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dceu_kinkmeme2016-04-14 12:37 am
dceu_kinkmod) wrote in dceu_kinkmeme2016-04-14 12:37 am
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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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Bruce/Clark, come play
(Anonymous) 2016-05-20 03:30 pm (UTC)(link)IBruce just wants to see him so messy...Bonus if Bruce shows possessiveness in wanting to mark Clark as his in the messiest way possible!
Re: Bruce/Clark, come play
(Anonymous) 2016-05-20 03:34 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Bruce/Clark, come play
(Anonymous) 2016-05-23 07:35 am (UTC)(link)Fill: Bruce/Clark, come play, wrecked!Clark
(Anonymous) 2016-05-29 02:54 am (UTC)(link)“Hold still.”
I'm trying, Clark wanted to say, but his throat felt parched and anything more than gasping for air seemed impossible. His thighs were shaking and he couldn't make them stop, and he was glad that he was already on all fours, fingers curled into the sheets, face pressed against the pillow. Bruce's hands were holding on to his thighs, their touch so firm that it almost hurt. Rationally Clark knew that wasn't possible, knew that Bruce couldn't physically hurt him, not like this, and yet every inch of his skin was so oversensitised that it burnt from even the lightest touch.
A wet trickle ran down his thigh, and Clark moaned when he realised what it was. Bruce's hands pushed his thighs further apart, then there was the rough scratch of stubble against sweat-slick skin, then Bruce's tongue licking along that same wet line, up to the crack of Clark's ass and –
It wasn't that Bruce hadn't done that before, kissing him there, but usually he did it before he fucked Clark, licking him open, making him relax so Clark could take him. Now Clark felt already loose and relaxed, and Bruce's tongue pushed his come right back into him, lapped at soft skin that shouldn't feel as sore, as used as it did. Clark heard himself whimper into the pillow, moaned something that was supposed to be “too much”, but it didn't sound like words when it left his mouth.
“Told you to keep that inside,” Bruce growled, his voice muffled against Clark's skin, and Clark tried to clench harder, but he felt so empty after Bruce had fucked him for … he didn't even know how long. Clark's experience with men was limited, but he was still fairly sure that Bruce's stamina was unusual for a human. Especially the second time around he always made it last …
His line of thought was cut short when Bruce chased another wet drip of come with his tongue, licking it up almost hungrily while his thumb rubbed over Clark's hole, teasing him before it pushed in, only one knuckle deep, and Clark still felt as if something broke inside him. It was one thing when Bruce brought out the kryptonite to wear him out, another when he used nothing but his hands, his mouth, his cock …
“Too much,” he tried again. His voice was a rough croak, but Bruce laughed softly, so he must have understood him this time.
“You can take it,” he said, and it sounded almost gentle now. “You've taken so much more for me before.”
Clark thought of the kryptonite-lined chains, of the too tight collar digging into his throat, of a green blade cutting open his cheek, his chest, his thighs, of Bruce's hands actually bruising him – there had been nothing like that tonight, there wasn't a single scratch or mark on Clark's body, and yet he felt thoroughly used. Weakened, even, as impossible as that seemed.
Bruce was lapping at him again, his tongue merely teasing Clark now while he tried to stay clenched, tried to keep Bruce's tongue from pushing into him, but didn't quite manage. His cock was still hard, but then he rarely softened while Bruce still touched him; the only times his Kryptonian stamina ever gave out before Bruce was done with him was when kryptonite was involved. He still felt spent, was acutely aware of his own come covering his thighs, his stomach. How many times had Bruce made him come? He'd lost count, had lost the ability to think about anything but what Bruce was doing to him at that exact moment.
He wasn't sure how long Bruce kept playing with him before he pulled back and tightened his grip on Clark's thighs. Clark had no doubt that those fingers would have left bruises on him if they'd been able to, and he almost groaned in frustration that they weren't. It barely took conscious effort to let Bruce manhandle him, to let Bruce turn him around and straighten him up while Clark remained on his knees.
Clark hadn't looked at him since Bruce had pushed him down onto the bed and started fucking him. Bruce was naked, his face and chest gleaming with sweat, his ribs and arms dark with bruises – some from recent fights, some from recent nights with Clark when Clark had been the one to take Bruce apart, to hold him down and use him until Bruce passed out underneath him. There were hand prints on Bruce's hips. Clark reached out carefully to cover one of them with his hand, gave Bruce an almost wistful smile. He wished he could keep the marks of their nights together just like Bruce did, feel the ache of Bruce's touch hours, days later.
Bruce smirked, ran his fingertips carefully through the mess on Clark's stomach.
“You should see yourself,” he said, the look in his eyes every bit as heated as when he'd first grabbed Clark's throat and pushed him into a wall that night. He dragged his fingers through Clark's come before raising his hand to Clark's face. At first Clark thought he wanted him to lick it clean, but instead Bruce smeared Clark's come over his face, his cheek, his chin, his bottom lip. Rubbed it into his skin just like he'd done with his own come earlier, when he'd fucked Clark's mouth and then come over his face and chest. That first time had been quick, brutal, Bruce getting himself off with no regard for Clark's pleasure so he'd have the patience to take his time afterwards. He'd used his own come and Clark's spit as lubricant to finger Clark open, while his tongue had teased a first orgasm from Clark's painfully hard cock.
Clark glanced down at himself, the wet gleam on his thighs and stomach, the already dried come on his chest. He swallowed and closed his eyes for just a moment, then gasped when Bruce slapped him. It was a measured slap – Bruce was always careful not to hurt himself on Clark's invulnerable skin –, startling rather than painful, the sound a wet smack against Clark's stained cheek. He opened his eyes obediently, shuddered when Bruce pushed two hot, sticky fingers into his mouth.
“You look filthy,” Bruce continued as if there had been no interruption. “Metropolis' shining saviour. Smallville's good little boy scout. If anyone could see you like this …”
Clark moaned around Bruce's fingers, Bruce's and his taste mingling in his mouth, of their come and their sweat until his overwhelmed senses could barely tell the difference between them anymore.
“Maybe I should make you keep the suit on next time.” That smirk belonged under Batman's cowl more than on Bruce Wayne's face, dark and threatening, and it made Clark's cock twitch helplessly. He sucked harder on Bruce's fingers, watched the sweat run down Bruce's throat, listened to his steady heartbeat at what would have been a normal rate for any other human and was downright racing for Bruce. Few things in the world compared to the intensity of Bruce Wayne wanting him.
“You'd like that, hm?” Bruce asked and Clark only moaned in reply. Bruce's other hand slid over Clark's slick skin down to his cock, grabbed it hard enough that it took what little remained of Clark's self-control not to bite down on Bruce's fingers. “If I came all over that crest on your chest, that stainless red cape of yours? And I wouldn't let you clean it up before you went out there again …”
Bruce's grip on his cock was slick, but unforgiving, and for all that it couldn't hurt Clark, he could still feel every ounce of strength in the way Bruce's fingers tightened around his cock, squeezing and stroking him. He was barely even sure if he could come again, if there was a drop of come Bruce hadn't already forced out of him, and yet the thought that Bruce might stop was enough to make him grab Bruce's wrist and hold on to it with a bruising grip. Bruce bit back a heavy groan, his heartrate picking up, but he still didn't stop talking.
“Or maybe I'll turn on the security cameras next time, make you look at yourself on all the screens down in the cave, so you can see what I see.” He shoved his fingers deeper into Clark's mouth, made him gag around them before he pulled them out. They were slick with spit when he grabbed Clark's chin, never taking his eyes off him. The kiss that followed was as filthy as Clark felt, teeth and tongue and their combined taste in his mouth, more an act of possession than anything else.
It dawned on him then, as Bruce's fingers slid once more through the cooling come on Clark's skin, scooping up just enough to draw a wet line over Clark's cheek as he broke the kiss. A line just where he'd cut Clark during their fight. The same place he cut open every time he used kryptonite during their nights together, the place that said that Bruce could do whatever he wanted to Clark, whether Clark liked it or not.
It dawned on him then that Bruce didn't need to cut him open to mark him as his, and he came with a breathless stutter over Bruce's hand, spilling more come over his fingers than he'd still thought possible. And Bruce smiled, like he'd seen something in Clark's eyes, like he knew that Clark finally understood.
“You should see yourself,” Bruce said again after a minute of nothing but soft moans tumbling from Clark's lips. His voice was low and soft, his breathing more ragged than Clark had noticed before, and there was almost something more intimate in the look Bruce gave him now than in anything they'd done. Bruce's thumb was still resting against Clark's cheek, rubbing his come over it, and when he wrapped his other arm around Clark's still shaking body, Clark let himself sink against Bruce's chest. He felt wrung out, exhausted, but Bruce's slowing heartbeat was steadying, soothing.
He wondered if Bruce would go through with the things he'd said, coming over his suit, making Clark watch himself on a dozen screens while Bruce took him apart. As he buried his face against Bruce's throat, breathing him in, he hoped that Bruce would.
Re: Fill: Bruce/Clark, come play, wrecked!Clark
(Anonymous) 2016-05-29 04:29 am (UTC)(link)/will be in my bunk
Re: Fill: Bruce/Clark, come play, wrecked!Clark
(Anonymous) 2016-06-03 11:53 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Bruce/Clark, come play, wrecked!Clark
(Anonymous) 2016-05-29 07:05 am (UTC)(link)This is amazing. Thank you VERY much for writing :DDDDDDD
Re: Fill: Bruce/Clark, come play, wrecked!Clark
(Anonymous) 2016-06-03 11:54 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Bruce/Clark, come play, wrecked!Clark
(Anonymous) 2016-06-03 10:36 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Bruce/Clark, come play, wrecked!Clark
(Anonymous) 2016-06-03 11:57 am (UTC)(link)