dceu_kinkmeme | DCEU Prompt Post #1

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

Welcome to Round One of the DCEU Kink Meme!

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

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...I may have accidentally some plot. /o\

Clark's not sure if it's the siren call of frying bacon that wakes him, or if it was the long, raucous growl that his stomach is still making even as he rolls out of bed. He showers as quickly as he can (hesitantly uses a dab of the body wash; does not think about how familiar the scent is already), pulls on jeans and a clean shirt despite his shoulders' strenuous objections, and then does his best to make the bed up exactly as he found it, with limited success. Hospital corners are not in his repertoire.

Clark follows his nose into the kitchen. "Good afternoon, sir," Alfred says, at command of the stove in shirtsleeves and an apron, deftly agitating the contents of a skillet. It smells transcendent. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Afternoon?" Clark turns to look out over the lake. There's no morning fog rising from the water; the sun is directly overhead, sloping through the low clouds. It's almost perplexing, and he wonders if he earned this lazy morning or if it's a holdover from the odd tension of last night. It doesn't seem like Bruce to go easy on him, though he'd buy it as an avoidance tactic.

"Master Bruce sends his apologies," Alfred says, as if reading his mind. "Something came up."

Clark pulls a stool up to the counter and fends off a weird little jolt of disappointment. "Things come up a lot with him, huh," he says, as Alfred sets a plate in front of him and heaps on a generous serving of crisp bacon.

"He does tend to keep his hands somewhat full." A stack of toast materializes, along with a glass of orange juice (freshly squeezed), a mug of coffee (phenomenally strong) and a folded newspaper, while Clark becomes increasingly awkward about being waited upon. "Your eggs, Mr. Kent?"

"You don't have to do that, Alfred," Clark says. "I really don't mind making my own food."

"That as may be, but it's on Master Bruce's orders."

"Oh. Well, wouldn't want to get you into trouble." Clark flashes him a wry grin around a mouthful of toast. "Over easy, then. But! You have to call me Clark, and let me wash up. Those are my terms."

"Oof. You drive a hard bargain." Alfred's smile is small but genuine, and Clark decides that he likes him a lot.

Clark flips open the paper as he eats--it's the Gotham Gazette, naturally--and there's Bruce, glowering below the fold. It's a candid shot of him on the steps of his company's building, jacket unfastened and hair just slightly unruly. Clark doesn't believe for a second he was caught unawares, but his stomach drops anyway.

WAYNE INDUSTRIES TECH LEAKS, the headline declares. CEO SCRAMBLES TO SAVE FACE.

"Like I said." Alfred slides a couple of fried eggs onto Clark's plate. "He has his hands full. Though, I hasten to add, it's not as bad as it looks."

"I don't know," Clark says as he scans the article. He thinks about Bruce's tired face, the tension in his shoulders. "It looks pretty bad." Apparently some prototype WayneTech has shown up on the black market and filtered onto the streets--not weaponry, thank god--but security and surveillance devices. Hugely embarrassing, even for Wayne's dubious boardroom reputation.

"It's mostly under control," Alfred says. "The media got wind of it late in the day. The leak has already been identified and dealt with, and a few more broken links shaken out of the company at that. Bruce just needs to prostrate himself in front of the shareholders for a while and all should be well."

Clark can imagine how much Bruce is not enjoying that. "And the tech?"

"Merely a case of, ah, reacquiring it. Not difficult, just time-consuming."

And Clark knows that if had an ounce of his powers back, he could help. He could pick out a particular broadcast frequency, pinpoint the equipment and have it back in Bruce's hands before he could blink. But he doesn't, and he can't, and it's not a great feeling.

He helps Alfred with the dishes as promised, which Alfred seems to find endlessly amusing for some reason. Clark figures it's because the coffee has kicked in and he's jittering with the over-caffeination. It's a new sensation and one he doesn't care for--he holds his hands out flat in front of him, tries to get them to stop shaking through sheer force of will.

"Hmm. Might I suggest a constitutional, Master Clark?" Alfred says, stowing the last of the cutlery away.

Clark laughs. "Probably a good idea." It would do to loosen up a bit, as well as work off the shakes. A bit of fresh air and what passes for sunshine in Gotham definitely holds some appeal.

"Indeed. While you do that, I have some errands to run. Is there anything you need?"

"I could use some soap," Clark says. Then he has an idea--pauses for a moment to second-guess himself, but decides to cave to his impulse instead. It can't do any harm. "And whatever Bruce's favorite dessert is."

Worst-case scenario, he'll have to eat it himself.

*

Clark jogs along the gravel-strewn road parallel to the lake. It feels good, the sun on his back and the steady rhythm of his own footfalls, his heartbeat and his breathing. It's no Kansas summer, or even a Metropolis one, but he can feel the ache lifting out of his body, transmuting into something bearable.

By the time he has to stop and catch his breath, he finds he's not far from the ruins of Wayne Manor.

The closer Clark gets the more oppressive its broken bones become, and with it a compulsion to see more. He finds himself drawn through the long grass and wildflowers, up into the cool interior. The daylight has been cut away here, laying open the shadows.

Clark turns slowly, taking in the wreckage under the tepid slats of sun: the shattered columns and soot-stained stone; charred beams collapsed against the floor; soda cans and fast food wrappers and graffiti spidering over the walls.

(If he closes his eyes, he might hear the metallic grind of armor, could almost taste his own blood.)

He crouches to track his fingers through the grime. No doubt there was polished marble tile under here, once. Luxurious rugs, wood-paneled walls and chandeliers overhead; host to a hundred soirées, spaces imprinted with the memory of generations upon generations. Gone, now. Left to decay. Seems like Bruce is determined to be the last of his line.

When Clark turns back to the entranceway he's there, silhouetted the door. Bruce, his hands in his pockets, wool coat caught in the breeze. "You shouldn't be here," he says, voice hollowed out and echoing in the gloom. "It's haunted."

Clark is pretty sure it's not the building that's haunted. "Lucky I don't believe in ghosts, then," he says, picking his way out through the rubble.

*

Bruce threatens him with another session of nothing but ukemi, but after a half-hour he is apparently satisfied with Clark's progress. Clark has decided this must be the case because the Batman isn't one for pity, regardless of how many pathetic whimpering noises his victim might be making.

"Okay, enough. Let's move on to something else," Bruce says, after Clark turns a backward roll push up and sticks the landing with a loud groan. Bruce rubs his forehead and mutters something under his breath.

"Headache?" Clark asks.

"You could say that." He links his fingers and stretches his arms above his head, muscles bunching and pulling under his thin black t-shirt.

(Clark had maybe stared a bit when he came down to the cave in bare feet and judo pants and that tee, hair slicked back and wet from the shower, but that's because he's never actually seen more of Bruce than his hands and his face.

He has a lot of scars.)

"Clark," Bruce says, snapping his fingers. "Get your head in the game, son."

"Sorry, sorry." Clark gives himself a mental shake and stops pondering the bruise on Bruce's collarbone. This somehow gets harder when Bruce rolls his shoulders back and stretches again. "What, uh. What are we doing?"

"Kata," he says. "Watch me closely."

"Alright, okay, no problem."

Bruce shoots him an unreadable look and then drops smoothly into a ready stance, knees bent, hands fisted. He flows through a series of forms and strikes, stepping and turning with a precise grace, and it's familiar from any number of movies with karate training montages that Clark watched as a kid.

"I know you're thinking it," Bruce says, sweeping to a standstill and bowing. "So get it out of your system."

Clark grins. "Wax on, wax off, Daniel-san."

"That was even worse than I thought it would be." Bruce shakes his head, then returns to his first stance. "Okay, now you try. Move along with me."

Clark does his best to mirror him as he goes through the techniques--downward block, lunging punch, rising block--and he feels like he's doing okay once he gets the transition between stances down, but Bruce stops him and makes him hold his current form.

"Like the falls you learned," he says, and adjusts the position of Clark's arm with gentle pressure on his biceps, "these techniques will become second nature, embedded in your procedural memory. So, let's make sure we do this right."

"Sure," Clark says, Bruce's hand in the small of his back. Just encouraging him to lean forward a touch, no big deal. Then on his knee, turning his thigh slightly.

Then on Clark's chin, angling his head up so he can see how Bruce is staring at him. He should feel pinned under his critical gaze.

"There," Bruce murmurs. "Perfect."

*

I love how domestic this is. The breakfast with Alfred, Clark trying not to use too much of the body wash and trying to make his (Bruce's) bed all neatly, and his surprise that it's afternoon. Avoidance technique sounds about right. ;) I love that Clark is sad about it even though his muscles probably appreciate the reprieve.

while Clark becomes increasingly awkward about being waited upon.
I always love when this comes up in fics, because of course Clark would just be weirded out by this. And this bit here is so cute: "Oof. You drive a hard bargain." Alfred's smile is small but genuine, and Clark decides that he likes him a lot.

And this: He helps Alfred with the dishes as promised, which Alfred seems to find endlessly amusing for some reason. I love Alfred so much, and I love his interactions with Clark, I do think they'd like each other a lot. Oh, and I love how Alfred explains to Clark what's going on, no questions asked. <3

"I could use some soap," Clark says.
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. ;D But I love that scene of Clark in the ruin of the manor, it's beautiful.

And woot, more sparring! :D (Clark had maybe stared a bit when he came down to the cave in bare feet and judo pants and that tee, hair slicked back and wet from the shower, but that's because he's never actually seen more of Bruce than his hands and his face.

He has a lot of scars.)
UNF UNF UNF. Scars! And I am always here for Clark feeling that it's just so ... intimate to see Bruce in anything other than either a suit or the Batsuit. And Bruce calling him sooooooooooon, yes. Oh, and Bruce touching him to correct his stance is, er, not at all a huge part of why I wanted sparring fic or anything. O:-) And a bit of praise kink to finish it all off. You're wonderful, author anon. <3

Alfred is so great? I love him and his dry snark and for trying to be the voice of reason when Bruce is being grimmer than grim. I am also reading a whole lot into Alfred's "He is not our enemy!" but I don't even care :P

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Ahaha, no fear, nonnie. No despair.

Bruce touching him to correct his stance is, er, not at all a huge part of why I wanted sparring fic
GOOD, because it is also a huge part of why I wanted to write it, so I 100% guarantee this is not the last time it's going to happen :D

<3<3

OH NO A PLOT, MAKING THIS LONGER. HOW AWFUL. :D

The details in this continue to slay me, anon - every little thing about Clark's interaction with Alfred is just lovely (down to him getting Bruce dessert, ♥), and I ADORE poor power-deprived Clark wanting to help but not being sure how to. And then! CLARK IN THE OLD MANSION. BRUCE'S SCARS. BRUCE CALLING CLARK "SON" AGAIN. CLARK BEING A DWEEB. And he "should" feel pinned, BUT HE DOESN'T, DOES HE. Oh, Clark.

Wonderful, anon, thank you so much for this! Every new part just makes me more thrilled by this fill. ♥

CLARK IS SUCH A DWEEB THOUGH! Have you read American Alien? My god. :DDD

he "should" feel pinned, BUT HE DOESN'T, DOES HE
HE FEELS SOMETHING ALRIGHT, and there's plenty of time for pinning later ;D

Thank you for your continued enabling, anon <3 <3

Clark had maybe stared a bit when he came down to the cave in bare feet and judo pants and that tee, hair slicked back and wet from the shower, but that's because he's never actually seen more of Bruce than his hands and his face.
Nonnie, nonnie, one of my biggest ~things is characters perving on other characters even when they're not revealing much because because they're so used to seeing even less of them that even this feels like they're seeing them in their birthday suit. So naturally, this little bit just pressed all my buttons XD

But then again, there is not a single thing about any part of this story that doesn't press my buttons, every new part just makes it better and better, and I love it to tiny pieces. Clark insisting on washing up, trying to do Bruce's bed, and literally everything else -- I am so in love with it. You don't know how happy you make me every time you post :DDDD

Your buttons are my buttons, anon! It's a huge thing with another ship I write and I'm gleefully sneaking a bit in for these two as well. When it works, it works! :9

Thank you anon, I'm so so glad you're enjoying it despite the somewhat oblique approach to the prompt ;D

This is wonderful and delicious and hot. And the praise kink! And Clark finding himself fascinated by the glimpses (literal and figurative) of Bruce he catches! UNFFFFF

Keep up the amazing work, nonnie, I hope there are many, many other parts to come :D

This prompt is made for praise kink, there's no way around it :DD

Bruce is finally loosening up a bit, thank god.

<3 <3

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (5/whatever)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (5/whatever)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (5/whatever)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (5/whatever)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (5/whatever)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (5/whatever)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (5/whatever)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (5/whatever)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (5/whatever)