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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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Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-29 03:46 pm (UTC)(link)--------
Bruce knows Clark is stubborn – it’s not as if he wasn’t aware of it before now. Still, he can’t quite bring himself to believe he’s so bloody-mindedly obstinate as this.
“Sorry, Alfred, it sounded like you just said Clark went out walking around the lake today.”
Alfred’s facial expression doesn’t change even slightly. “You know perfectly well that I did.”
“And you didn’t stop him?”
Alfred just raises an eyebrow, which is all the response Bruce knows his question deserves. It's not in Alfred’s job description, nor his nature, to stop grown-ass men who ought to know better from taking a walk on a rare sunny afternoon, no matter how little sense of self-preservation that grown-ass man might have. And from what Bruce has seen, Clark’s is verging on none.
“If it puts your mind at ease, Master Bruce, Mr. Kent returned to the house a little over an hour ago,” Alfred tells him, and Bruce grinds his teeth a little.
As he turns away, he swears that the pair of them, Clark and Alfred, are running a campaign to drive him out of his mind. He should have seen this coming, he supposes – he really should have known. Alfred doesn’t approve of the solitude he’s been imposing on himself lately, and Clark… well, Clark thinks he’s doing the right thing, when in fact he’s doing the exact opposite of that. Clark doesn’t want to impose, and will think that perhaps Alfred will resent the extra work his presence here represents.
As he climbs the steps that lead up from the Cave and into his study, Bruce thinks about how much he wants to shake him, tell him that his being here isn’t an imposition – not on Alfred, anyway – and the whole point of having him here was to keep him out of trouble. Swooping in to save him every time some escaped villain gets it into their heads to cause trouble is not exactly Bruce’s idea of a good time, after all, and Clark apparently just has one of those faces that cries out to be victimised. Maybe it’s the glasses.
Bruce pushes aside the panel that conceals the door, before carefully replacing it. The house is silent and dark – the golden afternoon has given way to a very black night. Bruce can almost feel it pressing down on him, making him restless in his soul to be out in it – but first he has to deal with the problem of Clark.
“Clark?” Bruce calls out, hearing his voice echoing through the house.
A cold thread winds its way up through his throat when he receives no answer – it’s not like Clark. There’s been a couple of evenings when he’s actually been waiting for him in the study, ready to ask him How was your day? and Did that meeting you mentioned go well?, persisting with it even after Bruce answers him in grunts and monosyllables.
“Clark?” he calls again, walking quickly – though not too quickly – down the hall, his footsteps loud on the polished concrete floor.
Again there’s no response, and Bruce begins to imagine that perhaps Alfred was wrong (even though he never is about who is in the house and when). Knowing Clark, Bruce wouldn’t put it past him to have attracted the attention of some passing terrorists, or else some sea monster swam its way into the lake for the entire purpose of dragging him out to sea. If a tentacle monster can come from another dimension purely for the purpose of… well, for that purpose, then this doesn’t really seem so far-fetched.
In the end, though, it’s none of those things – when Bruce finally does find Clark, it’s in a heap on the couch, sleeping lying down on his stomach the exact way Bruce told him not to, snoring lightly, glasses shoved to one side of his face.
Bruce stares down at him. His gray t-shirt is rucked up a little, showing the bruise that still mars his side. One arm is draped down over the side of the couch, the other is curled under his head.
“Clark. Wake up.” Bruce knows he’s not speaking anywhere near loudly enough to wake him – not in the apparently dead sleep he’s in. But his throat is still tight when he speaks, the panic – the mild anxiety, Bruce corrects himself – of the last few moments still receding.
In the end, he reaches down, touching Clark’s shoulder. “Clark.”
Bruce wonders how many people have seen Clark, or Superman, like this. Just for once, he looks completely untroubled. His face is unlined – he’s not trying to consider how to solve some problem, or what people might want from him. How he can be the thing people want him to be.
Bruce swallows. He’s about say his name again, when Clark’s eyelids flutter, then open.
“Bruce? I… what’s…”
Clark’s eyes look a little unfocussed, taking a moment to find Bruce’s face in the half-light, then zeroing in on his eyes like a laser. Bruce wonders if he should row back on that observation, given that Clark actually can shoot lasers from his eyes… not that they look like they’re about to start doing that now.
Bruce notes, with some interest, the brown fleck in his left eye – it’s something he hasn’t noticed before, though he can’t really say why. It’s the sort of thing he’d usually notice about someone right away, and file in the back of his mind. It’s the little details like this that mean he can separate one person from the sea of others he meets on a daily basis.
But for some reason, he’s never noticed that about Clark before.
“I was just… I think I was dreaming.”
“That’s nice,” Bruce says, taking his hand off Clark’s shoulder, before, hopefully, Clark realises it’s there. “You should be sitting up. And you shouldn’t have gone out today. Now is not the time for you to be playing Clark Kent, intrepid boy reporter.”
Clark winces a little. “It’s okay,” he says. “My ribs don't even hurt right now.”
He’s slurring a little. Bruce narrows his eyes. “Have you been… drinking?”
Clark shifts a little, evidently trying to maneouver to sit up. “No,” he says, sounding a little sheepish. “No, I… you see, Jimmy gave me… he said it was left over from his uncle’s back surgery, but I didn’t want to take any because he said it was pretty strong stuff, and…”
“Clark,” Bruce says, leaning forward, urgency in his voice. “What did you take?”
“It’s on the table.”
Bruce turns, reaching out to grab the small orange bottle Clark vaguely gestures to. He squints at it in the low light.
“Percocet?”
“Yeah. I guess?”
Bruce stares. He’s going to skin Jimmy Olsen alive for this. The passing on a controlled drug aside, just… giving something like this to Clark….
Bruce takes a deep breath. Or tries to. He tries to remember that Jimmy is not aware that Clark has never taken anything stronger than children’s aspirin before (because why would he ever have needed to), and that he was probably just trying to help a friend who was in pain.
Nope, he thinks. Didn’t work. He’s still going to kill him.
“Bruce, is everything okay?”
Clark has finally managed to sit up, and is looking at Bruce in concern.
No, Bruce wants to say.< i>Everything is not okay. I have a powerless Superman crashed out on my couch and I have a photographer I have to kill and this is not how I planned to spend my evening.
“Bruce?”
Clark wavers a little, reaching out to Bruce’s face, missing, and almost sliding off the leather couch. Bruce catches him, mindful of his ribs – but there’s not a lot he can do, really, except grab him under the armpits before he falls in a heap on the floor.
“Just… sit still. Stay there,” he mutters as he props Clark up on the couch, trying to arrange him in a stable position. “Stop moving around.”
“I can’t… I hate not being able to do things anymore,” Clark murmurs after a moment. “But I also love it at the same time. I suppose that doesn’t make sense.” Clark pauses, and his eyes drift shut. “I can’t hear things, I can’t see things. Not like I used to. But… it makes me realise…”
Whatever Clark realises, Bruce never finds out, because in the next second Clark has drifted off to sleep again, lips parting slightly as he breathes.
Bruce stays for a while, watching, trying to figure out if Clark is likely to list over during the night and if so to which side. In the end, he decides he’s fine, and stands. The night is still young, after all, and he has work to d—
“Bruce?”
He draws in a deep breath.
“What?”
“I think I’d really like to take a bath.”
Bruce is glad the room is dark, because he really doesn’t need Clark seeing the journey his face goes on in that moment. “So take one.”
“Will you… I mean, can you just help me get up? I feel kind of….”
Bruce closes his eyes, licks his lips. There’s a thousand things he could say, but in the end, he only says, “Okay.”
Clark is heavier than he looks – he’s shorter than Bruce, and though he’s mostly muscle, Bruce outweighs him significantly there too. But the dead weight of him against Bruce’s side is still a surprise, and Bruce has to drag him most of the way down the hallway to the bathroom. He props him on a stool and then turns on the faucet, the water gushing out, steaming.
Bruce trails a hand in the water, checking the temperature as the tub fills. He can’t remember the last time he used it. He never has time. Alfred had drawn him baths in the past, but they’d been left to cool, and eventually he’d stopped trying. If Bruce is going to lie down, he’ll do it in bed. And if he’s going to wash, he has the shower.
He glances up to find Clark watching him quietly, eyelids drooping slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely audible above the rush of the water.
Bruce looks away. “For what?”
Clark gestures, a little helplessly. “For… this. For being here. I know you like your space. I don’t like that you have to….”
Bruce doesn’t answer. He stays focused on the water temperature. “Can you take care of the rest yourself?”
Clark blinks. “I, uh, yeah.”
Somehow, Bruce rather doubts that, but – well, he’s not going to undress him –
There’s no need, because Clark is apparently still feeling just great from the Percocet, and he stands up by himself, slipping his t-shirt over his head. Bruce stands, and as Clark’s face is briefly obscured, allows himself to check the bruise on his side. It’s better – he heals fast, even without his powers – and his cuts and scrapes are looking good too.
It’s only when Bruce realises that his eyes are lingering, sliding over the lines of Clark’s body, the roll and bunch of his muscles, that he coughs and looks away. It’s not the first time he’s caught himself like this. But he's always sure he catches himself quickly.
Especially as either because Clark just inherently has no sense of modesty or because he’s still drifting around on a drugged-out high, he’s now removing his sweats.
Bruce removes himself just as quickly, striding to the bathroom door and placing it firmly between himself and Clark. A second later he hears the water splash as Clark gets in, and Bruce thinks of him easing himself into the water slowly, letting it soak into his muscles, easing the aches and pains he’s accumulated during his time of being human.
Bruce swallows. He almost glances around – he doesn’t want Clark slipping and cracking his head open – but then he doesn’t.
He just stands where he is, listening to the water lapping against the sides of the tub, and against Clark’s skin.
“Bruce?” Clark sounds like he’s almost expecting Bruce not to answer.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” he says.
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-29 04:51 pm (UTC)(link)How much do I love Alfred in the middle of these two idiots? SO MUCH. And his reasoned calm is such a wonderful contrast to Bruce's helpless worry, oh, Bruce. /o\ YAY. And, oh, that glorious description of totally relaxed unconscious Clark, MY HEART.
his throat is still tight when he speaks, the panic – the mild anxiety, Bruce corrects himself
BRB LOLING FOREVER. Oh, Bruce.
And you are 1000% allowed to bring Jimmy Olsen back however you'd like, because Clark on Percocet is. a. GIFT. A gift. orz More glorious freaking out from Bruce, Clark being all dazed and soft and talking possibly a little more than he means to, and Bruce helping him draw a bath, ANON. ANON. WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME. HELP. Bruce's incredibly hard-won restraint, oh my god, and forcing himself not to look but still listening to the water, I'm just dead.
This is wonderful and I'm so very thrilled with this entire part, you have no idea. ♥ Thank you so much for EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS.
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-30 03:12 am (UTC)(link)Poor, drugged out Clark and poor, desperately trying to keep it together Bruce. They are such adorable idiots, I love this pairing/fandom/everything.
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-29 05:58 pm (UTC)(link)That's definitely one of the factors for me!
I just continue to love this, and drugged out Clark is so adorable.
And ha ha, there can never be enough tentacles and creatures and baddies to whisk Clark away. Though i imagine that if it were a sea creature then Bruce would be disgruntled if Aquaman came to the rescue for once.
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-29 11:44 pm (UTC)(link)HAHAHA! Aquaman deposits soaking wet Clark on the deck, saying, 'I BELIEVE THIS IS YOURS.'
Bruce grabbing him and wrapping him in a blanket, glaring and saying, 'YES IT IS,' and taking him back into the house.
'YOU'RE WELCOME, BY THE WAY,' Aquaman shouts at his back.
Haha, thank you so much, nonnie XD Your comments are SO much appreciated :D
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-30 01:28 am (UTC)(link)And thank you for the fill! I never thought something like this would come of my half joking prompt!
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-30 03:13 am (UTC)(link)And yes, poor soaking wet Clark, having to get towelled off by Bruce and lectured at the same time XD
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-29 06:17 pm (UTC)(link)There’s been a couple of evenings when he’s actually been waiting for him in the study, ready to ask him How was your day? and Did that meeting you mentioned go well?, persisting with it even after Bruce answers him in grunts and monosyllables.
That is so gloriously domestic. :D Of course Clark would. And then he finds sleeping Clark and worries about him, awwwwwww.
His face is unlined – he’s not trying to consider how to solve some problem, or what people might want from him. How he can be the thing people want him to be.
You just had to give me feels while you were at it. :D And I love that you mentioned Henry Cavill's weird, gorgeous eye with the brown fleck in it. ;)
taking his hand off Clark’s shoulder, before, hopefully, Clark realises it’s there.
Oh, Bruce. Can't have anybody notice you having feelings or anything like that. Gasp. Drugged Clark is so, so adorable, though. Thank you for this. His rambling about his senses, and things he realises, eh? :D AND OH MY GOD, BRUCE DRAWING A BATH FOR HIM, YOU REALLY LOVE US, ANON. (Also, Bruce never finding the time to take baths breaks my heart a little.)
Clark gestures, a little helplessly. “For… this. For being here. I know you like your space. I don’t like that you have to….”
Clark, you sweetheart. <3And then the ending, aw, of course Bruce sticks around, can't have drugged out Clark accidentally drowning, right? Seriously, I love this fic so much. :DDDD
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-30 03:15 am (UTC)(link)And YES, NONNIE, I DO LOVE YOU! I love everyone in this bar, and I SO appreciate all these lovely comments. Thank you!!!!
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-29 06:57 pm (UTC)(link)“Bruce?” Clark sounds like he’s almost expecting Bruce not to answer.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” he says.
Eeeeeeee <333
Swooping in to save him every time some escaped villain gets it into their heads to cause trouble is not exactly Bruce’s idea of a good time, after all, and Clark apparently just has one of those faces that cries out to be victimised. Maybe it’s the glasses.
Everything about this is perfect! <3
Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Six
(Anonymous) 2016-05-30 03:16 am (UTC)(link)Thanks again -- I so appreciate all your lovely comments :DDDDDDDDD