dceu_kinkmeme | DCEU Prompt Post #1

Go here:
http://watchout4snakes.com/wo4snakes/Random/RandomPhrase

Write a ficlet/microfill based on the words you are presented with. Refreshing until you get something inspiring/ridiculous is allowed and encouraged!

Kick back and be silly! All's fair in love and makeshift prompt generators.

"I remember now," Bruce Wayne says to him two hours and half a dozen glasses of champagne later. The man grabbed him by the elbow a little while ago, apparently to take a moonlit stroll around the Luthor estate. "I do own that one."

"Right," Clark says, clutching his own drink like a lifeline. He takes a sip so he doesn't have to think of anything else to say.

"Which means," Wayne continues, with an air of ostentation afforded to the very wealthy or the very inebriated, "in turn, I own you."

"Oh," Clarks says. "Kay." He notes the way Wayne is slurring his words with some interest. He's not as drunk as he'd like Clark to think. Certainly not drunk enough to hook his thumb into Clark's belt loop like that.

"So what I want to know is," Wayne says, and tugs, frowns, tugs again and this time Clark lets himself be reeled in, close enough to smell Wayne's expensive cologne, the alcohol on his breath--and something earthy that reminds Clark of dark, secret places. The moonlight catches Wayne's eye in a hard glint. "What can you do for me, son?"

... There is nothing about this that isn't perfect, anon. *fans self*

Wow, this is perfect. Bruce with his full Bruce Wayne persona, all arrogant and demanding, and Clark who catches on that Bruce isn't as drunk as he pretends, but still goes along with it. Hot.

And unf, the last line, "What can you do for me, son?" Perfect.

(This hasn't been edited at all, I'm sorry for any mistakes.)

---

Superman doesn't like guns - everyone knows this.

Clark Kent, however, loves them.

--

Clark loves the smell of gun oil and gun smoke. He loves the process of taking a thing apart just to be able to put it back together; he loves the way the carbon blackens his skin, gets stuck under his fingernails.

When Clark was young still, he'd go to the gun shows and barter with the sellers for what he wanted, asked for advice from whoever would give it. Which, in Smallville, Kansas, was everyone.

--

His dad teaches him how to shoot a rifle first - shows him how to find that pocket just off his shoulder and how to lean into the rifle to reduce the recoil.

When he's big enough, he's handed a shotgun. The recoil sends him backwards a half-step and the report is deafening. He loves it.

Then his powers come in and he breaks more guns then he can afford to.

Then he's putting on the cape, and he's staring down the barrel of too many guns - and suddenly the smell of gunsmoke isn't as reassuring as it used to be. Suddenly, when he's hiding himself away on the farm, and he puts his nose to the chamber of his first shotgun - all he remembers is people screaming "Fire! Fire at will!" and he has to pull himself back, put the gun down, and shake the memories from his head.

--

"I know the difference between a Winchester and a Remington," Clark says to Bruce, trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

Bruce lifts an eyebrow as he whirls around in his chair, stopping mid-sentence in his explanation about the weaponry a new gang was using.

"I was raised in Kansas, remember?" Clark continues, stepping forward into Bruce's space. (He knows that Bruce is used to explaining himself, used to working on another level than those around him - so he's not even really angry.) He takes another step forward so that he was standing right between Bruce's legs, then he leans over - bracing himself against the console at Bruce's back. "I'm a farm boy, Bruce, I know my guns."

Bruce's eyes glance down at Clark's lips, before coming back up to meet his eyes. "Tell me then," he says, widening his legs.

Clark brushes his lips over Bruce's jawline, whispers, "Let me tell you about controlled feed action."

---

End.

Unffffff, anon, this is great. I love Clark having a thing for guns that gets ruined a bit by, well, people shooting at him, and then that last scene was Bruce. <3 Now that's some nice dirty talk going on there. :D

Makes me wonder if gun kink could ever be a thing with them, but I think Bruce hates gun too much to want to do more than talk about them in bed. Thanks for writing this. :D

Author Anon

Thank you! We Bruce guns in his dream sequence - meaning it's not really Batman, but *Bruce* who wants to use them (or it cold be just a dream, w/e). Same thing for Clark - he likes guns, but Superman doeant. So that could be a fun thing to play with - a gun kink with side bonus of identity porn.

Oh, anon, this is great! I especially love the sensory details - and the other anon said this already, but the arc of Clark struggling with being shot at (which makes SO MUCH SENSE) and then (hopefully!) starting to deal with it through Bruce is just, YES.

It should have been him.

But Diana had plucked him from Doomsday's spikes, and it had been Bruce and not Clark that had forged into the creature with kryptonite spear in hand. Maybe it was like the papers said, a tragedy but not an unexpected one, the Batman had been careening off the rails and needed this act of redemption. Or maybe it was like Alfred said, somber and red-eyed, that Master Wayne had been very tired these last few years. So very tired.

Either way, doesn't change the fact that Clark is enshrouded in the gloom of the Wayne family mausoleum, bringing a farewell to a man he barely knew and yet whose death has struck him profoundly in ways he can't explain.

Maybe if Bruce was in his place he'd be standing in a Kansas cemetery in the late evening sun. He might linger there with hope in his heart, might whisper his name and believe it could call him from his grave.

Clark, placing wildflowers in a vase, has no such luxury.

Oh, my heart. :'( This is beautiful, so painful in so few words. Especially Alfred talking about how tired Bruce has been hurts so much.

Take my boundless despair as the compliment it is, anon. orz

I love this - it's so good!

(I hope this prompt thread never dies and people keep filling it!)

Superman may be an order above human--swifter than lightning, as solid as a mountain and as strong as steel--but sometimes he forgets that he doesn't have eyes in the back of his head, nor can he be everywhere at once. It's in his nature to consider this a failing.

"Stop beating yourself up, Clark," Bruce mutters, voice so low it's rendered staticky by the modulator. He's limped his way into the cave, the inside leg of his suit dark and sticky when he peels it away. Definitely time to research an upgrade. "It was shrapnel. Difficult to predict."

"But--" Clark begins for what's probably the sixth time, but Bruce pulls him up short with a hand on his shoulder.

"But nothing," he says, pulling off the cowl. He can feel that his hair is plastered to his skull, soaked with sweat. Judging from the look on Clark's face, he doesn't look his best. A wedge of hot metal in your leg will do that. He hauls himself up onto a workbench. "Hn."

"Should I get Alfred?" Clark asks.

"No. To your left, that cabinet. Grab the box in there for me." Suture kit, bandages, antiseptic. Bruce cleans up the smeared blood so he can see what he's doing, then spreads his legs wide, takes a couple of quick breaths and pulls the wound together with a loop of suture, tongs and curved needle sure in his grip.

He glances up to find Clark watching him, undisguised awe on his face.

Unffffff, I love this. Clark beating himself up and Bruce gruffly reassuring him, Bruce reflecting on what he looks like right now, and then feeling safe enough around Clark to just strip down and take care of his wound. And then that last line, yesssssssssssssss. :D

Yessssssssss, wonderful - this packs so much into so little space, anon, I'm in awe! Clark blaming himself, Bruce (BRUCE, OF ALL PEOPLE) telling him not to in his Bruce way, and the last line is just yes, YES. What a great snippet!

The Committee for Superterrestial Defense had been deadlocked on the salvage rights for the Kryptonian spacecraft for months. Call it a lack of imagination, but they simply could not understand the full ramifications of a technologically superior, hostile alien life, and anxiety ran high about awarding the contract to the wrong company. So the committee bickered and wheedled and counter-proposed. A motion to increase their salary passed 15-2. Business as usual.

The public clambered for news about the alien technology as the alien himself flew around the world in form-fitting armor and a little red cape.

Still the committee dragged their heels. Then little red cape rescued two schoolbuses from a sudden volcanic fissure, and the pressure was on.

The senior senator from Washington felt the squeeze from the White House, and he put the squeeze on the committee. Choose some company--any company--to award the technology rights.

Promising bids pulled with apologies and stammered apologies. Lex Luthor's latest proposal read like a Iain Banks wet-dream, with no less than five pages devoted to hovertrains. But as all of the other bids evaporated, it was only satisfactory choice left. Before the steering committee released the General's body into Lex Luthor's custody, they suffered themselves to hear one more bid.

Lucius Fox talked a good game on Wayne Enterprises' behalf. Department of Defense lackies were given the appropriate tours, practically drooling over the state-of-the-art equipment in Wayne Biotech labs. Bruce Wayne had even put in an appearance at Capitol Hill that hadn't shamed or embarrassed his company's good name.

All in all, Wayne had a solid bid.

There was just one problem.

Wayne Enterprises (Bruce? No, what would a world renowned playboy care about research contracts) wanted the body, and refused to share.

With anybody.

* (B) *

On the day the steering committee decided to say yes to Lex, the senior senator from Washington hosted a party in Metropolis at the Met. Under the watchful eyes of Matisse and Van Gogh, partygoers nibbled finger-foods and laughed (discreetly). On a whole, it was one of those to-dos where Capitol Hill rubbed elbows with the urban elite, and everyone who attended came away with a little more faith in the political process, and everyone who didn't couldn't feel the gears of democracy creak along just a bit smoother with extra money greasing its joints. Everyone was such a good sport, and all of the losing bidders were more than happy to sip someone else's champagne for an evening.

Bruce Wayne ran his eyes across the DC jet-setters and trust-fund set. The billionaire playboy couldn't remember what this party was for, only that he'd not-so-subtly invited himself along as a plus-one to a handsome party whip who had arrived on the red carpet alone, but hadn't stayed that way when Bruce stepped out of the paparazzi to attach himself to the man's side.

There of course could be no motive for Bruce Wayne suddenly ditching his companion inside the party, just his naturally fickle nature. No discernible motive for Bruce Wayne, scion of the Wayne family, glad-handing his way through each of the Department of Defense steering committee members.

Bruce laughed at the jokes about his company's pitch, and picked up a martini glass full of a verdant liquid from the circulating trays. Hey, no hard feelings right? Wayne Enterprises had made the same pitch Lex Luthor made, (minus the monologue about man's Promethean burdens and the five pages of hovertrains). But out of the mouth of Bruce Wayne--his martini glass hovering suspiciously close to one of the more partisan steering committee stooges--WayneCorp's pitch sounded lascivious, unscientific, wrong. The stooge made an off-color joke about dead bodies and one of the more baseless rumors about Bruce's sexual appetites.

Monologuing seemed catching, and Bruce stopped himself before he launched himself into a Luthor-esque tirade. Junior raised a glass at Bruce from across the room. Lex had the same shark grin as the company's first CEO, and in the privacy of his mind, Bruce found himself conflating the son with the father.

The General’s body arrived in Luthor's lab the next day.

Meanwhile, Bruce helped towel the martini off the stooge's lapels...really, what were the chances that an appletini would stain gabardine?

* (B) *

But let's not lose focus on the party. Bruce Wayne may not have remembered why he was at the Metropolis party, but the Bat did. The Bat had a plan--an oldie, but a goodie. Bruce lived for a well-executed plan; it kept him from feeling his forty-five years.

This plan had several parts.

Step One. Identify the most objectionable committee stooge.

Objectionable committee stooge behavior can be identified by unnecessary toadying, fund grubbing, overt moral hypocrisy.

Bruce observed a junior senator from Louisiana fiddled with his wedding ring, then slipped it into his pants pocket as the Kane heiress brushed up against him on her way to the side-exit. Good, not great.

A junior aide to the senior senator from Washington was hitting up funds from Queen Industries. Promising, but not high enough to warrant a--

And there was the man himself, the senior senator from Washington, pressing the flesh with Lex Luthor. He didn’t pat his pants pockets nervously overtly, but his fingers brushed the outside of his pocket in Lex’s presence too many times to be a coincidence.

Step Two. Aggressively flirt to keep the stooge in a state of discomfort.

A hand on the shoulder, a few seconds longer than it needed to be. A brush of hips against the other’s side, that couldn’t be seen as entirely accidental. Prolonged eye contact. Sip the drink. Smirk. Assess.

Step Three. Confirm only borderline-distasteful rumors. Remain vague about the more niche ones. Who knows when Bruce Wayne's taste for fire cupping might come in handy to explain a strange set of bruises?

“Why Bruce, I didn’t know you had such an interest in frozen bodies.” The senator smirked. “Does this explain your trip with Miss America to the Antarctic next month?”

“No, but I hear that Etyanna’s does brisk business in that line of work, senator,” Bruce quips back. “I should ask her the next time I’m in the neighborhood.” The joke’s not especially witty. But Etyanna’s brothel, catering to ultra-high-end clientele is just infamous enough on the Hill to make the senator double-take, eye Bruce just a little more closely, wonder just what a man like Bruce Wayne might spend a hundred thousand dollars on for an evening.

Step Four. Lure stooge into a sense of camaraderie by laughing at tasteless joke. Especially if it is about Bruce Wayne’s borderline-distasteful media presence.

The speculative looks faded as Bruce Wayne got a few more drinks into the senator, and they moved on to sports (neither of them watched anything), models (Bruce wasn’t particularly interested, the senator seemed to be politely disinclined), and foreign policy.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about how thorny inter-agency space travel has become in the wake of the Incident,” the senator said. “I suppose you wouldn’t know about inter-agency anything, unless you were entering the agency.”

Bruce tried not to die inside as he laughed.

Step Five. Spill a drink down stooge's suit, lift a keycard during the awkward patting down that follows.

Bruce couldn’t even bring himself to feel remorseful (see: the flashburn of horror left over from step four.) , as he watched in slow-motion: his arm came up, a socialite brushed up against him on the way to the hors d'oeuvres, and Bruce exaggeratedly slumped against the senator, the glass tipping its contents against the senator’s jacket.

The scene played out clockwork from there: outrage on the senator’s part, a very hangdog look on Bruce’s, a golly-gee routine that shouldn’t earn him any points, but the senator’s very drunk and Bruce looks very drunk too. Minutes later, Bruce and the senator are as chummy as a bat vigilante and a badly punning stooge can be, and the keycard to Lex’s lab complex is tucked snugly in Bruce’s inner jacket pocket.

Step Six. Remove Suit jacket. Offer to pay for dry cleaning.

Bruce even manages a genuine smile when he suggests that he can pick up the dry cleaning tab. If he weren’t selling out Earth’s best interests to Junior, he might kind of like congressional stooge. But he’s making good now, isn’t he, even if he doesn’t know it. Bruce offers him a handkerchief when congressional stooge is suddenly sweating, and excuses himself to the bathroom to run his cell’s RFID cloner.

Step Seven. Return keycard to suit jacket after card RFID has been cloned. Leave jacket on the back of random chair at host's party to divert suspicion if absence of keycard has been noted.

Step Eight. (and this is key to the entire operation) Do not under any circumstances actually pay for dry cleaning.

It was a preventative measure, really. If Bruce Wayne paid for the dry cleaning of every society wonk he poured a drink down, the Wayne Family trust wouldn't survive the year.

* (B) *

After three guards have been tied to their security terminals and the lab cameras have been disabled, Bruce slipped through the halls of LexCorp like smoke. The keycard bypassed the last three security layers. A satisfying chirp accompanied the final security lock as the cryo-storage room opened.

Bruce stood in front of the dead general. He had access to Zod's body for twenty minutes before an alarm would trip. Twenty minutes before Luthor could lay a finger on anything kryptonian. A lifetime for the Batman.

He spread his collection kit on the counter.

...How the hell is he supposed to get a sample off an invulnerable slab of extraterrestrial, anyway?

Bruce sighed as he lowered his bat-cutter, now mangled beyond repair. He really liked the tactical high-energy laser attachment. He’d have to hide the next one in the R&D budget. The Batman ran his tests as quickly as he could, muttering something about the fate of man who doesn’t equip for a backup plan.

When Bruce slipped out of the building nineteen minutes later with an astounding array of data loaded into his jump drive, the alarms did not trip. The guards woke later with a hole in their memories, but they chalked it up to bad booze and the boss was none the wiser the next morning when the the General’s body was wheeled from cryo-storage into his lab, the gleam of victory in his eye.

* (B) *

Step Nine. The Wrap-Up. Wherein the plan is judged by the fruits of its labor. All good swindles have a Step Nine. And Batman was nothing if not a consummate planner.

(Even so, more often than not, the Bat skipped this step, as the number of his plans that required new plans to deal with the contingencies his previous plans had created was, well, depressing even for a revenge-fueled vigilante.)

It took months before Bruce had worked out what Step Nine to his Prevent Alien Tyranny plan had even been.

It finally occurred to him, as Superman stood before Batman, the Bat crouched on a gargoyle, and the Kryptonian floating in his house’s shield, color high and eyes blazing (figure of speech) so clearly not dead, that step nine might require more of him than he could reasonably be expected to give.

“You look good,” he said, because at that point, Bruce Wayne wasn’t actually thinking, and his plans weren’t actually planned, but the words had come out of his mouth and he couldn’t recall them through force of will.

“Don’t break my city,” he added after another moment of thought.

The boyscout grinned like he’d won the lottery *and* discovered the true meaning of Christmas--he had just come back from the dead, so even drying paint must seem miraculous, in context--and Bruce felt something odd vibrate in the region of his heart.

God...he was going to need another plan, wasn’t he.

This was so great! Some of the lines were just killer--the whole thing about the dry-cleaning cracked me up, and Bruce's plans to deal with his contingencies is so very Bruce.

The boyscout grinned like he’d won the lottery *and* discovered the true meaning of Christmas--he had just come back from the dead, so even drying paint must seem miraculous, in context--and Bruce felt something odd vibrate in the region of his heart.

God...he was going to need another plan, wasn’t he.

Oh, Bruce. I don't think you're ever going to be able to plan enough to fully take Clark into acccount.

Oh wow, thank you! I wanted to do a humor piece, and this being the kinkmeme, I felt a little abashed that I'm not exactly the best kink/smut/porn writer. (LOOK AT ME BLUSH AS I WRITE THE MOST AWKWARD SEX EVER. Okay. Maybe not RIGHT now. But it's going to happen. And soon.) So I was like, "hey mini-fill, how can this go wrong?"

I don't think this is a mini-fill anymore, as I consider writing a part two and three to this fill. xD

Aww, I love this! Obsessive planner!Bruce is great, and that last part is just the best thing ever. :D

I am so glad that you agree, because I was like 'KEEP WRITING WORDS UNTIL SUPERBAT HAPPENS DAMNIT, OKAY, I GOT BRUCE THE VERBAL EQUIVALENT OF BLUSHING THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT'S GOING TO GET FOR MY FIRST SUPERBAT.'

Thank you so much for reading & commenting. All of you very lovely nonnies convinced me that a) this wasn't horrible and b) wouldn't get me laughed off of AO3.

*offers a totally free, totally awesome hug*

This is so great! I enjoyed every minute. Love the irreverent voice, Bruce's thorough, logical and contemptuous approach to everything. <3

YES, OH THANK YOU FOR THIS NONNY. Irreverent. That's exactly the tone I was trying to nail. Something about Ben Affleck as Bruce Wayne really pushes hard on my cynical/jaded/funny buttons. I think I've watched him in too many Kevin Smith movies, because I just love this man's acting.

(And I think that some British inflected humor soaked in, and if it did, I blame it entirely on Alfred. ENTIRELY.)

I mentioned it upthread, but all of the lovely responses here convinced me that I could post this off anon on AO3 and not get laughed out of the fandom on my very first try, so I must send the hearts back you for commenting. It really lifted my spirits. <3 x thank you kindly!

I'm repeating all the other anons, but then you deserve to hear this again, so. :D Awesome fill! Love Bruce working his way through the plan step-by-step, love his inward observations of the game he outwardly is playing as hard as anybody, and love love love the ending. OH BRUCE. THERE'S ONLY SO MUCH PLANNING CAN DO. :DDDDDDDDD Just delightful!

This was the hugest ego-boost, nonny. I'm not generally a writer; I'm an artist, and when I DO write, I crank out the angst. To an almost hilarious degree. But the defining essence of superbat, and comics media in general is humor. Dark, dry, bitter, cynical, irreverent, just... ANY kind of humor. I may in fact have indulged a little hard in it for this fill, but Ben Affleck's voice is one that I associate really strongly with the work he's done with Kevin Smith. So I channeled the Batfleck, and this is where I ended up. It's a crazy, crazy world nonny. THANK YOU FOR JOINING ME IN IT.

HEADS UP, TWIRL HUG INCOMING (THAT IS IF YOU WANT IT).

*Hugs, twirls you around*

Thank you so much nonny! 8D

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Flashfic Challenge

Flashfic Challenge fill: lofty ownership

Re: Flashfic Challenge fill: lofty ownership

Re: Flashfic Challenge fill: lofty ownership

Flashfic Challenge - "returnable rifle" a.k.a. "Clark Kent's Gun Kink" (Oops)

Re: Flashfic Challenge - "returnable rifle" a.k.a. "Clark Kent's Gun Kink" (Oops)

Re: Flashfic Challenge - "returnable rifle" a.k.a. "Clark Kent's Gun Kink" (Oops)

Re: Flashfic Challenge - "returnable rifle" a.k.a. "Clark Kent's Gun Kink" (Oops)

Flashfic Challenge - ghostly monosyllable

Re: Flashfic Challenge - ghostly monosyllable

Re: Flashfic Challenge - ghostly monosyllable

Re: Flashfic Challenge - ghostly monosyllable

Flashfic Challenge fill: guilty stitching

Re: Flashfic Challenge fill: guilty stitching

Re: Flashfic Challenge fill: guilty stitching

Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle

Re: Flashfic Challenge Fill: Preventative Swindle