dceu_kinkmeme | DCEU Prompt Post #1

Entry tags:

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.).

Newest page | Flat view | Flat view newest page

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mood whiplash alert D:

Clark's phone vibrates loudly on the nightstand and jolts him awake. He spares a few seconds to let last night sweep over him and settle in a nauseous ball in his stomach, then flails out an arm to catch it up and blearily swipe at the screen until a message pops up.

[5:12] Bruce:
Cave. Ten minutes.

"Jeez," Clark says, and rolls himself out of bed. "Morning to you too, Bruce."

The nausea settles into vague anxiety as he washes, and he finds himself over-analysing the text. It's abrupt--but Bruce is often abrupt. The full-points seem accusatory. Is this going to be a dressing-down? Clark is amazed at how much he can read into those three words. He's agonized less over his front-page ledes.

He's being ridiculous. Even if Bruce had seen him somehow, so what? He wouldn't know Clark was--that Clark was thinking of him.

He lets out a sharp breath then spares a brief glance at himself in the bathroom mirror, half-expecting the guilt to be stamped plainly across his features, but there's only the familiarity of his face reflected back in the steamed-up glass. His worried frown, his wet and tousled hair. His cheeks are maybe a little pink, but that could easily be from the heat of the shower. It's not evidence.

But then, he thinks, I'm not a detective.

*

Bruce evidently hasn't been back long--he's stripped off the Batsuit, but his hair is still flattened from the cowl and there's a smudge of greasepaint on one cheekbone. An angry fresh bruise crawls from under his sweat-damp undershirt, over the swell of his biceps.

"Morning," he says, and throws a pair of sparring gloves at Clark. He catches them against his chest. "Get warmed up."

Clark runs through a series of stretches. He's still sore all over most days, but his body is generally used to the feeling now, and there's some satisfaction in it. It's a good kind of pain, even if it makes him acutely conscious of his vulnerability.

He sometimes wonders how Bruce handles it, whether there is ever a moment of doubt before he launches himself from a dozen stories up or into a room full of armed men or against a being orders of magnitude stronger than he could ever be, or if he is simply that undaunted by his own mortality.

(Sometimes when Clark thinks about the hard curl of Bruce's fingers in his hair and the pressure of his glove against his throat it feels like he's on the edge of understanding something, but--)

He raises his arms above his head, arches his back, feels his joints pop and crackle. He shakes them out. Bruce watches him, arms folded.

"You're quiet." Bruce says. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Incredible. Clark unfastens the gloves and tries not to look discomfited. The tear of the velcro straps echoes along the cavern walls. "I thought you liked quiet. How was tonight?"

If Bruce looks deeply unconvinced, at least he lets it go. "Some progress. I tracked a sequencer down in the Diamond District. Got a little ugly for a moment, but I can probably salvage it for parts." He flashes Clark a sly smile, clasps his fist in the palm of his hand, bows.

Clark decides not to dwell too closely on the fate of the sequencer, leans and narrowly dodges Bruce's first lazy strike. He's adopted a boxing stance, something Clark hasn't dealt with before and the rhythm of it is keeping him slightly off-balance. He hops back, hoping to observe for a moment, and Bruce obliges him with a slow one-two caught easily on Clark's forearms.

"Keep your guard up," he says, nudges at Clark's elbow with the edge of his fist. "Higher."

He circles, light on the balls of his feet, and Clark turns to keep him squared. Bruce's eyes flash in the low light and he darts in, swift and clever. A firm hit against Clark's ribs, another deft on the side of his head that leaves him shaking off sparks; the rest he evades or deflects. Clark backs off, gets some breathing room.

Bruce settles back on his heels, gestures for Clark to come at him.

Clark grins in response, wide and easy, and the puts himself on the offensive. He feels the sweat break over his shoulders as he pushes against Bruce's guard, but as much as he tries he can't land anything, each strike twisted away or swept to the side like it's nothing. Bruce goes easy on him, Clark knows that, but the gulf of experience between them still feels staggering.

He ducks suddenly, goes to kick out Bruce's knee but Bruce is on him immediately, one hand on Clark's shoulder as he turns a somersault over him, feet thudding against the mat the same instant his arm goes around Clark's neck, dragging him back against his chest.

"Show off," Clark pants. Bruce laughs in his ear, a low rumble that makes the back of Clark's neck prickle. He swallows, hooks his hand into the crook of Bruce's elbow, tries to pull his arm away, says, "Alright, alright. I yield." He can hear the smile in his own voice.

Bruce resists his tugging, instead pushes him down so he's on his knees, braces his other hand on the back of Clark's head. "Let's discuss chokeholds," he says, casual, as though he's talking about the weather. "I'm going to let you go now. Stay where you are."

His arm relaxes, slides back over Clark's shoulder until only his hand is at Clark's throat, cupping over his larynx. His palm is hot and slightly clammy. Clark swallows, throat jumping under his touch. When he inhales, he can smell Bruce's sweat and the sharp leather tang of the Batsuit. Faint notes of the body wash.

"There are two kinds of chokes: air, and blood. Air chokes are more dangerous, more painful, and less effective at rendering your opponent unconscious. There's no reason to use an air choke over a blood choke." Bruce shifts his hand, fingers and thumb pressing gently against the arteries either side of Clark's throat, under his jaw and god, there's no way he can't feel Clark's pulse hammering.

Clark tries to let out a breath but finds that he can't. His chest feels constricted and he's pretty sure it's the only thing that's stopping his heart from bursting through his ribs. He's not sure he can trust himself to do anything but listen.

"Blood chokes don't need much raw strength, and done right, can put your guy down in a matter of seconds. I'm going to apply a little pressure, so you know what it feels like. Tap out if it gets too much, Clark."

His fingertips dig into Clark's neck, pressing into the thunder of his blood. He feels lightheaded almost immediately, bright patterns sparking over his vision. Clark closes his eyes in an attempt to stop his head swimming, and finally that breath bursts out of him, shaky and loud; the pressure in his chest drops like a hot stone into his stomach.

He reaches back to pat Bruce's thigh twice. Bruce eases up right away, cups his throat again and Clark fervently hopes he reads the responsive shiver as relief and nothing else. There's not much he can do about being half-hard other than hunch over a bit, though. His sweatpants aren't particularly forgiving where that's concerned.

Bruce take a slow, deep breath, then abruptly takes his hand away. "Of course, it's better to use your forearm instead of fingers. Better leverage, quicker takedown, less trouble. Clark, don't worry about that. It happens. Adrenaline."

That jolts an embarrassed laugh out of him. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry."

Bruce shifts slightly. "I want you to try," he says, and moves so he's kneeling in front. Clark peels off his gloves, brings his arm around and sandwiches Bruce's neck in the crook of his elbow. He rests his other hand on the back of Bruce's head, fingers rucking his dark hair. "That's right. Good. Now, lean back and squeeze."

Clark tries. A cold horror breaks over him, cascades down his back. Bruce is warm and vital against his chest. The fragile bones of his neck roll against his arm.

And there is screaming and the collapse of rubble--he feels the blistering heat of laser vision that is not his, smells burning concrete. "No," he gasps. He can't. He cannot. He is trembling violently, can't seem to stop, can't ground himself. Bruce doesn't move under his grip. "No--"

"Clark?"

He feels the vibrations of Bruce's voice against his skin and drops his arm, tries to pull away but Bruce has his hand, has caught it between his.

"Clark!"

*

Chokeholds. I think Bruce is being entirely self-indulgent on this topic; I mean, Clark is staying where Bruce puts him, so why wouldn't he?

PTSD? Or just the weight of guilt on his own conscious inducing a panic attack? It's generally a fine line, if there ever is one. I might be reading into it wrong, so if I am, I apologize. Believe it or not, I'm not usually a staunch subscriber to the 'death of the author.' :-D

Either way I suspect there will be a discussion about emotions coming (between these two it will either be hilarious or heartbreaking and given the content, it'll likely be the latter) with Bruce's usual brand of gruff care.

I am so glad that you have taken on this prompt and have done it so well. I've been stalking this thread like an addict and am always thrilled when you update! I often boggle at the idea that you only intended it to be 4-ish parts--I'm certain it would have been wonderful, but I am so glad you extended it and therefore are spoiling me with more!

Thanks for sharing!

I'd hesitate to pin any term on it, but imo his experience with Zod has got to have left some deep-seated trauma. But yes, "discussion" of "emotions", coming right up :p

And haha, yeeeeah. Initially I thought I'd go: setup > training montage > sweaty adrenaline charged porn > done.

HA. HAHA. Turns out I'm into the awkwardly-living-together conceit. SORRY OP

Oh my god, anon, it's not mood whiplash so much as it is an embarrassment of riches! I love the humor and Clark's nerves at the beginning, and then the middle of this is one big long HNG, from Sometimes when Clark thinks about the hard curl of Bruce's fingers in his hair and the pressure of his glove against his throat it feels like he's on the edge of understanding something on down, gah. All the touching, touching touching and then THROAT TOUCHING, EXCUSE ME WHILE I SWOON PLS, and every single physical detail of the actual choke is just YES GOOD MORE *dies*

AND THEN. THEN. PUNCHED IN THE HEART WITH A FIST FULL OF FEELINGS. OH GOD CLARK IT'S OKAY D:

I know we have a lot of throat kink nonnies around (dat gifset!) so consider it fanservice of sorts, hahaha.

It will be ok! Bruce will take care of him... kind of :D

<3 <3 <3

This is so perfect, anon! Clark feeling all guilty and trying to analyse Bruce's message. Bruce noticing that something is up. And then chokeholds! Bruce being all efficient and competent and badass. Bruce trusting Clark to let him choke him. General throat porn! So amazing.

And then poor Clark at the end! Bruce is going to take care of him, right?

Bruce is going to get him traaaashed. He has been trying to ply him with alcohol from the start, after all (honestly idek why that keeps happening, I just... it just happens?? I DON'T KNOW WHY /SHRUG)

<3 <3

This was the BEST KIND of emotional whiplash, nonny. I'm so excited to see where this goes. Hell, this has been my favorite fill on the kinkmeme so far. I've re-read it at least three times now... your Clark and Bruce are so evocatively drawn. They have a true-to-their-characters connection, and at no point does anyone feel like they're being obtuse (when they clearly are, and that is a wonderful skill that takes a deftness of writing, and a commitment to creating characters that clearly have a world of problems outside of each other. But then, also have The Main Problem. Which is each other.). Just. Thank you for writing.

DUDE. DO YOU HEAR THAT. It's the sound of my ego inflating like a zeppelin. What a massively gratifying comment, imma just lie here crushed by the magnitude of the compliments THANK YOU THANK YOU <3 <3

I'm only just catching up on these last two parts nonnie after a few days away, and I have been HANGING OUT for the chance to read these!! I continue to love everything about this story, and then you had to go and top it all off with a) throat-touching and b) emotional whumpage.

Poor Clark, of course that would set off an unintended association like that, and oh man, I'm guessing Bruce is going to be steaming at himself for unknowingly putting Clark in that position. I adore it all, nonnie, thank you so much for this amazingness :DDDD

Anon <3 <3

I'm so glad you're still enjoying this, I feel like it's getting increasingly self-indulgent as I go along. I'm so lucky the kinkmeme has similar buttons :DD

Bruce is probably going to beat himself up about it later. Mmm, emotional h/c...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)