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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Clark's blood is a red wash, crashing in his ears as Bruce stretches over him and rolls his hips forward in one long, slow drag. Clark's underwear is coarse with sweat, the friction just on the right side of uncomfortable, and if he wasn't utterly hard before then he definitely is now. He groans and digs his fingers into the thick muscle of Bruce's shoulders, pulls him down to bring their bodies tighter together.

Bruce adjusts his grip in Clark's hair, loosening his fingers only to push them deep again, tugging at the roots. It makes Clark gasp and arch his back, shoulders braced on the mat, and for the first time he finds some value in his vulnerability.

Bruce catches his neck with his free hand, strokes the length of it with the flat of his palm, humid and clinging, fingertips coming to rest in the hollow between his collarbones. "God," Bruce murmurs, "Clark." One sounds more reverent than the other.

He leans in and kisses the knot of Clark's throat, at first just the soft touch of his lips and the graze of stubble, but then he scrapes his teeth over Clark's skin, fastening into a hard suck that feels immense in its possessiveness. Clark wonders which of those is Bruce, which might be the Batman. He makes a lost noise and swallows convulsively; Bruce's mouth rides along with it before releasing him.

"Gorgeous," Bruce says into the corner of Clark's jaw. Clark just lets out a breathless laugh and turns his face into Bruce's hair, lets one hand slide from his shoulder into the small of his back, urging him onward. Bruce rumbles wordlessly against his shoulder and moves against him, leisurely but deliberate, each thrust pushing Clark down until the mat beneath them has no more give.

It's suddenly overwhelming, the heat of Bruce's body and the sticky, vital press of his skin. Clark can hear the tachycardiac pounding of his heart, the tiny noise he makes on each exhale, the crinkle of the vinyl mat. He can feel the irregularity of his scars as their chests slide together, and against his cheek, how the gray at Bruce's temples is coarser than the rest of his hair. He can taste Bruce's sweat in the air, smell the warm note of it threaded in his hair and under that, the fougère aroma of his body wash.

"Bruce," he says, desperation making his voice waver. A familiar liquid heat is coiling tight in his stomach, overstimulation driving him recklessly toward orgasm. He squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm gonna--I can't--"

He feels Bruce peel away, push himself up and brace both hands either side of his head. "Then don't," he says, doesn't even falter in his excruciatingly slow rhythm, wearing at him with all the patience of the ocean. "Look at me." A shift of his weight, mat settling unevenly, then Bruce brushes his knuckles against Clark's cheek, solid and real to the ghostly counterpart in Clark's sense-memory. "Clark, look at me."

Clark opens his eyes, finds Bruce staring down at him with the startling intensity he usually reserves for an intricate problem, or when he wants his own way and he wants it uncontested. His hair is damp and clinging to his forehead, his mouth tensed with anticipation, spreading into a small, captivated smile as Clark struggles with his next breath, jerks against him, coming hard enough to make fractals spark at the edges of his vision. It soaks his sweats, and Bruce smears it between them as he moves.

"Hnh." Bruce stops to slick his fingers through it. "Is that--do you always…?"

"...yeah," Clark says, once he can find his voice again. Maybe he should have given Bruce a heads up, but he can't seem to feel embarrassed about it, for once. He lets his head loll back onto the mat, curls his fingers around Bruce's wrist, guides his wet fingers to his lips. Licks them. "Messy. Sorry."

"Ah," Bruce says, as though he's just figured something out, then he swears under his breath, tucks his forehead against Clark's shoulder and goes utterly still. Clark hears the wild spike of his heartbeat, feels his muscles draw tight. He pulses heavily, once, twice--and then he groans, loud and staccato.

Clark could stand to hear a lot more of that.

He steadies Bruce while he sinks down on top of him in a controlled collapse, lets his fingers roam over the back of his neck and down his spine, over a shoulder blade. He traces out the curved edge of an old knife wound, thumbs an indentation that's all that remains of a bullet hole, maps out the history of Bruce's body and all the stories he'll never tell.

*

"You're still hard," Bruce says, most of the way up the steps to the bedroom, where Bruce has paused to push Clark against the wall and scrape his teeth over his jaw. Clark clings to Bruce's shoulders and tries not to notice that they haven't kissed yet.

"That's--" Clark says, and sucks a breath in through his nose when Bruce rests his hand over Clark's dick, traces out the shape of him through the damp material of his sweatpants. "That's normal, too. Takes, um. Takes a few."

"A few," Bruce echoes, makes a face like he can't decide if that's a gift or a curse--it's something Clark is ambivalent on, depending on the circumstances. Today he's feeling a little dizzy at the prospect. Bruce rubs his knuckles along the underside of Clark's length, through the fabric. "How rapidly can you...? Are you still sensitive?"

"Kind of." Enough that even a light touch is electric. Clark arches into his hand, tilts his head to chase the warm wash of Bruce's breath on his lips. He is close enough that Clark could flick his tongue against his mouth, taste him. Maybe taste himself there, too.

"Could you come again, right now?" Bruce whispers, and there's a shade of something like awe in his voice. "Would it be good?"

He can and he will, if Bruce keeps touching him like this. "So many questions," Clark says instead. "Always the detective."

Bruce laughs, short but rich, brushes his nose against Clark's face. Then they're moving again, stumbling into the half-dark of the bedroom, lacework shadows cast over them by the trees outside.

The aircon is on, chill air raising goosebumps along Clark's arms and making him shiver even with the close press of Bruce's body. He is feeling more uncomfortable by the moment, sweats clinging to him and leaving a mess when they tumble onto the bed together. He edges away from Bruce, enough to gesture down at himself and make a disgusted noise. "Your sheets."

"Don't worry about it," Bruce says. He moves to kneel, inching Clark's sweatpants and underwear off him one small tug at a time. He tosses them into a corner then stretches one arm out to comb his fingers through Clark's hair, then rests that hand on his sternum for a moment, over his heart. He looks Clark over, subtle gradations of lust phasing across his features, then he bends to kiss the jut of Clark's hipbone. "You are filthy, though," he says, approvingly.

"Shower?"

"Won't be necessary." Bruce pushes between Clark's knees, encourages him to spread his thighs wide by stroking his hands up the inside of his legs. His thumbs trail either side of Clark's dick, but don't touch at all. "Later," he amends, then ducks down.

Clark's breath catches when Bruce drags his tongue up his inner thigh, into the crook of his leg and then presses behind his balls, indecent hot strokes over the sensitive skin there. Bruce's fingers slide in his tongue's wake, passing over his ass, dipping gently against Clark's--against him.

"Bruce," he says. It comes out a little needier than he intended.

"Can I?" Bruce says, teasing gently, finger slick with--Clark knows what he's slick with, and it takes everything he has not to pull Bruce over him and race him to endgame.

"God, yes," he groans, and then Bruce presses firmly with one blunt finger until Clark opens up for him, wakes intense darts of sensation that fade and spread in tendrils of warmth. "Fuck." Clark grabs at the sheets and rolls against Bruce's hand, pushing him deeper.

"Steady," Bruce murmurs, "take it slow." He pins him with a hand on his stomach, resting feather-light. Then, with almost clinical fascination, says, "I don't think I've heard you swear before."

"That's probably because," Clark manages, "you've not done this to me before, either."

"I'm enamored by the correlation." Bruce slides his finger out in an agonizingly slow drag, eases a second finger alongside the first when he returns.

"I bet you are," Clark says, losing his grip on the last syllable as Bruce leans over him, predatory, and curls his fingers just so. Clark swears again, as much performance rather than pure impulse this time, even if the jerk of his hips is beyond his control. The look on Bruce's face and the sudden firm thrust of his hand is worth it.

The ache in Clark's muscles has settled outside of his consciousness, leaving nothing but pleasure, uncomplicated and direct, just the stress of Bruce's knuckles against his skin, the pads of his fingers stroking inside him, his quiet words of encouragement, his curious observations.

He is so hard he feels like he might split, and when Bruce turns his wrist and finally picks up a steady rhythm--gentle out, hard in--he feels the wet slip of precome beading against his stomach. When he tries to stroke himself, get a little relief, Bruce pushes his hand aside.

"Please," Clark mutters. "Touch me?"

"I am touching you," Bruce says, and Clark clenches around his fingers at the stern rumble of his voice. "You can come just from this. Can't you, Clark." It's not a question, exactly.

Clark shudders and tries to keep his breathing even, timing it with the rhythm of Bruce's fingers, the constancy of his heartbeat. In, out. In and out.

"Just a little more, Clark," Bruce murmurs, "I know you can take it." He presses in another finger, stretches him wider, presses hard--and that's Clark's limit, that's when the twist and push of Bruce's big, clever hands sends him over.

"Bruce," he gasps urgently, almost sitting up with the way his body folds around the first strong spasm.

"That's it," Bruce says, and cups his face. "That's it. Come on my fingers."

Clark turns into Bruce's palm and does as he's told, tightening around him while he goes into colorfully explicit detail on precisely what he'd like to do to Clark, how good he is, what a disgraceful mess he's making.

It seems to last forever, tiny aftershocks shaking Clark's body even after the main event has passed. He is left in a state: sticky and wet, trembling with satiation.

Bruce settles alongside him, propped on one elbow. He looks immensely pleased with himself.

"You're obscene," Clark informs him, once he can get his mouth around the words.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read," Bruce says, "but consider what might have its roots in the truth." He leans in, then hesitates. Clark waits, expectant and then impatient and then a little queasy, and finally closes the gap himself. He kisses him, just a soft press of his lips, borderline chaste.

Bruce sighs, rests his forehead against Clark's. "Tired?"

"Mm. Feels like my powers are burnt out again, for now."

"Then sleep," Bruce suggests. He runs a hand over Clark's stomach, pauses to examine the evidence he has collected. "Hm. Okay. Shower, then sleep."

That was astoundingly hot.

Clark waits, expectant and then impatient and then a little queasy, and finally closes the gap himself. He kisses him, just a soft press of his lips, borderline chaste.

You had me a little worried that it was going to get angstier when Clark mentioned they hadn't kissed early on, so I was waiting for this right along with him. <3

Aw, what's fanfic without a little angst, anon? :D You know Bruce and his ~feelings.

Thank you <3

Guh... I think I need a glass of ice water... :-)

I'm not sure if it's intentional on your part or not, but some of the things I've read seem familiar--from the other prompts for Matches to drunken Clark; it might be my imagination assigning meaning to a coincidence, but it's like a multi-fill in this one lovely fill of happiness for me. :-D

Either way, all that matters is that I love this so much!

On the note of the shower, I can only picture that certain scene and am so looking forward to the next part!

Clark opens his eyes, finds Bruce staring down at him with the startling intensity he usually reserves for an intricate problem, or when he wants his own way and he wants it uncontested.

Guh! I love how Bruce is already taking control and Clark in...ahem...hand.

He pins him with a hand on his stomach, resting feather-light.

And Clark's easy submission to Bruce even when his pretty begging only gets him semantics. ;-)

The chaste kiss after everything they've done. Ah! How hesitant Bruce is to initiate that intimacy, just...guh!

And "Don't worry about it," said with such surety of a person who does not wash the sheets. I'm sure Alfred will be thrilled. ;-P

In case my babbling was unclear, I love this so very much! I love how you write! Thank you so much for sharing it!

Haha, I suppose I have dragged in a few extra prompts here and there. What can I say, meme is very inspiring. But by no means is this black hole of a fic a suitable replacement for moooore poooorn, so I hope they all get fills as well!

Alfred... Alfred is not thrilled. By any of this. :P

Thank you anon, I am very glad you're still enjoying things <3

Anon.

Anon.

I've spent a lot of time on a lot of kinkmemes, but this is straight up for real the hottest gotdamn thing I have ever read. Holy shit. I don't even know where to start. Bruce's fascination with Clark's physiology and how much he's obviously kinking on it, the pitch-perfect dirty talk ("Come on my fingers." HNNG OH GOD), everything about Bruce's orgasm, and last but DEFINITELY not least, Bruce finger-fucking Clark with his own come.

All in all I rate it a 10/10 on the intensity scale. You da MVP, anon. Bravo, bravo.

My dude, my nonnie, that is high praise indeed. IME the hotness of porn definitely has a strong link to how much you care for the characters so obvs you are a big fan ;D

I'm so glad this hit the spot. <3

I want you to know that no matter how many superlatives I packed into this comment, it would not do this update justice. orz

THAT SAID, O. M. G. Anon, what an immense gift you are - of course all the other anons are 200% correct that this is sizzling hot, and yet the things I want to paste into this box most are lines like wearing at him with all the patience of the ocean and the history of Bruce's body and all the stories he'll never tell and I'm enamored by the correlation - every little piece that makes this THEM in particular, just, oh, my feelings. Your description of the sensory input Clark's picking up while partly powered is amazing as always, and all these perfect little touches, Bruce kinking so hard on all these aspects of Clark in particular, the hint of praise kink, a little comeplay. HOW DID YOU GET SO MUCH IN HERE. HOW IS IT ALL SO FANTASTIC. ♥

Bruce kinking on Clark is my kink :D

tbh this part kind of got away from me--it was just going to be a romp on the gym mats and then snuggling but then they got to bed and then... that happened. OH WELL :D My characterisation gets shaky sometimes and porn can be the worst time for it, so I'm glad it wasn't one of those Generic Sexytime moments <3 <3

Thank you so much, you are a delight ♥

Jfc, this is so hot. I love Bruce's curiosity and how fascinated he is with Clark. :DDD And I need more of Bruce talking dirty to Clark, all those obscenities, hehe.

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (13/?)