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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/o\ :D Oh, gosh, thank you so much - sometimes I fear I'm wallowing in Bruce's feelings maybe a little too self-indulgently, haha, so I'm glad you enjoyed this! And especially that you're finding the identity porn satisfying so far, even though Batman's not properly involved yet. \o/

:DDDDDDDDDDDDD Yeah, Bruce is kind of a YES/NO/YES sandwich right now, because he absolutely DOES want to sleep with Clark underneath it all, just not quite like this. Except he can't even admit that to himself, let alone to Clark. /o\ OH BRUCE

I actually hear Henry Cavill's voice when you write Clark

ANON. ANON. I don't even have the words to thank you, I want you to be aware that my face now looks like this --> *__________* This is basically the best thing I could possibly have hoped to hear, and I am so excited that it's a miracle this paragraph wasn't entirely capslock. Characterization is something I care about a lot, and the thought that I managed to so thoroughly nail it for you here is BEYOND AMAZING. ♥

:D Haha, I'm glad you liked that exchange. Seriously, thank you so so much!

We are creeping gradually closer to Clark suiting up again! And feel free to sing it with me if you know the words: oh, Bruce. ;D Also, side note: while New 52!Diana can fly, I'm actually not sure whether movieverse!Diana can? So for the moment I'm hedging my bets and not coming down firmly one way or the other. /o\

So Clark likes sleeping with Bruce Wayne enough to do it more than once. It's not a problem. It makes sense: Bruce is the only person within about a thousand-mile radius who knows about Superman and is neither Lex Luthor nor Clark's mother. He's conveniently located, he never says no to a good time, and Clark can relax around him—can float, if he likes, can fly or use the speed or idly tell him the funny thing a woman fifteen floors below them just said over the phone.

And it's not as though Bruce has grounds to object. It's been very thoroughly established that Bruce Wayne finds Clark physically appealing; the relationship is firmly casual, as all Bruce Wayne's relationships are. And—

(if he can't admit it, he can't compensate for it)

—it saves Bruce the trouble of finding someone else, on the evenings when he doesn't want to sit in the Cave alone, eyes catching on Jason's uniform every time he turns around. Clark does keep a lid on his powers most of the time, Bruce has confirmed it indirectly in a dozen ways; but he also seems to keep an eye, or maybe an ear, on the penthouse. Three out of every four times Bruce ends up there, Clark's out on the balcony before long. And Bruce always lets him in.

The casual tone Bruce established the first time serves him well—enforcing it actually permits for a certain degree of spontaneity. If Clark had any expectation of being able to fuck Bruce naked, to take his time, it could never just happen; Bruce would need to prepare. He'd need to get out the precisely-shaded latex he uses when Bruce Wayne plans to let his shirt get unbuttoned, to glue it down and smooth over its edges, to apply concealer and powder to any bruises Bruce Wayne shouldn't have.

But handjobs, blowjobs, fingering, a little rough frottage, can all be done without posing significant risk. Bruce can even let Clark fuck him now and then, as long as Bruce's shirt stays on—as long as Clark doesn't try to shove Bruce's slacks down any further than mid-thigh, as long as Bruce hasn't recently injured his hips or lower back while on patrol.

And they're relatively well-matched. Of course Clark is capable of defying gravity—but the first time he doesn't and Bruce lifts him off the floor anyway, he makes a small startled noise and clutches at Bruce's shoulders.

(It was a mistake. Bruce hadn't thought; he'd just wanted—

But that's the kind of thing Bruce Wayne could conceivably be vain about. When Clark grips his arm and says unsteadily, "Bruce, you—you can—?" all Bruce has to do is smirk at him, is wink and hitch him up a little higher against the penthouse wall.

"We can't all be Superman, I admit it," he murmurs against Clark's throat. "But give me some credit: I still work out.")

It's not a problem. Bruce can handle it.

He doesn't even have to worry about how often to let it happen. He still has responsibilities—still has to go on patrol on a regular basis. It's not as though he's sitting in the penthouse waiting for Clark every night.

True, there are times when patrol yields next to nothing. The media hasn't caught more than a few glimpses of Diana yet, but Wonder Woman has already made an impact on the landscape of criminal pursuits in the wider Metropolis area. There are times when Bruce is left crouching on a rooftop in the quiet, with nothing to think about except whether Clark's listening for him right now in the penthouse and finding nothing—whether he's disappointed.

And then there are times when robotic prototypes come crashing out of closed-up LexCorp buildings.

Bruce is actually relatively impressed with this one: it's fast-moving and can climb well, which is a level of coordination he hadn't realized LexCorp had managed to achieve in robots of this size.

He catches up to it within moments, but the lead time means it's waiting for him—it tore a concrete piling out of this building somewhere on the way up, and it has good aim. He dodges, but only just, and he has to twist around and throw himself down against the roof of the building to do it; one of the thing's gripping arms closes around his chest even as he's bracing to push himself back up, and it lifts him and throws—

He's already got a hand at the utility belt for a grappling hook, but in the end he doesn't need it: before he can fall more than a dozen feet below the level of the roof, Diana catches him.

"Hello, stranger," she says into his ear, amused, and lands them both on the roof—she'd leapt from the shorter building next door, judging by the arc they take on the way.

"Good timing," Bruce tells her, and then hurls himself sideways in time to avoid the robot's next lunge.

She's wearing her cloak, the hood—they're still finding their feet, trying to work out exactly what they want the Justice League to be and do and stand for, and Diana had decided it was best to keep as low a profile as she could for a while. But it doesn't slow her down at all: Bruce shoots the line he would have used to save himself so that the hook goes into one of the robot's outstretched arms, and Diana takes the opportunity to dart in and rip a second arm off entirely.

"Do you know what happened?" Diana says to him loudly, over the creak of metal and hiss of sparks, as she punches the robot in what could be called its chest a couple of times.

"Power surge," Bruce says. "Building's one of the ones that shut down after Luthor went to jail. Apparently LexCorp didn't quite finish clearing out the basement."

"Careless," Diana assesses with a smile, and then crouches, leaps—plunges a hand straight through the paneling on the robot's side, and pulls a fistful of circuitboard and wire back out.

It's not quite enough to deactivate the robot completely, but she must have gotten something essential to its motive functions. It no longer seems able to compensate for the missing weight of its torn-off arm, or for the fact that another is immobilized, and it promptly keels over.

Diana lets the handful drop, and then—here it comes—looks over at Bruce, face lit in flashes as the robot keeps throwing off sprays of sparks, and says, "You still haven't told him yet."

It's Diana: Bruce allows himself to close his eyes. She's been bringing it up at regular intervals since the gala at the museum; and he's starting to think judgment would be easier to bear than her patience, her quiet understanding.

"He doesn't need to know," Bruce says. Somehow it comes out sounding thin, when he says it to Diana.

(She didn't use it tonight, but the lasso's still hanging at her waist.)

(It's not a lie.)

(It's not.)

"You have to know you won't be able to keep it from him forever," Diana says. And Bruce would know how to respond if she sounded angry, frustrated, but she doesn't.

And he won't be able to keep it from Clark forever. No matter how many possibilities he anticipates, how many exigencies he includes in his considerations, the universe has proven to him again and again that there is always something he will fail to account for. There is always something he won't realize until it's already too late.

"I know," Bruce agrees.

Diana looks at him a moment longer and then simply clasps his shoulder, just enough strength behind it that he can feel it clearly through the body armor. "Let's see if there are any more where this came from," she says, over the sound of the news helicopter that's already catching up with them; and Bruce nods and steps off the roof.

(He could tell Clark. Maybe.

Clark hasn't seen Batman since he came back—hasn't even asked about him again, not since that first day, or at least he hasn't asked Bruce. It's impossible to guess what he thinks, how he feels. If there were any reason to believe it wouldn't be a disaster, to think Clark might still accept his help as Bruce Wayne and work alongside him as Batman—

If it's going to go badly, then there's no point. Coming clean will only determine when the disaster strikes, not its magnitude; if Clark is moved to anger, the offense responsible is equal whether Bruce confesses to it or is discovered, and it cannot be undone, erased, or made up for. The lies may even overshadow the attempted murder, at this point, and what amends could Bruce ever make that would be to scale with either?

Bruce can't earn Clark's forgiveness, and it's appalling to think of asking for it—of prevailing on Clark to grant it where it's undeserved.

But if somehow it doesn't matter as much to Clark as that; if he's disconcerted and uncomfortable, but not, in the end, cut deeply enough for it to truly hurt him—

Maybe. Bruce would consider it.)

The next night is a Clark night. Bruce hears him land on the balcony and wonders whether Clark can hear the helpless thump of his heart in reply; and then he stands and opens the balcony door and sees Clark's face.

"What's wrong?" he says, and Clark looks up.

"Oh—nothing like that," Clark says instantly, a little wide-eyed, and damn, damn. Bruce immediately moderates his expression. "I just," and then Clark bites his lip and looks away, out over the city below them. "I've just been thinking. About—being Superman again."

As if Bruce Wayne would have useful input—but then again, there's only two other people in the world Clark thinks he can talk to about this. (It would be three, if he knew Diana knew—but he doesn't. Not yet.) So perhaps it's not so surprising after all.

Bruce raises his eyebrows, makes a considering face, and then shrugs. "What's to think about?"

"I want to," Clark says, without preamble, and then he ducks his head and scrubs a hand through his hair with something that's not quite a laugh. "I almost wish I didn't. I feel like it would be easier to decide if I could be sure I wasn't deciding for the wrong reasons."

Bruce affects surprise. (It isn't difficult.) "Clark Kent, boy scout? The wrong reasons?"

"It was hard sometimes," Clark says, "but I do like helping people. And if I can do something and I choose not to—" He breaks off, shaking his head, eyes down. "I don't think I'm comfortable with that. I don't think I can be. But I—you were right."

"I'm right a lot of the time, Clark," Bruce tells him with a smirk. "You're going to need to be more specific."

Clark rolls his eyes, smacks Bruce's elbow with the back of one hand; and then his face goes sober again, close enough to the almost graven expression Superman uses that it makes Bruce want to look away. "Epicenter of global destruction," he says quietly. "That's what you said, and you were right. And—" He shakes his head again, jaw suddenly tight. "The only reason Zod ever came to this planet at all was because of me. The only reason Luthor brought him back was to take me out—that's why Batman—"

"You're asking me to believe Batman was making better calls than you were?" Bruce says, with the incredulous sneer the words deserve. "Do you have a bridge to sell me, too?"

"I pose a danger just by—" Clark starts, stubborn, but he doesn't get any further before Bruce claps a hand over his mouth.

"Clark," Bruce says. "Trying to measure negative space is a fool's errand. If you'd never come to Earth, maybe Zod would have left us alone—so what? Luthor was never going to be a happy well-adjusted grocery clerk. A dozen worse things might have happened without you. Or a dozen better—though I'll tell you right now that I doubt it."

Over the edge of Bruce's hand, Clark's eyes go strange, soft.

"You can't know," Bruce tells him, "nobody can. Don't play that game with yourself. You'll always lose."

Clark clears his throat, and wraps his fingers around Bruce's wrist, pushing just a little.

"Nope," Bruce says, and keeps his hand where it is. "Nod or shake. You want to help people?"

Clark nods.

"You think you can do that best by being Superman?"

Clark is still for a moment, gaze flickering, but then—more slowly—he nods again.

"Then be Superman," Bruce says. "And if you have to stop being Superman, stop." He takes a chance and moves his hand, curls it around the line of Clark's jaw instead, and Clark stays quiet. "You died saving us. You don't owe anybody anything you don't want to give."

It's hardly a thing Clark should be surprised to hear; but something strange and hard to read passes across his face, and then out of nowhere he crowds Bruce backward into the balcony door, and kisses him so hard Bruce spares half a thought to hope the glass will hold.

Clark can relax around him—can float, if he likes, can fly or use the speed or idly tell him the funny thing a woman fifteen floors below them just said over the phone.
Clark continues to be a cutie. And oooh, are there sexy applications of his superpowers? ;D Nice. And awww, oh Bruce, I love that he admits that this is ... enjoyable, for him. Yeah. Nothing more. Casual.

Of course Clark is capable of defying gravity—but the first time he doesn't and Bruce lifts him off the floor anyway, he makes a small startled noise and clutches at Bruce's shoulders.
Unffffffffff, Bruce lifting Clark up is the hottest thing ever. And yes, of course it's just because Bruce Wayne is vain and works out. ;D I do wonder what reasoning he gave Clark for never undressing.

And Dianaaaaaaa. I'm always happy to see Diana. And really looking forward to Clark suiting up again ~~so he can hang out with Batman - in the part after this, you said? I AM SO EXCITED, YOU HAVE NO IDEA~~.

The lies may even overshadow the attempted murder, at this point
Now you just make me think about Bruce breaking things off with Clark because he feels bad and thinks he needs to protect Clark and not hurt him more, aaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Bruce raises his eyebrows, makes a considering face, and then shrugs. "What's to think about?"
Such a perfect Bruce Wayne reaction. <3 And I really kind of love how Clark not knowing Bruce is Batman gives Bruce the opportunity of admitting that he was wrong without having to admit that, well, HE was wrong, nope, it was just Batman.

"You can't know," Bruce tells him, "nobody can. Don't play that game with yourself. You'll always lose."
Oh, Bruce. Bruuuuuuuuuuuce. Speaking from experience, poor guy. :( And then that kiiiiiss, oh Bruce, you can't possibly hope to resist Clark (but I know he'll probably try at some point, that idiot). Still and always loving this and you (and don't worry about inconvenient times - most of the time I'm still awake when you post and it is nice to have more fic to read before bed :D and if I'm already sleeping, more fic for breakfast is just as awesome). /OP

Inspired by some discussions about the ship - Alfred and Diana dancing at some event or other, him in a gorgeous suit, her in a gorgeous dress. Bonus if they're still just wooing each other (and Alfred is barely realising that what they're doing is basically dating) and don't touch all that often and their very proper, classy dancing is actually charged with UST.

Oh author-anon, this... this... *speechless flailing*. I don't have much new to say, because I feel very broken-record at this point, but seeing you update is always a highlight of my day. <3

Three out of every four times Bruce ends up there, Clark's out on the balcony before long. And Bruce always lets him in.

What do you want to bet that on the 1 out of 4 times Clark doesn't show up, Bruce is a bit D: and a bit *taps fingers*, *checks watch* and *makes excuses to himself, leaves early*.

"You don't owe anybody anything you don't want to give."

Oh Bruce, you sang the song of Clark's people. YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH THIS ADVICE WILL MEAN TO CLARK LATER WHEN HE FINDS YOU/YOU TELL HIM YOUR BATMAN.

"You're asking me to believe Batman was making better calls than you were?"

Auuuuuuugh. <3 <3 <3 This is what I love about identity porn the most. All of the times that Bruce gets to shittalk his other personas, 100% mean it, but then get it misinterpreted in various ways or maybe even willfully misinterpret his own motivations for saying the things he does. I love how Clark's not in on the (bleak, self-deprecating) joke right now--because Clark doesn't know Bruce is speaking from actual experience. He more than anyone else (who isn't Alfred) knows that Batman was making a serious error in judgement those many months ago.

I... I love how Bruce can have this very emotionally vulnerable moment of admitting how wrong he was, because there's no stakes in the admission right now. I swear to god, Bruce...

I can only hope Clark remembers all of these moments later, so that he can reconstruct Bruce's pre-emptive apology and understand just what the hell he was saying. xD

Thank you nonny. Your identity porn is sumptuous. <3 <3 <3

Snarky Bruce often asks shy Clark what he fantasize about when he pleasures himself alone - just to make him blush.

One say Clark answers. Shows him what he does, explain what he thinks about.
Journalist Kent is a powerful storyteller. Yes sir. Will cause Bruce to lose his self control and come without being touched. Just by hearing and watching Clark.

Bruce can't or is unwilling to turn it off in bed. He fucks like he's fighting and isn't happy until he goads Clark into using his powers like they're still enemies, using every skill he's learned as the Bat to win the battle. He takes it out on Clark's invulnerable body, pounding him with everything he's got, or growls and rides Clark's dick as the bossiest power bottom ever. Clark's reaction is up to you.

OMG. WHERE HAS THIS BEEN ALL MY LIFE? I need *_____*

Op here. Of cours, I meant "one day", not "one say". :-)

When Clark was a kid, the Kents warned him not to use his powers on anyone because he might hurt them real bad. They never imagined that would leave young Clark afraid to stop the man who wanted to hurt Clark real bad.

Adult Clark *knows* it wasn't his fault, intellectually he understands that. But that doesn't stop him from hating himself for not fighting back when all it would have taken was a flick of his pinky. And more than anything he fears his newly won friend learning that he wasn't even able to protect himself. But the truth comes out and its Bruce who helps him, Bruce who shows him how to forgive himself.

I am all about Clark being a ray of sunshine in the face of the BatGlare™!

Haha yeah, while he's not quite at the stage of adopting random kids he finds on the street, Clark may have inadvertently stumbled upon Bruce's own kryptonite >:D

I am trying not to devolve into heartwarming schmoop, but I'm sorry if it does get too much. :D I just have a soft spot for Bruce's soft spots and Clark being adorable ok! <3333

NO, THANK YOU <3

I am getting the hang of them a bit! :D

And ok, I know I've kind of teased a bank heist for a while and I feel kinda bad for the bait and switch, but when it came to it, it felt wrong to have them go out there and break some faces. So that's why you get a circumspect solution with an offscreen stealthy Bat, and Clark getting to stretch his legs a bit & getting used to being himself again. <3

(It was the comm, ofc. He tracked it and skulked around on a nearby rooftop like the obsessive he is... *makes slight edit to draft* >.>)

I think that you’ll find that with your 50/50 chances, nobody is going to be docking you either way. For the record, I am totally fine with that ish being a reality.

*sweats* that's... lucky... :D

Aa! Thank you anon. I generally consider my writing serviceable at best, so it's really gratifying to hear that. Thank you. <3 <3

I don't even realise I'm throwing in mini-fills tbh, I just grab whatever trope fodder is nearest and run with it! :D

(awww, kinkmeme nonnies are the LOVELIEST THOUGH <3333)

Oh anon, I hope you had a good long lie-in. :D

Thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed it. The end is in sight!

/SHRUG

Clark makes a pitstop back in the alleyway and finds the ball, sinking into in a heap of trash that's banked against a wall like snow. It looks like it's seen better days, leather the color of old ivory and layers of grime settled into the stitching. He tosses it idly from hand to hand, focuses his hearing until he picks out the particular timbre of a baseball bat dragging against the sidewalk.

He lands a street over and walks the rest, for the sake of Bruce's blood pressure.

He has a fast word with Rick and company, gathered around a shuttered storefront. Rick drops the bat to catch the ball two-handed, presses it against his chest for a moment before letting his hands unfurl, like a child who's caught a butterfly. He looks back up at Clark and if his expression isn't quite unreadable, it's close.

The kid's got a few bruises of his own.

Apparently it's not return fire from Nate or anything like that. While Rick glowers, one of his friends drawls in a sing-song Gothamite accent like it's half a joke, half too uncomfortable to be serious about: it was his dad, it was his dad.

*

Nate's still awake when Clark taps gently on his window to ask him about his buddy.

*

Clark touches down at the lake house a little after three in the morning. He has a moment of indecision once he realizes he has no way back into the cave via whatever elaborate means that constitute the lake airlock. Nor, in fact, the more straightforward process of the front door.

He can hardly wrench it off its hinges or walk through the plate glass, so here he stands, Superman, the Last Son of Krypton, protector of Earth, stymied by a five-lever sashlock. He almost activates his comm but in an instant he all too easily imagines Bruce's dry response: just push the doorbell, Clark.

So he does--and to his relief there's Alfred, wrapped in an unseasonable overcoat and preparing to leave. He opens the door, gestures Clark inside with a nod of his head.

"Master Clark," he says warmly. "I trust you've had an edifying night stomping around in Gotham's gutters."

"It's a fascinating city," Clark says with careful diplomacy, then catches on to Alfred's pointed comment and sees about taking his shoes off. "Bruce is still out doing his thing."

"She has an allure all of her own," Alfred says, with a twist to his mouth. "And speaking of which, I hazard that Master Bruce won't be home for some hours. There are various surveillance feeds up in the cave, should you feel like tracking his progress." He pauses. "And a bottle of single malt, for when you simply can't endure it any more."

Clark knows he must look a little wide-eyed at that, because Alfred gives him the broadest smile Clark's ever seen from him, and pats him on the shoulder.

"Goodnight, my boy," he says, and heads towards his vehicle. He stops, half-turns. "Oh, and Master Clark?" he calls, voice crisp in the summer night air. "It's good to see you're feeling yourself again."

*

Alfred is right: this is bleak viewing. Clark had only really come down to the cave to leave a note on Bruce's keyboard in case he fell asleep before he returned, but he caught sight of a fluttering cape in one of the half-dozen rotating video feeds and it grabbed his attention like a sprung steel trap.

(That's alarming in a different way, how easily he's snared. And Bruce thinks Clark is the one who's trouble.)

He quickly figures out that bringing a window into focus stops it cycling between cameras, and he tracks Bruce that way. He follows him around the half-shadows at a strange, silent slant, watches him interrupt a bag-snatcher and break up a street brawl--a dark figure that blurs through the frame and in its wake leaves its targets scrambling in terror.

Those scenes are familiar, that kind of grainy footage still used to be ten-a-penny a decade ago, repro'd to death under headlines asking, GOTHAM BAT: MAN OR MYTH?

But now he's vanished from the feeds, and that's gotten Clark on edge because he knows the most dangerous crimes don't happen where cameras can see them. That's when he's going after the parasites that cling to Gotham's midnight underbelly, the real bloodsuckers: the trafficking rings, the drug lords, the killers for hire.

Bruce has spent half his life doing this, Clark tells himself. He is more than capable of taking care of himself.

(He could find Bruce at a moment's notice, could be at his side between the ticks of a second hand, and he knows he wouldn't be thanked for it at all. Bruce wanting him is different from Bruce needing him.)

Finally he catches a glimpse again--a quick turn around a corner, just a shadow on top of more shadows, but the violent angles of him are unmistakable. Clark slowly uncurls himself from the soft leather of the chair.

*

He settles on the couch, tilts his head back to rest his eyes for just a moment, lets the day's events wind through him. He finds himself in the midst of whirling lights and a warm rain, the freedom of clouds. Do birds dream of flight, or of the earth turning beneath their feet?

It could be hours or only minutes later that he awakens to a figure leaning over him, edges bleeding out in the pre-dawn light. He has a distinct flash of deja-vu.

"I thought we'd gotten over this," Bruce says, voice gravelly with the hour. "You're welcome to my bed."

Clark looks up at him and lets a smile break through his sleepiness. He extends a hand in lieu of an answer. Bruce takes it--but instead of pulling him up onto his feet, he settles his knees either side of Clark's lap and slowly collapses against his chest. He's heavy, still in armor; he smells like rain and blood and ozone. Clark pushes the cowl back and kisses the taste of the city from his lips.

Bruce strips off his gauntlets to lace their fingers, presses Clark's hand to the couch by his head. Outside, the sun breaches the horizon and lures the short summer night into the limbo of dawn. Bruce seems unreal in this liminal space, with the thick texture of his suit under Clark's fingertips and the first pale touch of sunlight in his hair. His cape hushes around them.

Bruce breathes deep, rests his forehead against Clark's. "Too tired to sleep," he says, with the kind of unguarded frankness that exhaustion brings. "My bones ache." He doesn't complain about any other pain, but he groans as he gives his body over to gravity and tips himself sideways off Clark, sprawls out onto the rest of the couch.

"Make yourself comfortable," Clark says, since Bruce is already doing just that, settling his head on Clark's lap almost like it's the most natural thing in the world--almost, but for the conscious way he arranges himself, as though it's something he's seen, but not done often.

Something digs into Clark's thigh: part of the cowl. Ears, probably. He could shift around, but he thinks Bruce might take the opportunity disappear himself. The kevlar won't bruise as much as that.

"It is my couch," Bruce tells him, eyes closed. His shoulders curve against the outside of Clark's leg. "Despite the claim you've apparently staked. What's with the kid, Clark?"

"Nothing. Just needed a helping hand."

"And the address?"

"Mm? Oh." The scrap of paper on his keyboard. "Different kid, different problem. Got a dad who's quick with his fists."

Bruce's eyes flick open only for them to sharpen and narrow. "So you thought you'd pass that one over to me." There is a careful lack of inflection to his tone.

"It's your city." Clark lets his hand rest in the center of Bruce's chest, over the spread of his insignia. "And in this case, I think your approach would be more effective than a few polite words from a guy who may or may not be Superman."

"Thought you didn't approve of my methods."

"I'm not asking you to hurt anyone. Just… gently encourage him to rethink his choices."

"Well," Bruce says, a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. "I think I could stretch to that. One of us has to be the bad cop."

"Thank you, Bruce," Clark says, quiet. He's not sure if he's just asked a favor, but either way he's pretty sure Bruce won't want anything in return. For his part, Bruce settles back into silence, eyes closed again, and starts to relax by painfully tiny increments.

Later, Bruce is almost asleep--deep, sluggish breaths, slowed pulse and Clark's all but there with him, early morning warmth on his face and the distant hum of the world coming alive lulling him under, when Bruce starts them both back into wakefulness. "How did you get in? Alfred?" he murmurs, lifting his head.

"Mhm."

"I'll get you a key." Said casually, matter-of-fact. A purely logistical decision, of course, now that Clark's flying freely again, except for the way that every muscle in his body has gone tense.

And now Clark is as wide awake as he's ever been, and definitely as surprised. "I can't stay here forever," he says, the first thing to cross his mind, blurted out like he's forgotten that sometimes he has to be as mindful with his words as he is with his strength.

It's lacking all nuance of what he feels, mostly because he's not sure how to sort through what's suddenly going on in his heart--but too late for that. Bruce is already pulling away, sitting up to look at him, face schooled into perfect stillness.

"I need my life back," Clark says gently, tries to explain. "I miss being… I miss being Clark Kent, you know, that guy with a job and an apartment and who isn't dead."

"I wasn't asking you to move in with me, Clark," Bruce says. And the blankness might have broken into a smirk that is vintage Wayne, perennial bachelor, can't-tie-me-down, but the way he speaks is brittle to the point of developing cracks. "I was just hoping you'd stay until you're trained up to my satisfaction, that's all."

If there's anything Clark knows about Bruce, it's that he's exacting. It would take years for Clark to be good enough. He might never be good enough. The implication is like being in freefall; a force against his chest. He thinks, a little deliriously, that he's lucky he doesn't need to breathe all that much.

"But it's fine," Bruce is saying, standing up. There's stiffness in him when he moves over to the windows, injury or age or wounded pride. "I understand. I'll have Alfred to look into your paperwork, see if we can patch together a cover story that's not too contrived." He turns to face out over the lake as if he's watching the morning fog lift, then says with such precisely measured needling that Clark almost laughs: "It'll be nice to have the place to myself again."

"Hey." Clark glides across the stone floor, settles next to him, barefoot. He addresses Bruce's reflection in the glass. "Don't be like that."

Bruce sighs and turns to look at him, head tilted and eyebrows up, clearly supposed to convey that this is, in fact, what he is like, and to not expect any better. He manages to sustain it for an entire three seconds before the expression falters. "Clark--"

"Mom's invited me home to dinner," Clark interrupts. "She wants you to come." Then adds, emphatically, "I want you to come."

Bruce hesitates, caught in some indecision as though it's something that requires more than a simple binary response, then he says, "I'm not the kind of guy you take home to your mother, Clark. The fact we've already met notwithstanding."

"That's a pity. She'll be really disappointed." He doesn't quite give him the puppy-dog look, but it's a near thing. Maybe it's shameless of him, but Bruce is not a man who's easily manipulated; it's not like it'll actually work. So he leans in, as though to share a secret. "She thinks you're a nice man."

"Clark," Bruce says again, and Clark suspects that he has misjudged the level of his persuasiveness. "Okay, that is low, Kent. Even from you." His shoulders sag. "Especially from you."

*

Ma hugs him like he's just returned from the dead, and he laughs and pretends that she's crushing his ribs. Then he surprises her into loud whoops that startle the chickens when he spins her around and lifts them both off the ground, makes her gardening hat fly off and her hair fan out.

"Clark!" Her face shines with delight, and when Clark sets her back on the ground, she catches his face in both hands and makes him bend over so she can kiss his forehead. "Oh my goodness--did you fly here?" she asks in gleefully conspiratorial tones.

Bruce clears his throat, and ma turns the full force of her smile on him instead, even if she keeps Clark's face squished between her hands. "He's keeping a low profile for now, Mrs. Kent."

"He wouldn't let me carry him," Clark stage-whispers, and his ma makes a serious, stern face--oh no, no, of course not. Bruce tries to maintain a little dignity in the face of their mischief by pretending to check his cellphone, but Clark doesn't miss the brief upturn at the corners of his mouth.

He has no doubt Bruce's revenge will be as swift as it is merciless.

*

oooh, are there sexy applications of his superpowers?

:DDDDDDDDD Naturally. ;)

this is ... enjoyable, for him. Yeah. Nothing more. Casual

You know it! (Why do I love Bruce deluding himself so much? I don't know, but I REALLY REALLY DO. /o\)

Bruce lifting Clark up is the hottest thing ever

:D Haha, I'm glad you don't mind me smooshing passing references to a couple other prompts in here. ;) It's just such a GREAT mental image, I couldn't resist! *fans self*

\o/ I'm really hoping to get just a leetle more actual Trinity action in here - which, yes, even more when Clark suits up! (Suiting up ... um, starts in the next part. Followthrough is adding enough words that it'll be in the part after. /o\)

Bruce breaking things off with Clark because he feels bad and thinks he needs to protect Clark and not hurt him more

:D Next best thing, I hope! ;)

I really kind of love how Clark not knowing Bruce is Batman gives Bruce the opportunity of admitting that he was wrong

:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD /o\ Oh, thank you so much, OP - of all the things I'd hoped you'd like about this part (which is everything, really, but I digress), that section of their conversation was kind of the big ~point~, emotionally. SO YAY. \\\\\\\o///////

♥ Oh, Bruce is going to try his BEST, of course, but you know I won't get him get away with it in the end. :DDDDDDD As always, thank you so so much for absolutely everything, I'm enjoying this fill so much and so grateful to you for the prompt and the encouragement and just EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. ♥ ♥ ♥

/o\ :DDDDDDDDDDD Oh, thank you so much, anon - and right back at you, really, because receiving these always-excellent comments from you guys is absolutely the highlight of MY day. ♥

What do you want to bet that on the 1 out of 4 times Clark doesn't show up, Bruce is a bit D:

Oh, I'm not taking that bet! ;D (Bruce, of course, carefully leaves any mention of the other nights out of his internal narration here, because it's not something he dwells on. Or thinks about. At all. Nope.)

This is what I love about identity porn the most. All of the times that Bruce gets to shittalk his other personas, 100% mean it, but then get it misinterpreted in various ways or maybe even willfully misinterpret his own motivations for saying the things he does

:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDD OH LOOK THE ENTIRE REASON I LOVE IDENTITY PORN SO MUCH, EXQUISITELY CAPTURED LIKE AN INSECT IN AMBER. This is everything that's glorious to me about it in a nutshell, and such a tremendous joy in fanfiction in particular because of what you all know that Bruce and Clark don't - it just lets me have so much fun with the POV, and I enjoy it SO MUCH. ♥ Because, yes, exactly this: that he can say he's wrong, and we know that's what he's saying, but Clark has no idea; and Bruce isn't even acknowledging it to himself. /o\ OH BRUCE, &c &c GOD I AM SO PREDICTABLE

:D And, of course, as always I'm so delighted that such discerning identity-porn enthusiasts are enjoying this fill as much as you are. ♥ I'm just thrilled you all are liking this, and I hope you continue to!

So Bruce exposited about this a little bit, but just to be 200% clear: I'm running with the idea that Clark mostly tries to keep his supersenses on lockdown, for the sake of both other people's privacy and managing the input (after all the trouble he had with it as a kid, it seems reasonable to think that once he figured out how, he began keeping them "off" by default, and only turns them "on" when he wants to use them for something specific). Like, it's also totally reasonable to go the other way, because Bruce and Clark deliberately kinking on pretending not to recognize each other is SUCH A GREAT IDEA :D, but in the service of straight-up identity porn ... ;)

And, uh, sorry this was late. In my defense, I lost track of time yesterday because I took up a DIFFERENT assignment from the OP. ;D

It's strangely easy, being with Bruce.

Clark feels almost bad for being surprised about that. It's just—it seems like it should go wrong somehow, because Clark's doing all this the wrong way: deciding to sleep with Bruce on the spur of the moment like that, only really learning to like him afterward. It's all backwards, and they still aren't even dating or anything.

But Clark's pretty sure they're friends. And if nothing else, he's confident that Bruce likes how he looks, that Bruce enjoys kissing him; that Bruce cares about him, in kind of a weird standoffish Bruce way. It makes him feel sort of guilty, but it's also kind of—freeing, to not worry too much about the rest of it. He keeps meaning to slow down, to take his time with Bruce a little bit more, but Bruce always shifts them up to the higher gears so fast, and once Bruce's hands are in his pants it's kind of hard to come up with any objections. Clark figures they'll get there in a few more weeks, when it isn't still so new and hot and overpowering.

And it's—it makes Clark feel anchored, real. It makes Clark feel alive.

He'd expected Bruce to have something to say about Clark maybe being Superman again. And he'd expected it to be blunt. He just hadn't expected it to be thoughtful, too—he hadn't expected it to be kind.

(They have sex on the floor that time, just inside the balcony door—which Clark manages to think he should be more embarrassed about, except he's got Bruce between his thighs and there's no space for embarrassment.

And then, very shortly, there's no space for thinking either.)

He doesn't want to rush into anything. The first time it hadn't been up to him, not really. Zod had forced the issue: he'd had to step out of the shadows whether he'd wanted to or not, with the fate of the world riding on it.

This time is different, though. He's been thinking about it for days—weeks, to be honest. He'd avoided the news at first, with guilty relief; it had felt petty and selfish to think it, but he'd been having enough trouble saving himself.

Except then things had started to get better. Bruce had happened to him, and the gala, and along the way somewhere he'd stopped having the dreams so often. And then he'd moved back to Metropolis and slotted right back into place at the Planet, and, well. It wasn't like he could keep up that deliberate ignorance when he was working at a paper. He'd started small, just his own assignments; and Perry had either guessed as much or else was trying to be careful with him, because the first few things he'd handed Clark had been human interest, nothing too hard-hitting.

But it had all started to filter back in, a bit at a time. And then he'd caught that headline about Batman.

Nothing major: something about a closed-down LexCorp building, some cutting-edge technology accidentally activated by an electrical fault. Batman caught at the scene, along with a mysterious cloaked figure nobody had gotten a good photo of, possibly the same new superhero who seemed to have moved onto the Metropolis scene after Superman's death—

Clark hadn't been able to stop himself from looking up more about it.

This time, Batman hadn't branded anyone. This time, there were two heroes working together, helping each other; and dying had kind of eclipsed it for a while, but Clark does remember those last ten minutes right beforehand, how good it had felt to not be standing between Earth and destruction alone. Luthor's gone, and Batman seems to actually be giving the concepts of "teamwork" and "not scarring people for life" a fair shake, which is definitely different.

So this time, maybe they can get it right.

Clark wants to try. And—god, it's ridiculous, but Bruce's good opinion, his confidence, his faith—it's like yellow sunlight, it's lit Clark up so far he's stupid with it.

So he waits another day to let the glow fade, until he feels more clearheaded, until he can tell whether the doubt's going to creep back in.

But it doesn't.

As a last-ditch effort to make sure he isn't making a huge mistake, he brings it up with Lois the next time he calls. (When he'd tried to talk to Mom about it, she'd just asked him whether he'd talked to Bruce. He'd explained that he had, and told her what Bruce had said; and she'd smiled to herself, and then looked up and patted Clark's cheek and said, "I think you should listen to him.")

He catches himself holding his breath after he says it—the habits you can pick up from humans, he thinks, and almost laughs.

Except he can't, because on the other end of the line Lois is still worryingly quiet.

And then he hears her suck in a breath, and all at once she says, "Oh, Clark—"

"Lois," he says quickly, but then she laughs and he stops, blinking. "Lois?"

"Oh, god, I can't even tell you how happy I am to hear that," she says, and laughs again. "I know you weren't always sure about being Superman, but you loved helping people so much—you never wanted to even talk about putting the cape away."

Clark scratches at the back of his neck, sheepish, even though Lois can't see him. She had tried to bring it up a couple times, when the press had started getting really bad—

(don't know if it's possible. For you to love me and be you)

—but he'd only ever tried to distract her from it.

"And then since you came back, you just—haven't said a word about it. I didn't think I should push," she adds, and then, confiding, "but I really wanted to, you have no idea. And now look! I didn't even have to. Oh, Clark, I'm so glad."

And she sounds it: her voice through the phone is warm, low and pleased. For a second, Clark opens up, and it's like she's standing right there in the room with him—her heartbeat, steady and sincere, and her breathing, another little half-laugh that's almost inaudible, the swish of her hair as she flicks a stray lock out of her face.

"Your timing's perfect, as usual," she says, and Clark blinks and is back in Metropolis, the sounds of the street outside coming into focus again, Lois at a distance beyond them.

"Oh?"

"I've got something to tell you. Nothing's final yet, but I'm—I'm thinking about it, and it seemed like you should know."

The words by themselves are sort of foreboding, but her tone says more that she's trying to be careful than that anything is really wrong. "Yeah?" Clark prompts.

"Perry wants to keep a foreign correspondent in South Korea for at least another three months," Lois says. "And it doesn't have to be me—he offered me the chance to take a break and come back, he can send someone else here instead."

Clark closes his eyes. "But you want to," he says.

Lois hesitates, just for a beat. "I want to," she agrees. "I've made some great contacts, someone else would be starting from square one with a few of them. And you know I hate not getting the whole story, Smallville."

"I do," Clark says. He grips the phone a little tighter and waits for the desperation to hit him, the clawing squirming unsteady feeling of needing her to take it back—but it doesn't come. It doesn't come. "That's fantastic," he finds himself adding, and he means it without even having to work at it. "That's—Lois, that's wonderful, I'm so happy for you."

"We never said it, but I know I was thinking we would talk when I got back—"

"And we still will," Clark says, "don't worry." He'd never gotten around to the subject of visiting, somehow: and he'd told himself it was because he wasn't sure his powers were back, except that's not true anymore and he still hasn't done it. He'd been afraid, maybe—being told that she was gone had been awful, but still easier than seeing how far behind she'd left him.

But he's not afraid anymore.

"Until then—I'll come see you," he tells her. "Some weekend or something when you're free. Coffee. You can show me around Seoul."

"I think I can pencil you in somewhere," Lois murmurs, fond; and Clark chuckles into the phone and thinks that for all the time he's spent airborne, he's never felt so light.

Once he's hung up with Lois, he calls Mom—she must have the suit, he can't imagine where else it would be.

"Of course!" she says, sounding delighted just to hear him asking. "Of course. I didn't put it away with the rest of your things, it's on the other side of the basement," and he hears the creak of the basement door, a little curse when Mom barks her heel on the top step, before she adds absently, "Batman didn't bring it by until he'd gotten it repaired."

Clark almost drops the phone. "What?"

"Oh—" Mom says, breath catching oddly; and then she clears her throat. "That's right, I didn't tell you. The ship, it's back in Antarctica. Once I understood what had happened, with Mr. Luthor and everything, I asked them if they could get it away from the city before anybody else could try to study it—Batman and Wonder Woman, I mean."

Clark remembers the sword, the shield, that brilliant lasso; and the height's about right, on that cloaked figure from the pictures. He should've guessed. "Is that what they're calling her?"

"She told me it was as good a name as any," Mom says, conversational, a hint of a smile in her voice, like this had happened the last time she'd had Wonder Woman over for brunch. Clark finds himself shaking his head a little in amazement.

"And they did," Clark fills in.

"It got damaged," Mom says, "but it could still fly. And once I—once I cleaned you up, got you out of the suit, Batman took it. I don't know how he got the ship to do it, but he came back with it a week later and the," and then she pauses, breathes slow, so that when she goes on to say, "the hole was gone," it comes out level. "Ah, here it is," she adds, and then there's a scrape, a little grunt of effort, and she sighs.

"Great—thank you," Clark says.

"Of course," Mom tells him, warm. "Come pick it up, you can stay for dinner."

Once he has the suit again, every part of him knows it's only a matter of time. Mom wasn't wrong: the hole is gone. There aren't even any bloodstains, and when Clark pulls a little, testing and twisting, strength applied, he can't feel a weak spot. Whatever Batman did, it worked.

It makes him feel strange, tense, to think of coming face-to-face with Batman again. He should be able to get past this more easily—the day it had happened, he had, because a much bigger problem had been right there bellowing at them and there hadn't been time to waste being petty. And it's been months, even minus the six Clark is missing. He should be over it.

But somehow he isn't—

(it's dark; it's dark and he can't move and he's in something, some kind of box)

(he's under something, Batman's boot, and he can't breathe, can't get away)

(he pushes as hard as he can, but he can't get out)

—quite able to let go. It makes his heart kick up a little just thinking about it, makes his hands clench up 'til his knuckles go white.

Except he's Superman. Superman doesn't hold grudges; Superman works with people who are willing to work with him, because it's worth it if it will help save lives. That's what matters.

He has the suit and he's ready, anticipation vibrating through him all day long like a shiver—and when, on his walk home from the Planet building, he sees four police cars, five, go screaming around a corner, he knows exactly what he's going to do.

I lost track of time yesterday because I took up a DIFFERENT assignment from the OP. ;D
Tell me more? ;DDDD /OP

More seriously, don't apologise for any delays, you update so often and your updates are all so amazing, we are incredibly lucky to have you. <3 Clark is being such a sweetheart, the way he thinks about how he's not really doing this the "right" way (well, he is right in so far as there are a lot of reasons why things should go wrong, he just doesn't really know about those reasons yet ;)). Really that entire first bit is so good, how being with Bruce makes Clark feel alive, how Bruce still surprises Clark.

how good it had felt to not be standing between Earth and destruction alone. Luthor's gone, and Batman seems to actually be giving the concepts of "teamwork" and "not scarring people for life" a fair shake, which is definitely different.
This is wonderful. This glimpse at Clark's loneliness pre-BvS, and the second bit about the Bat is hilarious.

He grips the phone a little tighter and waits for the desperation to hit him, the clawing squirming unsteady feeling of needing her to take it back—but it doesn't come.
Oh, Clark. Someone accidentally fell for a certain rich playboy, huh? And eeeeeeeeeh, I love the whole bit about the suit, and the ship! I am so excited for Clark to suit up again so he can Superman around and butt heads with the Bat. :D

(it's dark; it's dark and he can't move and he's in something, some kind of box)
(he's under something, Batman's boot, and he can't breathe, can't get away)
Wow, I absolutely ADORE this juxtaposition. I hadn't made this connection before, about the similarities between those two situations for Clark. And of course he can't quite let it go because nobody could, not even Superman. Because the Bat tried to kill him for no good reason and how could anyone just shrug that off like nothing happened? I am beyond excited for their meeting. You are the best. <3

JUST A QUICK SQUEE FOR RIGHT NOW, WILL COME BACK TO SQUEE AT A HIGHER LEVEL LATER WHEN WORDS RETURN.

Clark is having Batman!Feels, and everything (and nothing) hurts. Weaving his trauma with Batman in to his trauma of being in the box punched me right in the gut (in a very amazing way).

Martha's casual "Batman brought it by" made my whole week. Just wow. Amazing. Thank you nonny. <33333

WORDS ARE FAILING ME RIGHT NOW BUT I NEEDED TO FLAIL AT YOU, GENTLE SPARRING!ANON, SO PLEASE TAKE THIS FAIRLY INARTICULATE SQUEE

Bruce tries to maintain a little dignity in the face of their mischief

Try as you might Bruce, CLARK AND MARTHA KNOW WHAT'S UP. Bruce's smirk. I am dead, friend.

I enjoy how well Clark knows this Bruce, how he doesn't let Bruce pull away from him, now that everyone's on a page that is very, very close to the same one, and he's just not having it with Bruce's pulling away, or being cagey and strange. The way you handle Bruce & Clark's dynamic just gives me the biggest grin.

AND CLARK WAS ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. SAYING THAT YOU NEED TO STAY UNTIL YOU'RE GOOD ENOUGH IS BASICALLY A PROPOSAL OF COHABITATION, WHAT THE HECK BRUCE.

*flails at you inarticulately*

*gestures excitedly at this fill*

*IS SO HAPPY WE GET ONE MORE PART*

<333333333

Yay, new part! And it's not the last one yet. :D

Clark touches down at the lake house a little after three in the morning. He has a moment of indecision once he realizes he has no way back into the cave via whatever elaborate means that constitute the lake airlock. Nor, in fact, the more straightforward process of the front door.
I am kind of cracked up by Clark not having a key after all this time. ;D

"I trust you've had an edifying night stomping around in Gotham's gutters."
Alfred snark! :D And Clark realising that Alfred wants him to take off his shoes, awww. I seriously adore how you write Alfred: "And a bottle of single malt, for when you simply can't endure it any more."

a dark figure that blurs through the frame and in its wake leaves its targets scrambling in terror.
I love seeing the Bat from an outside perspective, and I so get Clark's fascination with watching him work. Clark worrying him while still noticing that Bruce wouldn't want or need his help. Ooooh, and I love the "violent angles", what a great description.

Bruce takes it--but instead of pulling him up onto his feet, he settles his knees either side of Clark's lap and slowly collapses against his chest. He's heavy, still in armor; he smells like rain and blood and ozone. Clark pushes the cowl back and kisses the taste of the city from his lips.
These lines are so, so beautifully written, and Bruce in armour in Clark's lap is such a great image. That entire scene is utterly gorgeous.

"Too tired to sleep," he says, with the kind of unguarded frankness that exhaustion brings. "My bones ache."
My heart. <3 Bruce being this unguarded, oh my good. And I think being too tired to sleep is a thing for Bruce. And then that whole description about Bruce stretching out with his head in Clark's lap like he's only ever seen people do it, not done it before, dfkgbldfgbdfolgbd my HEART. And Clark really knows how to appeal to Bruce's soft spot here, haha.

"I'll get you a key." Said casually, matter-of-fact. A purely logistical decision, of course, now that Clark's flying freely again, except for the way that every muscle in his body has gone tense.
Oh my god, Bruuuuuuuuuuuce. And then Clark reacts in the worst possible way, and of course Bruce withdraws, oh no, my heart.

"I'm not the kind of guy you take home to your mother, Clark. The fact we've already met notwithstanding."
Bruuuce, why are you the way you are? But at least he does come along, despite being an idiot bat. <3 And that scene with Martha is so adorable.

Man, this fic is so wonderful, I am a little sad to see it end soon because I'm enjoying it so much. :D

Clark using his ice breath to tease Bruce, make him shiver, make his nipples go all perky, cover him in frosty kisses and cold bites, lick him open with an icy tongue ...

Bonus if he does it in summer, when Bruce is sweating and heated up and Clark cools him down until he's shaking.

EEEEEEEEEE! I love that Clark feels like he wants to hold a grudge against Batman but that Superman *shouldn't*, EEEEEEEEEEE!!!

I CAN'T WAIT FOR SUPERMAN AND BATMAN TO MEET PROPERLY. AND THEN DIANAAAAAAAAAA :DDDDDD

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Page 55 of 99

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (10/?)

FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (11/?)

Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (11/?)

Alfred/Diana, dancing

Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (11/?)

Bruce/Clark, talking fantasies,exhibitionism,power shift

Clark/Bruce, constantly aggressive Bruce

Re: Bruce/Clark, talking fantasies,exhibitionism,power shift

Re: Bruce/Clark, talking fantasies,exhibitionism,power shift

Clark/Bruce- h/c, past sexual abuse

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (17/18ish)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (17/18ish)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (17/18ish)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (17/18ish)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (17/18ish)

Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (18/19)

Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (11/?)

Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (11/?)

FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (12/?)

Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (12/?)

Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (12/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (18/19)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (18/19)

Bruce/Clark, temperature play

Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (12/?)