouth falls open but he doesn't make a sound; he convulses silently beneath you, arching as far as it can with the demand of your body on him.

You kiss him.

He only starts panting once you throw the brand into a lead case.

*

Gotham is your legacy, but she won't last forever. Long enough after you've gone for the Bat to pass back into myth, remembered by an esoteric scrawl of graffiti on her underbelly. Maybe long enough that she'll see a true dawn, but in truth, you think she would rather collapse under the weight of her own treachery first.

In the cosmic scale of things, she is no less ephemeral than you are. From founding to rubble in the blink of eternity's eye. Look on my works, ye mighty. All this means is you have a grudging respect for your own mortality and an objection to everyone else's, a desire to rail against the impermanence of human existence. You understand all too well how short a life can be.

Superman, though. He is a very different animal. Not now, sprawled in your sheets, skin blasted out white by the midday sun. Right now he's young enough to be human.

He rolls over, tucks his chin against your chest and smiles, sleep-sodden. He has healed as much as he is going to and this time your mark remains, a shiny keloid on his sternum. When he wears the suit, it will ride under the red and gold of his crest. You hope that he will always feel it, rubbing against the fabric. It should maybe stir feelings of possessiveness, ownership. Instead you only feel an abiding calm.

Time changes people, and he is going to have all the time in the galaxy, one day. And that's why when it's over, when the heat death of the universe comes for him, all you want him to do is touch a hand over his heart and remember you.

*

This is so great! I enjoyed every minute. Love the irreverent voice, Bruce's thorough, logical and contemptuous approach to everything. <3

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

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

Re: Clark/Lois, spanking

Re: FILL: Votive Garments (2/???) -- Bruce/Diana - bondage and pegging

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (15/18?)

Re: Bruce/Clark, Nipple play [Fill]

Re: Bruce/Clark, Nipple play [Fill]

Re: Bruce/Clark/Diana, any/all positions in one night

Bruce/Clark or Alfred, sick fic

Re: Bruce/Clark, Nipple play [Fill]

Re: Bruce/Clark, Nipple play [Fill]

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (15/18?)

Re: FILL: Votive Garments (2/???) -- Bruce/Diana - bondage and pegging

Re: Bruce/Clark, Nipple play [Fill]

Re: Bruce/Clark, Nipple play [Fill]

Bruce/Clark, rimming, face sitting

Bruce/Clark, smarmy playboy!Bruce Wayne

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (15/18?)

CLark/Bruce: Clark Kryptonian Biology Involves Fangs

Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

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

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

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

FILL: Forget-Me-Not - Bruce/Clark, branding

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle