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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Apparently, amateurs like Clark have to start at the very beginning, which doesn't involve much beyond repeatedly throwing himself onto the tatami mat. Bruce demonstrates a series of rolls for him, dropping down and the gliding back to his feet effortlessly, every motion a fluid extension of the last. He makes it look incredibly easy.

Clark discovers pretty quickly that it is not. In fact, it's more hard work than falling over has any right to be.

"It's called ukemi," Bruce informs him, patiently guiding Clark on how to turn out correctly: when to land on his back or shoulder; when to break his fall with his hands; how to roll onto his feet quickly, if not smoothly. "The art of falling. It is critical for minimizing injury and vulnerability, and probably the most important thing you'll learn here."

And boy, is Bruce determined that he's going to learn. After who knows how many hours of graceless tumbling, Clark lies splayed out on the mat, panting hard while sweat collects in a variety of uncomfortable places.

"Up," Bruce says. "One more time."

"Nope, can't." Every part of Clark's body is rebelling; he is hurting in muscles he didn't even know he had. Bruce Wayne was definitely a sadistic gym teacher in a past life.

"Yes, you can," Bruce repeats, in a tone that brooks no argument. "Once more, Clark."

Clark takes a deep breath, sighs it out again and then wobbles to his feet. He hasn't felt so wrung out since those indistinct first few days after his return, a lethargic weight that clings to his limbs and settles an ache deep in his bones.

"This kind of sucks," he says.

"You'll get used to it." Bruce presses the heel of his hand against Clark's shoulder, correcting his stance. "Okay. Meet the mat."

Clark takes a couple of seconds to collect himself, which is apparently a couple of seconds too long for Bruce. There's a hand on his wrist; his arm is twisted and then the world tilts. He has enough time to think that maybe Bruce enjoys throwing him around a little too much, then his back impacts the mat. He exhales sharply, rolls with the momentum and feels the reflexive shift of his body as it makes minute, instinctive adjustments for angle and velocity, muscle memory already dictating where he should put his hands, when to push off against the ground.

"Huh," Clark says. He's come to rest in a crouch, primed to spring upright if he could find a scrap of wherewithal.

"Good," Bruce says. He sounds pleased, and Clark feels an unbidden swell of pride. "Now we're getting somewhere."

*

It's mid-afternoon by the time they resurface in the lakehouse. Alfred has left them a platter of food and a jug of ice water; Bruce pours himself a glass and demolishes a sandwich before disappearing again. Clark takes the opportunity to sit on the couch and zone out for a while until it occurs to him that he should probably have showered before imposing upon his host's invariably expensive furniture.

He's staggered to his feet and is checking for incriminating patches on the upholstery when Bruce sweeps back into the room. He's dressed in a navy suit and groomed to precision, moving with an easy swagger that's more Wayne than Clark's seen him since that first time.

"You'll have to excuse me," he says, fastening his watch. "I have a meeting in an hour, and then some--" he makes a vague hand gesture, "--some other things to take care of."

Clark doesn't envy Bruce that at all; he feels exhausted just thinking about it. "Don't you ever stop?" he asks.

Bruce's fingers pause on the strap of his watch. "And do what?"

Clark shrugs. Technically, he meant it as a rhetorical question. He changes the subject instead. "Mind if I shower?"

"You don't need to ask. And fix yourself a protein shake," Bruce says, eyeing Clark as he limps toward the bedroom. "You'll thank yourself for it in the morning."

"I don't think I'll be thanking anyone for anything in the morning," Clark says. "Jeez."

*

Using Bruce's shower doesn't seem quite as intrusive as sleeping in his bed, but despite the explicit permission, it's a close thing. He almost considers washing in the kitchen sink, but besides being raised with better manners than that, he's already failed to ingratiate himself, and also he wouldn't want to risk Alfred walking in on a spectacle.

He finally decides that he's being ridiculous and stumbles his way into the en suite, stripping down as he goes. The shower has far too many dials, but through trial and error and one particularly icy drenching, Clark figures out which one controls the water and which one does the temperature. (And, incidentally, which one is the radio and which one is the police scanner.) The water pounds down on his shoulders with satisfying pressure, just hot enough to stand.

It's a little unnerving to be pushed like this, and to feel it so acutely. When he's been accustomed to lifting ton weights like nothing or casually backstroking through the mesosphere or eating a Hot Pocket direct from the microwave, realizing his hard physical limits--never mind hitting them--is something of a shock.

(He knows Bruce's limits must be similarly restricted by his physiology, and yet--)

Clark tips his head back, lets the water sluice over him. He forgot to bring soap, he realizes. He casts about for a bar, but the only thing in the shower cubicle is a bottle of body wash.

He pictures Bruce stepping up close to guide him through a fall and catching his own scent on Clark's skin, and it is maybe a warning that he has no idea how Bruce would react.

His own reaction is somewhat more alarming.

*

Clark spends the rest of the afternoon reading the same page of his book about three dozen times, then once the sun is done refracting itself through the lakehouse windows and dips below the horizon, decides to nap. His blanket has been folded into a crisp square and set on the couch, so he figures he may as well.

He wakes to his feet being shoved off the edge of the couch. "Hey," he says, voice thick and bleary with sleep.

The cushions dip, and he hears the clink of wine glasses. "Hi," Bruce says. He clicks on a lamp, and Clark blinks as they're enveloped in a sphere of yellow light, shadows chased against the lakehouse glass. "Sorry I woke you."

"No you're not," Clark says.

"Heh." Bruce loosens his tie with one hand, sets the wine down with the other. "Well. If you slept in the bed I--"

"Yeah, I know."

Bruce falls silent for a moment, eyes dark in the diffuse light. Clark can see the muscle in his jaw tense. "You did well today," he says. "Drink?"

"I, uh," Clark says, catching sight of the label on the bottle--and the date on the label. "It would be wasted on me."

The glass rings as the bottleneck touches it, glugs gently as the wine pours. "Suit yourself," Bruce says, though there's no bite to it, just a deep weariness. He puts his feet up on the coffee table.

"Rough night?"

Bruce says nothing, just exhales hard and takes a long sip from his glass.

Clark can take a hint. He shuffles off the couch, gathers the blanket up. "Goodnight, Bruce," he murmurs. Bruce raises the glass to him in a silent toast.

At the threshold Clark glances back, half-expecting him to be lounging against the couch, legs spread and glass dangling from his fingers like the consummate playboy he projects, but he's not. He's leaning over his knees, glass clasped in both hands.

*

Clark lies in Bruce's bed and, for the first time since he came back from the dead, wonders what in the sweet hell is going on with him.

*

*claps hands* Oh nonnie, you have no idea how delighted I was to wake up this morning and find a new part to read!! I have to dash out, but I just wanted to let you know how much I'm loving this :D

When he's been accustomed to lifting ton weights like nothing or casually backstroking through the mesosphere or eating a Hot Pocket direct from the microwave
Nonnie, I loled.

And that last line :D Heart eyes, motherfucker!

Heart eyes, motherfucker!
IT'S ON

Thank you so much, anon <3<3

Anon, this is so great! I love the sparring, or rather teaching scene. I can definitely see Bruce being so very stern and demanding, but also patient enough with him - he did raise and train two Robins, after all, he knows what he's doing. :D

"Don't you ever stop?" he asks.

Bruce's fingers pause on the strap of his watch. "And do what?"
Wow, this line is utterly perfect. Of course Bruce would ask that.

And, incidentally, which one is the radio and which one is the police scanner.)
:DDDD Oh, Bruce. Of course.

He pictures Bruce stepping up close to guide him through a fall and catching his own scent on Clark's skin, and it is maybe a warning that he has no idea how Bruce would react.
I have the biggest thing for people starting to smell like each other because they use the same soap and stuff like that, so I'm very happy right now. :DDDD And Clark thinking of Bruce in the shower ... And I just love Bruce pushing Clark to the side so he can sit on the couch. Obviously not letting it go that Clark doesn't use the bed, and just kind of ... chasing Clark from the couch until he goes and takes the bed is so very Bruce. And awwww, Bruce looking all tired and exhausted and Clark not pushing him, but Bruce still letting him see him like that. You rock, anon author, this fic makes me so happy. :D

/OP

he did raise and train two Robins, after all, he knows what he's doing.

Exactly! He's done this before, he knows the drill. UH OH BAGGAGE.

<3 <3 I'm glad you're still enjoying things, OP!

You'll receive no help from me about that chapter count. ;-)

I love this fiercely. I love how self-aware Clark is becoming, however unwelcoming it may be for him.

I imagine if he did bring a bar of soap, it would be promptly trashed and Clark would still be in his current situation. Bruce is nothing, if not calculating. And Clark didn't make that shake, did he?

And your Bruce is lovely and gruff and fairly uncommunicative. It's interesting getting glimpses of him through Clark, who isn't inclined to speculate about him beyond his past life as a sadistic gym coach.

I also love that I'm learning, too! Ukemi is actually pretty neat too watch.

Thanks for this!

It's quite mesmerizing, isn't it? I ended up watching a whole youtube channel full of aikido instruction even though I won't use 99% of it, haha.

Bruce is cranky and needs a nap :(

(I think I need to revisit that last scene, it's kinda off the mark. Maybe I'll dump a revision in the writing post for posterity, idk!)

Lol, I love the hot pocket line.

I'm actually a little vague on what they are, but by cultural osmosis I have come to understand they contain molten death. :D

Yessssssssss, oh, where even to begin - thank you so much for that teeny hint of praise kink! And then Bruce being all relentless, Clark dealing with soreness and exhaustion for the first time, and that moment with the bodywash is just, YES. YES THANK YOU. And poor tired cranky Bruce, coming home to a sleepy comfortable clean Clark he has no excuse to touch. :( Love love love the "deep weariness" catching Clark's attention. ~~GO BACK AND GIVE HIM A HUG, CLARK~~

Awesome, anon, this is so great and there is no help for you here. I said it before and I'll say it again: FIVE HUNDRED MORE PARTS, PLEASE.

I think some more praise kink is inevitable with this set up, oh what a pity what a shame. :3

Thank you anon! I'm glad the bits that aren't actually sparring aka THE PROMPT aren't terminally boring. :D

Oh my fucking God, this is so amazing, I'd somehow missed these last two parts and hnghhhhhh, you are being so good to me, nonnie, so very good <333

Now I'm just a bit :( that the next part will be the last (say it ain't so!) because this is too delicious not to go on and on. I love the way you write Clark, the way he's ~trespassing into Bruce's intimacy, the way he wants more, wants to earn more. Ahhh, so beautiful.

ILU, nonnie :D

SA

Aha, nevermind me, I'd failed to see how 2/4ish had turned into (4/??!? help) *cheerleads you the fuck on*

There is nothing better than someone slowly wearing away the stoic character's defenses, right?! Especially when the one doing the wearing doesn't want to admit he's got it bad, either :3

<3

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (4/??!? help)