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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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FILL: Regroup (2/many) -- Bruce/Clark, rough hatesex
(Anonymous) 2016-07-16 02:41 pm (UTC)(link)He hefted the spear into his hands, and waited for his unlikely allies to bring him a monster beyond anything he had faced in the cowl.
Alfred's voice cut into the comms channel. "You shall live, Master Wayne, and tell him in his grave, 'thus thou dies'? Will you kill him after you dispatch your current problem?"
Bruce stared at his hands numbly.
“That’s not the plan anymore.”
The building seethed and shuttered as a god and its monster smashed into the pavement outside.
“Moment of truth, Alfred.”
“You were never meant to slay gods, Master Wayne.”
The Bat grinned; he very much disagreed.
* * *
The joints in Bruce’s shoulder screamed its pain as he held the kryptonite spear steady, and drove it further into the beast. Diana held it at bay with her lasso, its arms tangled up in the impossible golden rope. He felt the moment when Diana’s hold went slack, and Bruce knew that his moment had come. This was the death he hadn’t prepared for, but was ready to accept instead. Bruce’s mind spun through all of his unfinished plans, undone by his arrogance.
He heard the whizz-hiss of the grenade launcher.
And a second before the kryptonite gas could impact, he felt himself caught up in impossibly strong arms, air biting his cheeks as the momentum rocketed them through the ceiling of the MCU. From their dizzy height, Bruce could see the shadows of the building obliterated by a spectacular discharge of light that tore through concrete, steel.
And Superman held him at arm's length, his grip tight on Bruce’s wrists, as if they were wrestling in the air. Or expecting Bruce to land a blow on his face at any moment.
“You meant to kill me tonight,” he ground out, as they flew away from the explosion, but not as fast as Bruce had seen him move. The tone wasn’t accusing; it was utterly exhausted.
An idea curled through Bruce’s mind. He hadn’t seen the fight between the monster and the Superman, but he suspected it had taken everything for him to deliver the creature to the Gotham docks.
Bruce tested the theory. He yanked his arm, hard, from the alien’s grip.
Superman's grip gave out. It was no stronger than a very strong human. He seemed unable to hold Bruce or himself in the sky, and they plunged toward the ground. Their impact cratered the pavement. The suit cushioned most of the impact, and Kal grunted wetly as he took the rest of the Bat’s weight.
What a night, Bruce thought, thrilled. And it wasn't even over yet.
His mission parameters slotted back into the groove they expected the night to take, like a river returning to its course. His blood was up from anger or its nearest equivalent. Violence rolled off of him like a miasma.
He shoved off first, gripped Kal’s hair and pulled his head back. The column of Kal’s throat worked. The rain had stopped, and Bruce felt an odd disappointment that he wouldn’t be able to trace a droplet of water as it raced down and through the grooves of his skin.
“I did,” and he smashed a fist into that perfect face.
Kal’s head whipped around, and more blood spilled down his lips. It didn’t even take kryptonite to break his skin, now.
“You’re a mess from the fight,” Bruce hummed, his body running on pure instinct.
“Bruce,” Kal gasped. “We don’t have to do this.”
The path in front of them was all broken concrete, churned up from their fall, or from the fight that Kal and Diana had fought to draw the beast to Gotham. Bruce advanced, as Kal uncharacteristically, stumbled back across it.
“I had one goal tonight, Kal,” Bruce seethed. “I die, or you do. You had your out. You could have let me—” he doesn’t, can’t say die, not yet.
Kal stopped, drew himself up to full height, and lunged unsteadily at Bruce.
“No!” Kal said as his hands closed over the cowl desperately. “I couldn’t have! Do you understand nothing, Batman?”
“I understand power, Superman—” if he was going to do it, Bruce would throw his title back in the alien’s face. “I understand that you’re not a man. I understand that if there’s even the slightest chance that you decide it’s easier to impose your will, than be guided by our consent—”
“No one else dies,” Kal said. “No one!”
In one smooth motion, he tore the cowl off of the suit. That show of strength cost him, as Kal stumbled back with the helmet in his hands.
The biting cold as his sweat-slick skin was exposed to the night air shocked Bruce out of his anger for just one moment. It was enough for Kal to regain his feet, for his face to become grim. He hovered a foot off the ground. He looked every inch the Son of Krypton. Past exhaustion, past reason, the blood sang in Bruce’s veins. He would do anything to chase that feeling.
Anything.
Bruce crouched and leapt, his fist clanging against Kal’s skin. Superman’s head snapped back as he grabbed Bruce, and rolled them into a clumsy throw. It took only a twist of his body, and Bruce landed on top. Kal groaned then, long and low.
“If you wanted it, I’d be dead already,” Kal said, his voice full of some unnamed emotion. “Bruce!” he gasped.
The comm cracked in his ear. Alfred was all business. He had heard some of the worst moments of Bruce’s left broadcast across the two-way device, and never once broken their mission-critical code of non-interference. Apparently the world’s hero begging (for his life?) was one line too far. “Master Wayne”—Alfred’s cold fury cut through Bruce’s emotional haze—“did you not just tell me that this wasn’t your plan?”
“I know that!” Bruce snapped, at Alfred, or Kal, he wasn’t sure. But he ripped the comm out of his ear, and flung it away from him.
“You’re not a man,” he seethed at Kal, as he brought a hand up to that throat. That beautiful throat. “You’re—you’re—”
He pressed his face into the hollow of Kal’s neck, and inhaled. Sweat, and fire, and blood. He smelled glorious.
“In all of your days to come, I want to you remember—my hand—at your throat”—his voice cracked. There was no time to hear the alarm bells slamming into Bruce’s conscious mind, he’d already gone too far--and then he had nothing left to give, no anger left to sustain him, and he broke under that unbearable lightness.
He bent to the divot in his throat, and dipped his tongue against the skin. It felt faintly warm, and it tasted—it tasted—just as he imagined it would.
Bruce moaned like a man who had nothing left to lose.
Kal made the most confused, half-strangled noise in reply.
Licking the path that a trail of blood had taken, from collarbone to the apex of his jaw, Bruce decided that he wasn’t like a man who had nothing left to lose; in this moment, he simply did not care if he lost what little remained to him.
Kal cried out Bruce again, and bucked so hard he threw them up into the air.
He had every expectation that Kal would let him drop, but he found himself caught up in his arms again, held tight against his chest. He’s deadly silent, and Bruce was too. Superman’s strength was returning—or he burned up what was left of it—the grip constricting second by second. Squeezed to death. Somehow fitting: a ridiculous death for a man with the hubris to kill a god... And by god, but this silence was killing him.
“Say something!” Bruce seethed.
“Can you just—shut-up?” and Kal crashed their mouths together. Bruce opened to him, almost by rote. His brain hadn’t quite caught up with the latest development. Kal… wanted this? Him?
Yeah, okay. He was (maybe) ready for this too.
It was the hardest discipline of warfare, one he had mastered years ago. Bruce rolled his shoulders under the now-familiar suit: inhaled, exhaled. One by one he dismissed all thought of the outside world (Diana, the monster, Alfred) for this new battlefield.
The Bat's preternatural calm descended.
All regrets in their own time.
He pulled back from the frantic kiss, and his smile was all of the Bat’s.
“Oh,” Kal breathed out, reverently, his eyes widening in revelation.
“Oh,” the Bat repeated, and shoulder-checked Kal out of the air. As they fell (and he was more right than not, Kal was operating under a vastly depleted reserve of strength), the Bat shot out a grapple line to catch the nearest roof, caught Kal around the waist, and swung them both into a rough, frantic tumble across the deserted warehouse.
He laid a hand over the crest on Superman’s chest, and Kal—his pupils dilated, his mouth slack—was shattered by lust.
Yes, finally they fought on equal ground. The Bat had brought the battle to the enemy. He leaned town and took the kryptonian’s mouth, as his body sang with triumph.
* * *
RIP that Dark Knight Returns quote.
Re: FILL: Regroup (2/many) -- Bruce/Clark, rough hatesex
(Anonymous) 2016-07-16 03:46 pm (UTC)(link)Kal made the most confused, half-strangled noise in reply.
My feelings exactly.
Re: FILL: Regroup (2/many) -- Bruce/Clark, rough hatesex
(Anonymous) 2016-08-02 01:39 am (UTC)(link)