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

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

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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AYRT

Bruce actively discourages Clark from even thinking of trying to get close by playing the Bruce Wayne persona so hard. What are you afraid of Bruce? ~~OF YOUR FEELS?~~

WHAT FEELS. BRUCE DOESN'T HAVE ANY FEELS. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. <.< >.>

Well, in that case I'll just add that to the list of Clark/Bruce Things To Write, not that that's getting unbearably long or anything ... :D

Look at me, making stuff up right and left! It's almost like I write comics ... Also, medical handwavery: a pinch to the neck = unconsciousness is practically DC canon, I'm just running with it.

trust.

Clark is the first one on the scene.

He's not the fastest hero in the League anymore, not since they recruited Barry, but Barry's still outside with Diana. The Scarecrow's locked up, they're certain of that, which means this is some kind of copycat group; and Barry and the lasso are a pretty good combination for crowd control, when people are scared out of their minds by things that aren't real. They'd all agreed that Clark should be the one to go in—that he could find Batman the fastest, that any leftover chemical compounds still contaminating the building were least likely to affect him.

It's just a warehouse up top, but a maze of basement levels have been built underneath—as if the place needed to be creepier, Clark thinks. A quick scan shows him stairs, pipes, railings, doorknobs; and then there, down there, skeletons in a room, four standing and one strapped to a table—except a restraint has given way, a fist is flying out—

Clark speeds down through the warren of cement. And he does it carefully, sure, because who knows what else is stored down here? If he breaks down a wall with the wrong vat of chemicals on the other side, he could cause an even worse problem than the one they're solving. But he's still inhumanly fast.

In the end, it takes him the span of five blows landing to reach the room: he knows that because he hears them fall. He also hears the thuds, a crack of bone, a bitten-off cry; and then he's there, he tears the door open—

There are four people on the ground.

Clark pauses to listen, and they've all got heartbeats, steady and regular, so they should be all right for the moment. He swaps back to x-ray for a second, and yes, the fifth skeleton is still here—beyond an open door, at the other end of the room, and the head is blazing a familiar opaque white: the lead lining in Batman's cowl.

And Batman's heartbeat—Clark frowns. For a second he can't find it, even though it should be just as easy to hear as the others. And then he realizes it's because he's accidentally ignored it. He's discounted everything that's not the steady low pulse he's used to; but there's four heartbeats that belong to the unconscious people on the floor, and a fifth—

A fifth that's pounding out a hurried staccato, at least twice as fast as Clark was expecting. Clark glances at the metal table, the torn restraints, and then at the floor. There's one empty syringe still rotating slowly where it toppled, and another, half-full, cracked and leaking onto the cement.

They've already dosed him. Whatever's affecting the mob outside was aerosolized; either this is something else, probably worse, or it's the same thing but refined, concentrated by the injection.

Fantastic.

Clark crosses the room, carefully stepping over the unconscious bodies on the floor, and the closer he gets the easier it is to tell how wrong everything is. Even setting the heartrate aside, Batman's breath is coming in ragged gasps; and the last thing Clark ever thought he'd hear in Batman's growling voice is this desperate wild muttering: "—can't breathe, I can't breathe—"

"Batman," Clark says cautiously, but Batman doesn't seem to hear him—he reaches the doorway and Batman's still facing half away from him, the line of his shoulders tight as wire and singing with tension.

"—God, I can't breathe—"

In the end Clark doesn't even have time to look away before the cowl comes off.

Well, he could've done it with the speed, but only if he'd known it was coming. Only if he'd expected it. And Batman is always so careful. It takes Clark a second to even figure out what Batman's doing—it's so uncharacteristic, the way his hand scrabbles for the back of his head, the way his arm is shaking.

And then Batman's fingers clench, and in one sharp tug the cowl's just gone; and even from the side, Clark knows that face.

"Bruce," Clark says blankly.

For a moment, it's like everything stands still—and maybe it does, maybe Clark's brain is just as capable of superspeed as the rest of him. He stares at Bruce Wayne's face over Batman's body armor and it's almost disorienting, double vision: Bruce Wayne leveling a kryptonite spear in Clark's face? Batman at Clark's grave with flowers? Wayne in some pinstriped suit with a flute of champagne, leaning over a bomb—Batman at a club in Metropolis, smiling and loose and knocking over Clark's drink—

Except Batman had been there, Clark thinks. Wayne had knocked the drink over—because Batman had seen Tony Gallo put something in it. And it hadn't quite been Wayne in the car afterward, Clark had noticed that even at the time; but it hadn't quite been Batman either.

So maybe—maybe that's not the right way to think about it. Maybe he's not looking at one or the other.

"Bruce," Clark says again, deliberate, and this time Bruce hears it.

He whirls around like Clark's surprised him, and now Clark can see why he took the cowl off one-handed—the other hand has a knife in it, something he must have taken off one of the people who was holding him. And he's pointing it at Clark.

That would be enough all by itself to tell Clark how bad it is: Batman would never try to hold off Superman with a knife. But he looks—Jesus, he looks terrible. He's pale, sweating, blinking too much; he keeps squeezing his eyes shut, shaking his head in tight sideways jerks, and the hand with the knife in it is trembling just as badly as his other arm was.

"Don't—don't," Bruce says sharply, and then shuts his eyes again and swallows. His voice sounds strange and ragged without Batman's modulated microphone—though the part where he's drugged out of his mind probably isn't helping him steady it. "Stay where you are—"

"It's just me, Bruce," Clark tries.

Bruce opens his eyes again and blinks once, twice, shakes his head in that odd sharp way. "Superman," he murmurs, and doesn't lower the knife.

Clark takes one step forward, and then another. There's no reason not to. That knife can't hurt him, and they really need to get out of here before anybody else sees Batman with his cowl off.

"Stop," Bruce says, loud again.

Another step. "Bruce—"

"Stop," Bruce says, and then for a moment it's like his mind clears: his gaze turns focused, almost normal for Batman, and flicks from Clark's face to the House of El insignia—

And then Bruce neatly flips the knife in his hand, and presses the edge against his own throat.

Clark freezes where he is.

Even superspeed won't help now—if he startles Bruce too badly, if he's not quite fast enough—

He can't take the chance. All he can do is stand there and watch Bruce, who's swallowing twice, quick; whose eyes have wandered off to one side of Clark to—to something that isn't there, Clark thinks, heart sinking, but Bruce is staring at that patch of nothing with a horrified kind of fascination.

And then Bruce screws his eyes shut again, weird and deliberate. Does he—does he know he's hallucinating? Does he think he's hallucinating Clark, too?

"Bruce, it's me," Clark says, which is stupid but he can't think of anything else. Is there anything that could be convincing? Anything Bruce's own mind couldn't be making up? Telling Bruce a secret he doesn't already know won't make a difference if Bruce can't confirm it independently. And telling Bruce anything he does already know is pointless.

But Bruce, of course, is ten steps ahead of him. "Hit me," Bruce says.

Clark blinks. "What?"

"Hit me," Bruce repeats. "If you're real, you can. Whatever they gave me is—" He breaks off, jerking his head again; he's still breathing in near-gasps, his heart is still hammering away in Clark's ears, but he keeps his eyes shut and Clark can see him setting it aside, forcing himself to concentrate. "You can knock me out, take me somewhere and restrain me properly until it wears off. But I can't—you have to—"

"You have to lower the knife," Clark says, as gently as he can.

That makes Bruce open his eyes; and he's still blinking furiously, but he looks at Clark's face this time, not off to either side. "What?"

Clark hesitates. Bruce is trying his hardest to be rational about this, but underneath that the drug is doing what it was designed for. He's terrified. And the knife is the only thing he has to help him control that, the only thing that's making him feel like he can defend himself from what he's seeing. Asking him to set it down is—well. Stupid, if Clark's talking to Batman; and almost cruel besides, if you add in Bruce. But if there's any way to just—to just get him to move it away from himself, just for an instant— "I'm not going to risk it, Bruce, I can't. You have to lower the knife."

Bruce stares at him silently. His jaw works, and for an instant he wavers the wrong way: a thin red line appears under the blade, one drop of blood sliding down the side of his throat.

And then he closes his eyes, bites his lip, and lets go of the knife; and before it can even hit the ground, Clark's got a thumb at Bruce's neck. A squeeze, and Bruce goes limp.

Clark carefully puts the cowl back on before he carries Bruce outside.

The playboy routine isn't entirely an act; Bruce has a really overactive libido. With Clark's superhuman stamina, he's finally found someone who can fuck him the way he wants. Bonus points for Bruce objectifying Clark a little and treating him like his own personal sex toy.

Unffffffff. Fuck, that's a hot prompt.

Think slice of life fic - just Bruce and Clark learning small details about each other over time, maybe as a five times fics. Clark finding out about yet another amazing thing Bruce can do ("you speak how many languages???"), Bruce stalking Clark a bit to find out everything about him, from his favorite food to his tastes in music ... Or more intimate things like how Bruce shivers when you kiss him behind the ear, or how Clark loves having his hair stroked or things like that.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, this is beautiful! I love how Clark misses Bruce's heartbeat at first because it doesn't sound like it's supposed to, and Bruce's heartbeat is just that familiar already to him. <3 I mean, Batman's.

And drfgdfogndfgdf THE REVEAL. I love identity porn reveals. Clark trying to put things together. And wow, I love how you write drugged Bruce desperately trying to make sense of things, to fight the drug, to figure out what's going on. All those physical descriptions are great. (And I really need to know what exactly Bruce was hallucinating in that moment. :D)

And Clark is so beautifully worried about him. Though my favourite thing has to be Clark's concern with Bruce's secret identity, worrying about getting him out of there in time, and that image of Clark putting the cowl back on, my heart. <3333

Please tell me we're also getting the aftermath to this? Bruce waking up and some conversation about Clark knowing who he is? Or does Bruce forget that Clark knows once the drug wears off? So many possibilities. :D

With Bruce getting off on pretending that he doesn't want it and that Superman is forcing him. Bruce might need to talk Clark into it, who's a bit freaked out by the idea, and who feels guilty about how much he enjoys it once they try it out.

Both violent, brutal Superman who likes to make Bruce hurt while fucking him and weirdly gentle Superman who tells Bruce that he just needs to surrender and accept his fate because a mere human like him couldn't stop Superman anyway would be great. Maybe they try both versions. :D

This is just about the hottest fucking thing ever

I don't know what's with me but Clark in that nightmare of Bruce, even though looking so fierce and angry, seems so sad too. It's like there are tears glistering in his eyes when he talks about how Bruce has taken his love away from him. So it just makes me think that Clark is struggling with his feelings, because how can he feel anything for a man who he is supposed to hate? The one who has caused him so much pain? Clark is like in deep denial as he pushes Bruce to the ground and rides him. Clark tells himself he's doing this to hurt Bruce, to get his revenge, and he doesn't know why he is crying. Bonus if later it's revealed Bruce has managed to free himself from the chain long ago, but doesn't say anything, when Clark is done and collapse to his chest, Bruce hugs him.

Happy ending for everyone if you can :D

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

*retreats to a dark corner where she deals with her feels by continuing to scream incoherently*

I am all out of words, nonnie, but I ♥ you so damn hard, so damn hard, and I am glad that the ~~craziness~~ enthusiasm hasn't sent you running :D

I would eat that companion fic up with a spoon, but honestly I'd do that with anything you choose to write :D

♥ ♥ ♥

/o\ And I'm running out of ways to thank you! This has been and is a blast to write and I'm so grateful to you (and everybody else) for reading it - I just really hope you like the last couple parts too. ♥ ♥ ♥

Oh, thank you so much (she said, for the zillionth time)! :D Glad you enjoyed that detail - I do so love oblivious Clark, not even realizing how telling that is.

/o\ I'm so glad! I didn't really intend for that to become such a big part of this fill, but it kind of had to once I turned it into a subplot (oops), so I'm delighted it works instead of dragging the whole thing off track. :D And drugged Bruce is, yeah, a little too much fun to torment. (When he looks at Clark? Probably between blinks he's getting red-eyed nightmare!Clark. When he looked off to the side? ... I'm thinking Jason Todd. /o\)

:D It's probably a liiiiittle too easy to tell that I REALLY love Clark being careful with Bruce when Bruce won't be careful with himself. /o\ (LIKE, I REALLY LOVE IT.)

And no worries, anon, we are - though not without a little more of Bruce pushing Clark away in between, because ... well, Bruce. :D

*clears throat* Um, sorry?

/not all that sorry, let's face it :D

Easing back up toward the fluffy side, now that we're in the home stretch! Thanks to everybody who's commented so far for sticking with this, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. ♥

vulnerability.

The League's patrol goes well—it goes great, to be honest. The heavy hitters they get now that they're organized, together, are worse than the middleweights who used to dog Bruce's heels, or Barry's. But they also pop up a lot less frequently.

Clark had told himself he should save asking for after patrol; and then it's so quiet he ends up chatting with Arthur and forgets about it completely. It's only afterward, halfway back to his apartment, that he remembers.

He stops partway through a crosswalk. Is it worth turning around? Bruce is probably already back in Gotham—

A loud honk makes the decision for him: without thinking, Clark raises an apologetic hand to the driver and backs out of the car's way, and when he gets back onto the curb, it's easy enough to keep going.

He takes off from Metropolis's waterfront, Gotham gleaming dimly in front of him through the dusk. He could be at the lake house in about forty-five seconds if he really pushed himself; but it's a nice day, sunny, the gaps between buildings and the far edge of the city bright with changing leaves. He doesn't hear any aircraft closer than about fifteen minutes out. He can afford to take his time.

When he lands, he deliberately comes down close enough to trigger a proximity alert, but not close enough to set off the full-on alarms. (He learned his lesson about that last time around: no landing on Bruce's roof.) He walks the rest of the way, and Alfred's waiting at the door by the time Clark gets to it.

"Sir," Alfred says, and manages to make the single syllable sound wry and warm at the same time. (He's the only person who can call Clark that without it making Clark feel vaguely uncomfortable.)

"Hi, Alfred. Is—um—"

"Master Wayne is downstairs," Alfred says.

Clark hesitates. He hasn't actually been in the Batcave—he knows it's there, Bruce has been a little easier about dropping hints like that now that the whole League knows who he is. (He'd told Barry, Arthur, Victor, the next time the League had been together; Diana, of course, had already known. Clark's the only one Bruce didn't tell by choice—and Clark tries not to let that sting, but sometimes it doesn't work.)

And they—they haven't really talked. Clark brought Bruce here under Diana's direction, and she'd been the one to call ahead to Alfred; Clark had stuck around to help until the worse of it had passed, until Alfred had told him there was nothing left to do. And then the next time he'd seen Bruce, Bruce had been—what? Clark still can't quite put his finger on it: he hadn't ignored Clark, certainly hadn't been rude or cruel, nothing Clark could confront him over. Just—far away somehow. Remote. Like Clark learning his secret, being able to put the pieces of him together, had put more distance between them instead of less.

But now Alfred's looking at Clark sagely and extending a hand toward the stairs. And it's Alfred, who knows Bruce better than anyone—maybe even better than Bruce does.

"He won't mind, sir," Alfred says quietly.

Clark manages half a laugh. "Oh, he might."

Alfred pauses for a moment, considering, and concedes, "He might." But then he looks at Clark and smiles, just a little. "Go down anyway, sir."

"Cave" seems like the wrong word, at least for the part that's right under the lake house: the walls are concrete, sure, but that's just a backdrop for a whole lot of gleaming metal and glass, and there's light everywhere.

"Bruce?" Clark says, and gets no answer; but then there's a clang, and Clark's hearing zeroes in and finds Bruce's heartbeat.

Clark gets to the bottom of the stairs, catches sight of the display case—looks away as soon as he parses the first unevenly painted "HA", because he knows what that means and that's a line he shouldn't try to cross before Bruce lets him.

(If Bruce ever lets him.)

Another, quieter clang and two small thuds lead Clark further into the Cave and toward a side room. And then he rounds a corner and is met with—Bruce's back.

Bruce's bare back.

It's strange: he's seen Bruce Wayne shirtless a dozen times, a hundred, in hastily-taken photos outside clubs and shaky smartphone videos. But Bruce holds himself so differently when he's—when he's Wayneing, so to speak. When he does that, his every motion is a casual invitation to look, and they're all equally easy for Clark to ignore.

But Batman's body is a piece of machinery, a tool—always covered, because that's how it will function best, and not attended to beyond that except when it fails him. Or at least not when Clark's around, though he supposes Bruce must tend to it in their off-time—

Like he is now. The stance is all Batman, feet and shoulders squared, no softness and no ease; nothing like the way Bruce Wayne leans and slouches, makes you want to slant into his space. And somehow that makes the bare shoulders seem barer, the long (long) line of the back more naked. Bruce Wayne is a performance, planned. The scars get covered, the old wounds hidden away, everything carefully prepared to be seen. But this Bruce isn't like that at all—this Bruce is Bruce, uncovered, and Clark's raised a hand unthinkingly to touch even before he glances down Bruce's side—

"Jesus, Bruce, did that happen today?"

Bruce doesn't startle, exactly. He turns sharply, and the wrench in his far hand is half-raised—he's doing something to the body armor, Clark sees, pieces of it spread out across the table in front of him and one section still on, wrapped partway around his left side.

"Clark," he says, and the wrench is set down.

"Sorry, sorry," Clark says quickly, "I—Alfred told me you were down here."

"Ah," Bruce says, expressionless.

And there's the distance again. Not even anger, dismay, irritation. Just empty space. Clark hasn't had a good reason to cross it when Bruce so obviously doesn't want him to—not until today.

"Let me look at it."

Bruce frowns, just a brief furrow of the brow, and then glances down, as if he'd somehow forgotten about the massive purple-black bruise across his side. "Nothing's broken," he says.

"Let me look at it anyway," Clark says.

Bruce stares at him for a long moment, unmoving; and then all at once he gives in. Which sounds more dramatic than it is, when all he does is lower his eyes, lift his near arm out of the way—except that is dramatic, for Bruce.

It only takes a glance with the x-ray vision to see that Bruce is right: underneath the bruise his ribs are perfectly fine, not even cracked. Clark lets out a breath.

"As I said," Bruce murmurs.

"Nothing's broken," Clark agrees, and then he flips back to normal vision and watches himself set a hand against Bruce's back, right along the near edge of the bruise.

Bruce tenses underneath it. Clark can feel him do it, can hear him inhale sharply. And Clark should pull his hand back and apologize, he knows he should. But—

But this is the closest he's been to Bruce in weeks, and he finds he doesn't want it to end.

"Does it hurt?"

"It's just a bruise—"

"Does it hurt?" Clark says again, more quietly.

Bruce is still for a moment; and then he sighs through his nose and meets Clark's eyes again. "Not much."

Which means yes, Clark thinks. "We haven't talked about it," he blurts, because that's definitely the best way to start this conversation. Good God.

Bruce is kind to him: he doesn't pretend not to know what Clark means by that. But he does look away. "What is there to—"

"I'm sorry," Clark interrupts, because he has to—he can't let Bruce shut this down or redirect, and if he lets Bruce keep talking that's exactly what will happen. "I'm sorry I found out that way, that wasn't—I didn't want it to happen like that. I'm sorry you didn't get to decide whether to tell me. But I'm—" He sucks in a breath and steels himself, because if this really makes Bruce angry, Clark won't have the first clue how to fix it. But he can't not say it; and he can't lie, not about this. "I'm not sorry I was there. I'm not sorry I could help you when you needed it. And I'm—I'm not sorry I know you better now, I'm not sorry I understand you better. I'm glad."

He loses the ability to look Bruce in the face partway through, and by the end he's talking to Bruce's elbow. But then he's done, and it's silent; Bruce doesn't reply, is perfectly still under Clark's hand—which, whoops, he definitely should've taken that off Bruce's back at least thirty seconds ago. He'll just do it now. Subtly.

He clears his throat and risks a glance up. Bruce is staring at him again, eyes narrowed, almost impassive—but only almost. One side of his mouth has softened into something that isn't quite a smile, but is even less anything else. "That won't last," he says; but it comes out sort of rueful, not exactly the dire warning Clark suspects Bruce intended it to be.

"Well, it's true right now," Clark says, and then clears his throat again and takes a small step back. Maybe that will make it feel less like Bruce's shoulders are taking up his entire field of vision. "I just can't believe my mother knew before I did."

He means that as a way to lighten things, to take the conversation somewhere a little easier to navigate; but it makes Bruce grimace instead, a quick unhappy flicker of expression. "I didn't think it would matter," Bruce admits, and then, so low Clark has to bring the hearing up to catch it, "We thought you were gone."

"And then I came busting up out of the ground," Clark finishes for him. "I get it." And speaking of Mom, before he can forget again— "By the way, she, uh. She's—I mean, if you aren't doing anything else, she—" Bruce's eyebrows have started to rise; Clark tells himself to get a grip and just spit it out. "She wants you over for Thanksgiving. And Alfred, of course. Both of you."

And maybe it's because Clark really does understand him better, or maybe it's because the conversation's softened Bruce up enough that Bruce is letting him; but either way, it's like Clark can almost see him thinking. That he should refuse—that it wouldn't be hard to come up with something polite—that he could send something instead, a centerpiece or wine, pie, bread, something appropriate—Alfred will know—

"You don't have to come," Clark says into the pause. "But if you want to, then I hope you will."

And Bruce looks at him and says—says right out loud, where Clark can hear him—"We'd be glad to."

I could feel my little bitter heart melting away at this, ahhh, where to start.

he hadn't ignored Clark, certainly hadn't been rude or cruel, nothing Clark could confront him over. Just—far away somehow. Remote. Like Clark learning his secret, being able to put the pieces of him together, had put more distance between them instead of less.

This is SO Bruce, and it pains me so much yet at the same time brings me such joy, Bruce, Bruce, why must you be like that, I love you so.

It's a good thing Bruce has Alfred, my dear Alfred being wry and warm, directing Clark to Bruce, even if he could mind, oh.

I love your description of Wayne, the way he holds his body in a way that's an invitation (THE WAY CLARK READS IT AS AN INVITATION TO COME OCCUPY HIS SPACE, GOD), slouching and casual, calling attention (calling YOUR attention in particular, Clark, bb, ohhh <3) and the difference with Bruce and Bruce's body.

But Batman's body is a piece of machinery, a tool Yessss, and also LOL, yes, Clark, I'm sure Bruce *attends* to his body~~'s needs~~ when you're not physically around ;DDD

this Bruce is Bruce, uncovered, and Clark's raised a hand unthinkingly to touch even before he glances down Bruce's side—
My HEART.

I love that Bruce seems vulnerable here, he's shirtless, he's hurt, and Clark's presence and insistence to talk about it cracks him open a bit, just oh <33

But this is the closest he's been to Bruce in weeks, and he finds he doesn't want it to end.

Bruce is still for a moment; and then he sighs through his nose and meets Clark's eyes again. "Not much."
(yes I'm just going to quote the whole thing)

Clark's whole speech was wonderful, I love the bit about Bruce's face doing something closer to a smile than anything else (what a perfect description) and Bruce's rueful tone, not a dire warning: heeeee. Bruce accepting Clark's invitation, wow he's a total goner isn't he?

Maybe that will make it feel less like Bruce's shoulders are taking up his entire field of vision.
HNGHHHHHHH Clark, you are so deep in denial seriously :D

Probably between blinks he's getting red-eyed nightmare!Clark. When he looked off to the side? ... I'm thinking Jason Todd. /o\)

OH MY GOD, WHY??? DO YOU HATE ME? DO YOU JUST WANT ME TO CRY ALL NIGHT?

I love all the details in this, like remembering not to land on Bruce's roof (oh boy) and Alfred being the only person who can call Clark "sir" without making him uncomfortable.

Just—far away somehow. Remote. Like Clark learning his secret, being able to put the pieces of him together, had put more distance between them instead of less.
Awwwww, yes, this is so perfect and so very Bruce. Of course he'd only withdraw more after that. I have the weirdest soft spot for Clark getting to be in the Batcave for the first time. :D I might have to prompt that just so I can read even more versions of it, bwahaha. And I am in love with Clark barely even letting himself look at that display because he feels like that'd be intruding on Bruce's privacy.

when he's—when he's Wayneing, so to speak
This made me laugh. And that whole bit about shirtless Bruce and how this is different is beautiful, Bruce's body as a machine and all that. So perfect. I just love the intimacy of that scene, of Clark getting to see Bruce so bare. And I love Clark using that bruise as an excuse to get closer. <3

and then he flips back to normal vision and watches himself set a hand against Bruce's back, right along the near edge of the bruise.
I love this, how it almost happens despite Clark, like he didn't mean to touch Bruce at all. And the way Bruce never really answers questions unless you insist. <3 Clark's little speech is so perfectly IC and sweet, I love him.

"That won't last," he says; but it comes out sort of rueful, not exactly the dire warning Clark suspects Bruce intended it to be.
BRUCE. OH, BRUCE. OH MY GOD, BRUCE. I don't even know what to say to that. And awwwwwww, the last lines. <333 I love this fic so much, anon. I am not even remotely ready for it to end. Thank you so much for writing this and sharing it.

Because they're both so gloriously, perfectly built. I can especially see Clark worshipping every inch of Bruce's body, every perfectly trained muscle, every scar, touching and kissing him all over and memorising everything. But Bruce worshipping Clark's literally flawless body would be just as great.

This fill of yours has turned out to have everything I didn't know needed after seeing the movie! I read each part thinking 'how can they follow up from this, it is just so perfect' and then there's Alfred greeting Clark, Bruce lifting up his arm after Clark asks to see his injury, really THE WHOLE DAMN THING (I've already read this part 8 times through), and I'm just like "AMAZING THIS TOO IS PERFECT". You thank us for sticking with you, but really we should be thanking you! This thread is a wonderful mix of angst and fluff and in characterness and PINING and identity porn and I'm sad there's only one more part! Seriously there could be 300 and seeing an update would still make me squeal in happiness! You are great and so is this fill and I hope you get inspired to fill many more prompts! Thank you so much!

(Also your Bruce is now my favorite thing ever, he's so perfect. I just wanna wrap him in a blanket and give him coffee. If you do a Thanksgiving follow up to this, I bet his interactions with Martha will be sooooo good. GAH)

Inspired by this gif set: http://dailydcheroes.tumblr.com/post/142050493123/the-second-time-around-did-it-still-feel-like

Turns out Ben is really rough and aggressive in bed. Henry is surprised, but loves it.

... No? :D

BWAHAHAHAHAHA

:D Oh, thank you, anon - Bruce's issues are such incredible catnip to me, and I'm so pleased to think I'm capturing them adequately! Also so surprised I got through so much of this with no Alfred, because Alfred is so great (though I guess I shouldn't be too hard on myself when this has all been Clark POV).

... It's possible I could be projecting a little when it comes to Clark's mindless subliminal attraction to ~~Batfleck~~ Bruce Wayne looking relaxed and smug.

LOL, yes, Clark, I'm sure Bruce *attends* to his body~~'s needs~~ when you're not physically around ;DDD

I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN BY THAT, ANON WHICH IS TO SAY HELL YEAH HE DOES

And I'm just so thrilled you liked that whole conversation + all the descriptions - as you might be able to tell, I tend to be wordy and go on a bit, and I'm never sure whether I'm on the right side of the line between "effective" and "confusing". /o\ Especially Clark's speech! (In outlining, the focus was mostly on bruised shirtlessness, but then the conversation just sort of wrote itself. Was it good? Was it bad?? I EDITED IT SO MUCH I COULDN'T TELL ANYMORE.) ♥

:D Thank you! I'm kind of in love with Alfred and Clark interacting, so I loved getting to put that in - I'm glad you enjoyed it.

I might have to prompt that just so I can read even more versions of it

:D BY ALL MEANS. And I'm repeating myself again, but I'm so glad you liked the treatment of the display; I wasn't sure exactly how I wanted to handle that and it took a little while to come with something I thought really worked for this Clark.

Haha, and I slide back into near-identity porn even after the reveal! :D Comparing and contrasting multiple identities is just so much fun for me. /o\

Clark's little speech is so perfectly IC and sweet

Thank you! I love a really sincere Clark, I'm glad it wasn't too OTT. And also a really dramatic Bruce, obviously. :D

NO U, ANON - thank you so, so much for reading this, and for commenting so thoughtfully. I'd have done my best to finish this even if no one had been reading along at all; but it probably would've been worse and it definitely would've been less fun. ♥

Thank you so much - and I'm so glad to hear it, because, yeah, that movie could use some fix-it. :D And writing in parts like this always makes me second-guess myself about how well everything fits together/matches up, so that you haven't felt like the quality's wavered or anything is MUSIC TO MY EARS.

Man, everybody on this kinkmeme is so nice, I feel like I've been blushing all week! /o\ I'm so grateful you've all enjoyed it so much and let me ramble at you, it's been really lovely. :D There's definitely a couple other fills I have my eye on, and let's face it, you're probably going to know me when you see me (SO MANY SEMICOLONS. ALL THE EM DASHES).

(:D Thank you, anon! I'm thrilled to hear it, I also love Bruce so much. I didn't end up fitting Thanksgiving into the last part, but tbh I'm so enamored of Bruce&Martha as a friendship that I kind of want to do that as a timestamp or something - if I do, I'll add a link to it to this thread. ♥)

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Page 8 of 99

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (2/6

FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (4/6)

Bruce/Clark, Bruce topping from the bottom

Re: Bruce/Clark, Bruce topping from the bottom

Bruce/Clark, learning things about each other

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (4/6

Bruce/Clark, consent play

Re: Fill: World's Finest Handjob, Bruce/Clark

Bruce/Clark, Nightmare scene, Powerbottom Superman

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (4/6

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (3/6

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (3/6

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (4/6

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (4/6

FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (5/6)

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (5/6

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (4/6

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (5/6

Bruce/Clark, body worship

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (5/6

[RPF] Ben/Henry, rough sex

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (4/6

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (5/6

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (5/6

Re: FILL: coming up these steps to you; Bruce/Clark, saying "I love you" without ever saying it (5/6