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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Hot!

Bruce is visiting Clark's grave and he feels particularly guilty and sad this time. He declares his love for Clark and prepares to leave. Then the ground beneath him splits open as Clark Kent claws his way out. Clark shakes off the disorientation and sees Bruce. Bruce is expecting Clark to kill him, but instead Clark grabs him and kisses him possessively before carrying him off. They go somewhere secluded where Clark proceeds to thoroughly ravish Bruce.

Bruce thinks its a one time thing, just Clark's mind on the fritz after coming back to life, but Clark intends to keep the Dark Knight for himself.

Bruce lays marigolds on the headstone and bows his head. Mourning has been a feature of his life--a clockwork of observance, but he never quite knows what to do with himself, here. Kansas winter has laid the ground bare, and he turns his collar up against the wind that scours the fallow country.

“Better if it had been me,” Bruce says, at last, laying a gloved hand against the stone. It warms the joints of his hands--and then burns.

He recoils faster than the tremors can become noticeable. Crouches, anticipating. The hand that punches through the frozen topsoil isn’t human.

Gaunt, gray flesh reveals itself. Skin that hasn’t seen the sun in a year. Fingernails scrabble at dirt as it seeks for purchase. Bruce fights down the wild horror that rises in him. He grabs the forearm and pulls. Alive, alive, Clark is alive. Topside, his movements are clumsy. His jaw clicks when it opens, a sibilant hiss rumbling in his throat, eyes jumping from point to point, hair in a frenzy.

“Clark.”

He responds to the name too well. The hand on Bruce’s throat feels like penance, and he is pressed against a tree, choking, guttering on stale air.

Clark’s pupils constrict to points of fury. He pulls Bruce back by his throat, and slams him again --yes, like Bruce had done in their fight. Bruce slips a hand into Clark’s free palm, dangling at his side uselessly. Clark still feels it. Recoils. Releases Bruce to drop to his knees.

Gentleness from an enemy is disorienting; Bruce quickly counters, surging up. His hand falling across Clark’s face in a stinging slap.

Bruce doesn’t break his hand. So he does it again, and again, until he breaks skin.

Clark dabs at his blood like it’s the most miraculous thing he’s seen.

Bruce hitches back against the tree when Clark steps forward.

“Do you know me?” Bruce’s breath is coming quick, shallow, now. A year has changed much about Bruce’s thinking. Breathing, heart rate, perspiration, blood flow; all of the signs are there, if Clark cares to read them.

Clark presses forward. His skin as dry as paper as he slides his hand up to Bruce’s neck, closing over his windpipe gently, testing Bruce’s willingness. Bruce’s chin comes up as he fades around the edges of Clark’s inexorable strength, because it’s all rushing back, now: the color into his skin, the light into his eyes, the strength of his body--and the understanding about what he can do with it.

“I know you,” Clark whispers roughly against Bruce's cheek. It’s a start, anyway.

WHOOO freshly-dug Clark and throat-grabbing and slapping? A+, anon.

A year has changed much about Bruce’s thinking. Breathing, heart rate, perspiration, blood flow; all of the signs are there, if Clark cares to read them.

*waggles eyebrows*

I love the progression of Clark's consciousness, from disoriented mindlessness--almost, he knows who he's grappling with, and is dutifully replaying the last thing he remembers--and then into coherence and something like promise as the sun heals him. <3

Hey this is OP, and all I can say is oh...my...GOD this is glorious!!!!! I hope you will continue this but thank you so much for the mini-film! You are awesome!

Bruce might be 10yrs older than Clark but sometimes he just needs to hear that he's a good boy.

+100000000000000000000000!

Jason Momoa and Ezra Miller's epic bromance is all kinds of awesome. Now it has me thinking about Arthur and Barry entering an intimate relationship. It's when they are getting hot and heavy for the first time that Barry gets all over-excited and much to Arthur's surprise and delight, starts to vibrate and super speed. This of course leads to Arthur and Barry having an unforgettable first time together.

It was months after his return before Clark made his way back to the genesis chamber, the Bat at his side.

Curiosity propelled their inquiry. Clark held hope that the ship might provide him some knowledge of his Kryptonian heritage. Bruce refused to elaborate on his own interest, though Clark suspected it was not entirely innocent. Still, Clark had welcomed him, reasoning that his insight could prove valuable.

The wreck of the ship lay dormant in the exclusion zone, surrounded by blocks of rubble, remnants of buildings leveled by Doomsday’s advance. A few of the clinically white hallways remained, leading them into the tattered dome that still shielded the shell of the ship. They progressed silently into the crumbling hulk, to the single locked door that protected Krypton’s genetic secrets. Clark pressed his palm into soft molding of the fingerprint reader, then stepped through the burnished pewter door.

Inside, the atmosphere immediately staggered him, forcing him to lean against the wall. His distress only grew as the door hissed shut behind them, halting the flow of outdoor air.

“Superman?” Bruce turned towards him, head cocked as he decided if he should intervene. It was the first word he had spoken to him all night.

“I’m okay.” Clark offered him a reassuring smile even as he struggled to gather himself. Looking up, he found that the hole Doomsday had punched through the ceiling had somehow been sealed, leaving the chamber airtight. “The Kryptonian air system--it’s restored itself somehow.”

“Seems breathable,” Bruce looked around, before turning curiously back to Clark. “There must be more to it for it to affect you this way.”

“Must be,” Clark trailed off, taking in a shaky breath. He had almost forgotten this feeling, the painful punch of Krypton’s air that had weakened him the first time he had set foot on this ship.

“Do you need to leave?”

“No.” Clark pushed himself upright and stepped deeper into the genesis chamber, down the gangway that skewed into the amber pool below. “No, it’s just weakened my powers. I’ll be fine.”

Stepping over the electronic minder which lay partially submerged, Clark entered the pool.Tentatively, he waded deeper, pausing before the liquid could reach his waist.

Drawing the Kryptonian sigil from his belt, Clark pressed it into the socket of the waiting console. Soft, organic light flickered in the pool as the surface stirred under the force of an unknown current.

“Presence of the Codex confirmed,” a soft voice emanated from the console. A score of tendrils peeked up out of the pool, an array of fleshy hues, some dark, some light, some deep, bloody organ red. They slithered towards Clark, halting several yards from where he stood. “Would you like to proceed with extraction?”

“No.” Bruce dipped his foot into the pool, making to follow Clark. Immediately, the tendrils retracted.

“Foreign genetic material detected.”

“I think that’s you.” Clark grinned, glancing back at him.

Reluctantly, Bruce retreated. He paced a few feet back up the gangway, eyes narrowed. A host of tentacles trailed a few feet behind him, hanging from the ceiling.

“Remove foreign material,” the console protested. “The council has decreed--”

“He’s not a threat,” Clark tried to placate the tendrils that hung over Bruce menacingly. “He won’t interfere.”

“Remove foreign material to proceed,” the terminal insisted, though Bruce no longer stood in the pool.

“It’s not responding.” Bruce drew a batarang from his belt, preparing to defend himself.

At the first sign of a threat, a tentacle coiled around Bruce’s wrist, pulling him forwards. Bruce sliced into it with the bladed edge of his batarang. It immediately retracted, leaving a thick liquid oozing down his glove.

As one tentacle retreated, dozens more sprang forward, curling around every inch of Bruce’s body and nearly lifting him off his feet. The arm holding the batarang was forced high over his head, then the blade ripped from his hand.

“Stop!” Clark leapt towards Bruce. “He’s my friend. Don’t hurt him.” He didn’t touch the tentacles, afraid that he might trigger another attack.

Nearly consumed by the writhing mass, Bruce growled, “You need to get out of here, Clark.”

“What?” Clark blinked up at him, not sure he had understood. He tried to ignore the way the tentacles held Bruce, thighs spread apart and tendrils curling over his groin.

“You need to leave. I can handle myself.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Clark shook his head, incredulous. “It’s going to be fine. I just need to find a way to communicate with-”

Rolling his eyes, Bruce twisted in the tentacles’ grip. “At least get down.”

Brow furrowed, Clark spotted the explosive in Bruce’s hand just in time to cast himself up onto the platform. The whole chamber shook with the explosion, the lights flickering eerily before they were plunged into blackness.

“Bruce?” Clark stretched out blindly, hoping to touch him.

“Here,” Bruce grunted. Grasping at Clark’s wrist, he tugged him to his feet.

The terminal chirped. “Rebooting.”

“Exit’s sealed.” Bruce paced in front of the door. “Any objections to me blowing the door off?”

“Just a second.” Clark cautiously approached the console, which was softly lit by the blue glow of its own controls. He drew the sigil from it, before sliding it back inside.

“Executing program A18-64JG.”

“Do you have any idea what that means?” Bruce moved into the dim light of the console at the edge of the pool.

“No.”

“Assessing breeding compatibility of the specimens.”

Clark had only the chance to catch a single furious look from Bruce before he was knocked off his feet. Coils wrapped tight around his legs and arms, dragging him backwards, onto the platform above the pool.

The touch of tentacles, which had merely been inappropriate with Bruce, now openly targeted the most sensitive spots of his body, rubbing suggestively over his suit, along his cock and between his thighs.

In the darkness, Clark heard Bruce choke and sputter. Though he strained, Clark could not see any more than Bruce’s shadowy outline.

“Bruce? Are you-?” As he spoke, one particularly thick tendril twisted around his mouth and nose, smothering him.

Lungs burning, Clark inhaled but found no oxygen. Instead, ooze filled his nostrils and his mouth, the scent an overpowering musk. Black spots flashed at the edge of his vision. He tore at the tentacle with all his strength, but his fingers could find no purchase on the slippery flesh.

Clark fell forwards, mouth open behind the tentacle wrapped around his head. For a second, the grip eased, before the tip plunged into his mouth. He bit down, but his teeth could not break through the thick outer layer of skin.

An oddly bitter liquid began to seep from the tendril, slowly filling his mouth. Clark tried to spit it out, before gagging as the tip hit the back of his throat. He choked, spasming, but it forced its way past the constriction. The steady flow of the liquid continued, now sliding straight down his throat.

Eyes watering, Clark wrenched at the tentacles again, flailing until his fingers brushed against bare skin. Human skin. Bruce. The lights were still too low for him to see anything of Bruce other than his silhouette, made strange by the many tentacles hanging from his limbs. Bruce appeared to be partially suspended, hips and legs held off the floor.

Again, the lights flickered, and then the soft glow of the chamber was restored.

Bruce’s cowl was gone. It had been melted through, the remains dripping inky black on the floor. Underneath, Bruce appeared unharmed, though flushed and sweating, his pupils blown wide. One tendril wriggled between his lips, sliding towards the back of his throat.

His suit had fared little better, the armored symbol largely obliterated and the tattered remains of his undersuit hanging off his chest. His skin glistened with the trails of slime that the feelers left behind, pooling in the many scars that marked his chest.

Lower still, there was another tendril coiled around Bruce’s cock, slipping gently along his shaft. He was hard, but unable to pull away as his hands were stretched over his head and his legs held securely aloft.

The sight made something burn in Clark’s chest, a fiercely protective anger. He twisted the tendril that had tried to smother him around his fist and dragged it free. Clark spat the fleshy length from his mouth, then spat again, trying to rid his tongue of the gelatinous ooze.

Raising himself up on his hands, Clark lunged forwards, half-falling across Bruce before the tentacles could yank him back. As he moved, his suit tore open at the shoulder and down his chest, near indestructible fiber badly weakened by the goo. He seized the length that filled Bruce’s mouth, fingers skidding down the slimy surface before he finally managed to tug it free. Bruce gasped in a grateful lungful of air while Clark grabbed a handful of the writhing tentacles that sprawled across his chest and groin.

Turning his head, Bruce spit out a mouthful of clear goo. “Aphrodisiac,” he muttered, before beginning to push himself up. “I hope you didn’t swallow any.”

Before Clark could decide how to reply, the coils he held in his hands turned on him, slithering through his fingers and around his wrists. His arms were quickly captured, pulled tight behind his back and pinned there. Clark leaned forwards, thrashing as he tried to break free from the surprisingly strong grip. Hunched over on his knees, he strained as more and more tentacles surrounded him, his hopes of escape quickly fading.

A tentacle curled around the base of his neck, forcing his head back. Though he struggled, Clark could do little more than watch as a host of tentacles inched up Bruce’s thighs, crawling over the swells of muscle to encircle his cock again.

Bruce’s face settled into an expression familiar to Clark, his teeth bared and brow furrowed. Despite the attentions of the tentacles, he was clearly still scheming, planning some way to get them out of this mess. The thought gave Clark hope, that though his strength alone had failed him, Bruce’s cleverness could save them both.

Clark felt the last of his suit melt away below his waist, allowing the coils to slide over bare skin. The tentacles immediately targeted his ass, warm tendrils sliding and swirling around his hole like half a dozen narrow tongues. The wet heat against tender flesh felt far better than Clark could have ever imagined. Embarrassed, Clark fixed his eyes on a spot above Bruce’s head. It took all his will just to remain silent.

Biting his lip, Clark reminded himself that Bruce couldn’t see what was happening from his place on the floor. He wouldn’t know. All Clark had to do was keep quiet, stay calm, and Bruce would never guess.

Bruve’s voice was surprisingly steady when he finally spoke, considering the way the tendrils pumped at his cock. “Can you reach my belt?”

As he opened his mouth to answer, slender length probed at Clark’s ass, its touch almost teasing. It slid inside him just fraction of an inch, then back out, then in a little further.

“I-I’ll try.” Clark shut his eyes as it worked deeper, forcing his body to yield. He twisted sideways, trying to get his trapped hands near the belt. The tendril pushed deeper, wriggling side to side. He pressed his lips tight together, fighting back a whimper.

“Clark?” Concern tinged Bruce’s voice, as did confusion. The tentacle withdrew with a twist that almost made Clark gasp aloud.

“It’s nothing,” Clark ducked his head. “I’m-unh!” he bucked forwards as a thicker shaft penetrated him, then quickly gritted his teeth, ashamed of his cry.

“Clark?!” Bruce tried to sit up, but could manage to do little more than raise his head.

“I’m--fine,” Clark panted, though crushing humiliation already flushed his cheeks.

“What--” Bruce’s eyes dropped between Clark’s legs, undoubtedly catching the movement of the tentacle thrusting into his ass, though he could not see the place where they entered him. “Goddammit,” he swore, kicking out, but making no progress at freeing himself.

Slime oozed down Bruce’s cock, soaking into the fabric of his suit. As Clark watched, it ate holes through the tough armor, baring his ass. Gritting his teeth, Bruce fought to draw his legs together, to do anything to shift away from the tentacles coiling around his thighs and threatening to penetrate him.

His struggles proved fruitless as a pair of narrow tendrils slipped past the tight ring of muscle. Jaw set, Bruce lifted his eyes towards the ceiling of the chamber, clearly avoiding Clark’s gaze. For the moment, the feelers seemed merely to explore him, twisting together, but that apparent gentleness did not last.

Another, larger, tentacle sinuously wove its way up Bruce’s thigh. The narrow tendrils moved apart, spreading Bruce open for the bulbous head. He groaned as it speared him, pushing deep inside him in a single long thrust. Bruce threw his head back, spine rigid as he took the length inside him.

However, Clark could barely focus on Bruce for all that was happening to him. The tentacle behind him took up a rapid rhythm, fucking him hard and fast. The steady drag of it inside him rubbed along his prostate, and he found himself hazily wondering if this should feel as good as it did.

For the first time, a tentacle rubbed along Clark’s aching shaft, swiping at the precome beading at the crown of his cock. Another tendril curled around his balls, squeezing gently. Clark twitched, gasping, though the touch was not yet enough to get him off.

The tentacle stroking at his cock split apart, individual petals of flesh wrapping tight around the shaft, enveloping him. Incredible suction gripped him, bringing a surprised shout from his lips. Clark shamelessly rocked forwards, but found that did not afford him any further pleasure. Instead, he pressed back into the thrusts of the shaft, taking it deeper and harder.

In a few frantic minutes, Clark came, completely unaware of everything around him. The grip of the tentacles, while still tight around his wrists, slackened enough to allow him to slump forwards.Eyes falling shut, Clark collapsed on the floor. Cheek resting on the cool metal, he turned his head towards Bruce. He whimpered as the shaft was withdrawn from his ass, wetly sliding free from his stretched hole.

However, the program had not yet run its course. Clark groaned as another tendril probed at his abused ass. Despite his weak protest, it entered him, swiftly pushing deep before falling still. Clark lifted his head, trying to ascertain what it was the program was trying to do, or if it simply intended to keep him impaled for time unknown.

The shaft seemed to swell inside him, stretching him to the point of pain before easing, the movement travelling along the shaft like a slow moving ripple. As the swell reached the very tip, Clark felt something be inserted inside him, warm, pulsing, semi-solid. Another object quickly joined the first, swelling and stretching at his insides. Then a third and more.

A choked-off shout brought his attention back to Bruce, a sound unlike any other he had heard from him. Another tentacle had breached him, leaving two together now, slowly thrusting inside his ass. Despite his obvious pain, his body stretched to accommodate them. More remarkably, the hard line of his jaw eased until finally Bruce moaned.

Arching up, Bruce spread his legs a little wider. He was openly gasping, no longer making any attempt to suppress the sounds he made, moans spilling unchecked from his lips. Clark realized, distantly, that Bruce was about to come a few seconds before he did, painting his own stomach white.

Thighs trembling, Bruce rested limply on the floor as the last few drops of cum were milked from his cock. The coils slowly slipped away, sinking back into the murky pool. Clark curled in on himself after he was released, arms wrapped loosely over his abdomen. However, he kept his head turned, blearily watching Bruce though he did not have strength enough to go to him.

Bruce lay still after he was released, his chest heaving. The retreat of the tentacles left him gaping. Creamy ejaculate seeped between his thighs, clinging to his skin.

The console chirped. “Breeding compatibility results available.”

“Shut up.” Bruce kicked weakly at the console. Laboriously, he rolled over onto his knees, fingers fumbling along his belt, which miraculously still hung at his waist.

“First specimen appears to be Kryptonian, with some modified physiology.”

“Clark?” Bruce glanced at him and Clark squeezed his eyes shut. Bruce dragged open the compartment of his belt and crawled into the pool.

“Second specimen is of unknown origin. Physical anatomy is similar to that of a Kryptonian male. Neither is a suitable candidate for carrying offspring. However, both demonstrated enough flexibility to suggest their bodies could host--”

Bruce slammed a flat metal disk against the surface of the console. It sputtered momentarily, before falling silent.

“What did you do?” Clark mumbled.

“I disrupted its power supply.” Wincing, Bruce dragged himself back up onto the ramp.

Then he noticed Clark’s distress. “Clark?” He approached him, touching his shoulder lightly. “Are you hurt?”

Clark did not know what to tell him, not when he scarcely understood what had happened himself. He clutched at his stomach as his insides seemed to spasm, cramping.

“Can you sit up?”

With Bruce’s help, Clark sat up on his knees. He still refused to meet his gaze, hands folded over his stomach.

Bruce stared for a moment, before reaching out to touch his swollen stomach. “Is there-” he started, then began again, “It left something inside you?”

Exhaling shakily, Clark nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed.

“Can you push it out?”

“I’ll try.” Clark bowed his head.He was exhausted, barely able to summon the strength to be ashamed of himself as Bruce leaned over him, eyes intent on his naked body. He pushed, trembling as the object stretched him, before finally slipping out.

For a few seconds, they both stared at the small, round sac that rested on the floor. It was light pink, translucent and utterly foreign-looking despite its innately organic form.

Clark whimpered and swayed as another round of cramps hit him. Hands at his back, Bruce caught him, lowering him gently to the floor. He remained at his side, one hand tight on his forearm as Clark pushed another half-dozen orbs from his body.

When it was over, Bruce let him rest, head pillowed on the remnants of his cape. Turning towards him, Clark watched as Bruce planted charges to blow the door open. “Are we going to talk about this later?”

Keeping his back to him, Bruce replied, “I’d rather not, unless it’s to agree that Kryptonian technology is best left alone.”

Clark choked out a laugh, then put his fingers to his sore throat. Bruce turned back to him, tapping at the detonator. With a muffled bang, the door was blown away, individual sheets clattering down in the hallway outside. Clark breathed in deeply as fresh air flowed in.

Bruce offered a hand, pulling him upright. However, Clark did not let go when he found his feet. “Bruce,” he gripped tightly at him, keeping him close. “I hope you know I won’t think any differently of you after this.”

Shifting restlessly, Bruce inhaled and met his gaze. Absent his cowl, his face seemed unusually open, emotions accessible. “The same for you, Clark.”

“Thank you.” Clark let him pull away. He trailed after Bruce as he stepped out the door. “And um, can I get a ride?”

****

Hey, this is my first kinkmeme post. However, it was criminal that this prompt never got a fill. I hope I'm doing this right!

don't worry, you are most definitely doing this right! tbh i'm not 100% sure how i feel about tentacle kink but i'll still read it anyways bc i'm desperate for superbat fic lol. i'm glad i read this fill though, it was great and pretty hot. i hope you continue filling prompts on here :)

Thank you!! :)

Superman makes his triumphant return and helps Batman and the rest of the League defeat whatever evil forces will show up in the movie. Everything is going well, but Bruce notices something slightly off about Clark. Bruce being his astute self quickly figures out that Clark Kent, the man who is Superman, is actually a Submissive. In fact, Clark just might be the kind of Sub Bruce, as a unique Dominant, has been searching for his whole life.

Imagine what Bruce could do and what he could feel having the most powerful being on the planet calling him "Master" in private.

Yes please!!!

Bruce being Bruce decides to do some secret recon on the newly returned Man of Steel. Bruce's spying on Clark eventually leads him to a small dance studio of all places. He uses his skills to sneak in and sees something he never thought he'd ever see.

Clark Kent, Mr. Wholesome incarnate, pole dancing like an expert. Needless to say Bruce gets all hot and bothered by seeing Clark so smooth and carefree. Now wants the Man of Steel for himself, so he can get private shows of Clark's secret talent.

After Clark comes back from the dead, he and Bruce form an actual friendship that somehow someway becomes a deeply passionate and loving relationship. However, Bruce always keeps his shirt on whenever he and Clark get intimate. Clark is a bit thrown by this seeing as to how Bruce is both the billionaire playboy and the Dark knight. When he gently broaches the subject Clark is stunned when Bruce reveals that he thinks he's grotesque because of his many scars.

Clark sets about thoroughly showing Bruce how wrong he is about that. All night long.

Bruce and Clark have this weird tension between them, and Bruce thinks that Clark hates him for everything that went down between them in Batman v. Superman. Bruce is resigned about it, thinking that one of these days Clark is going to make good and vaporize him.

Maybe Bruce is just walking through the halls of the newly minted Watchtower, or working in the Batcave, but either way Clark is suddenly there. He pins Bruce to something without breaking a sweat and Bruce thinks he's dead for sure, but instead Clark leans in and proceeds to whisper the absolute filthiest things into Bruce's ear. It all leaves Bruce as nothing but puddy in Clark's hands. Turns out that Bruce was very wrong about just what Clark wanted to do to him.

No matter how far into the darkness he falls; no matter how questionable his actions; no matter how many times he breaks, Alfred is always there to bring him back.

Did you forget your kink there, anon?

I wanted to keep it open to interpretation but I apologize, if you want I can add some thing to the subject line. Honestly though I want to see where someone will take it. It's an idea not an outline. I'm not really aiming for a specific kink, and there are dozens of possibilities and directions to take it.

Sorry I was being snippy and taking my frustrations out on you, anon. It's not about your prompt specifically, it's just another one of the many recent prompts that aren't about kink, or even tropes, but just random story ideas, and I've been frustrated lately.

And sorry for hijacking the meme, nonnies /out

No harm done. I get where your coming from, especially because most of the recent prompts tend to be identical to one another. I'll try to be more careful and clearer with my prompts in the future

From authors on this kinkmeme. Doesn’t fit the bill exactly, but that’s the actual point of a prompt…

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7790209

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7590712

And if you were willing to read through AO3…

http://archiveofourown.org/works/195283

I’m sure there are more, but I’d like to think the use of keywords during a search isn’t beyond the capabilities of the average layman… <.<;

Thanks so much for this

Both Bruce and Clark have traveled extensively through the world, but when they get together Clark blindsides Bruce with his extensive knowledge of the Kama Sutra. Clark is one super-flexible individual.

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Page 81 of 99

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Re: Clark/Bruce: Bruce bugs Clark's apartment and gets a show

Clark/Bruce: Clark pops out of his Grave and claims Bruce thoroughly

Mini-Fill: Fallow Country (Bruce/Clark, in a graveyard)

Re: Mini-Fill: Fallow Country (Bruce/Clark, in a graveyard)

Re: Mini-Fill: Fallow Country (Bruce/Clark, in a graveyard)

Bruce/Clark daddy kink

Re: Bruce/Clark daddy kink

Arthur/Barry: Arthur discovers the joys of the super-speed vibration

Re: Bruce/Clark, tentacles, noncon [1/2]

FILL Bruce/Clark, tentacles, noncon [1/2]

Re: FILL Bruce/Clark, tentacles, noncon [1/2]

Re: FILL Bruce/Clark, tentacles, noncon [1/2]

Bruce/Clark: Bruce becomes Sub Clark's Dom

Re: Bruce/Clark: Bruce becomes Sub Clark's Dom

Clark/Bruce: Clark's hidden talent for Pole dancing

Clark/Bruce: Bruce insecure about his scars

Clark/Bruce: Clark's surprisingly dirty mouth

Alfred Pennyworth/Bruce Wayne

Re: Alfred Pennyworth/Bruce Wayne

Re: Alfred Pennyworth/Bruce Wayne, Dark themes, loyalty

Re: Alfred Pennyworth/Bruce Wayne, Dark themes, loyalty

Re: Alfred Pennyworth/Bruce Wayne, Dark themes, loyalty

Re: Clark/Bruce: Clark's hidden talent for Pole dancing

Re: Clark/Bruce: Clark's hidden talent for Pole dancing

Clark/Bruce: Clark knows the Kama Sutra