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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.
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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.
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FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-07-22 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)It's easy enough to let it go unremarked, right then—Bruce tosses the tie onto one of the sofas, and Clark automatically asks him whether Alfred's going to have to pick that up later and earns a sharp wry smile.
And it's tempting to just ignore the whole incident. Bruce has been hitting on Clark since Day 1, pretty much, and it's never been an issue—he hasn't let a lack of response slow him down, even if he also hasn't pushed on the rare occasions when Clark accidentally flirts back.
Besides, Clark's never asked him to stop.
It's—it's nice, is the thing. It's just like all the other vaguely annoying things about Bruce: when Clark's rolling his eyes and turning red at Bruce's suggestive turns of phrase, that means he isn't staring out the window thinking about the silence of space, the muffled quiet of being buried. He hasn't asked Bruce to stop because he doesn't want Bruce to stop. But—
But Bruce could have kissed him.
That's the thought that had been about to crystallize, before Bruce had moved away. The whole picture hadn't quite come together for Clark in the moment: the too-quick throb of his heart, the sudden tingling awareness he'd had of his own skin—of Bruce's face, of Bruce's hand; the way everything had abruptly felt warm and close and quiet.
In the moment, he'd been a step behind. But for all that Clark's vision is probably way better than 20/20, hindsight is still capable of doing him some good.
They say goodbye to Alfred and take the elevator back down—with Gotham painted in shades of indigo now, just starting to come alive with lights—and Clark thinks about it. Bruce has a car brought around, because that's what he does when he wants to go places, and he's telling Clark something about where they're going, whose event it is, but Clark's only barely listening; he's thinking about it.
And then they get in the car, and Clark looks out the window and thinks about it.
Bruce could have kissed him.
He tries to imagine it, and it's startlingly difficult: he knows what Bruce looks like when he's smiling, flirtatious, leering, but it's hard to make the leap from there to actually doing anything about it. Maybe—maybe at that moment when he'd caught Clark's cologne, when his gaze had leapt up like that, his eyes so dark; had he swayed in a little bit? Or—
Or does Clark just wish he had?
Clark swallows, and tries to resist the urge to glance across the car. Thank God Bruce has his phone out—he's not expecting conversation out of Clark for the ride.
Does he wish Bruce had leaned in? If Bruce had kissed him, what would he have done?
He and Lois aren't still together anywhere except as a fading shadow in his own head—at least not until she gets back from Seoul, not until they have a chance to talk everything out for real. It'll take time for them to make it back to being in the same place, literally and figuratively, and that's if they decide they both even are up to trying again.
So—so if Bruce had kissed him, if Clark hadn't moved away from it—that would have been all right. It wouldn't have been anything anyone needed to feel bad about. If Bruce had kissed him, he could have held still for it, could have closed his eyes and let it happen; could even have kissed back.
And that would have surprised Bruce, Clark thinks. He finds himself grinning a little into the tinted window, because this version of things, he can imagine: Bruce making fun of him, mocking him in that half-disdainful way he has, leaning in to up the ante—assuming Clark would pull back in plenty of time, would shove him away and ask what the hell he was doing, when instead—
instead—
The car starts to slow. "Ah, here we are," Bruce says, tucking the phone away again; and his tailor must do something special with the inner pockets, Clark thinks, because it doesn't disrupt the line of his suit at all when he's done. "It's a time-honored strategy for forgetting your troubles, Clark: dress up and help yourself to a lot of very expensive liquor in a room full of people who probably don't like you."
"I shouldn't have agreed to this," Clark tells him. "I can't even get drunk," but when the car door opens, he doesn't hesitate to get out.
"Here" turns out to be a museum; apparently a lot of private donations went into the exhibit that's about to open, and this gala is being held as something of a thank-you.
There absolutely is someone out front with a list—but Bruce swans past the guy easily, Clark at his elbow and a smile on his face, and nobody stops him.
The space is enormous, beautiful, and even if everyone here is exactly as awful as Bruce said they were, Clark's still glad he came. The museum is one of those vast stone buildings that's scattered around the oldest sections of Gotham, gleaming marble everywhere, and it's to Bruce's tailor's credit that Clark doesn't feel underdressed, surrounded by all these glittering people in their ridiculously expensive clothes. Clark wouldn't want to come to something like this every night—and maybe Bruce is so sharp about it precisely because he sometimes has to—but it's a lovely thing to see.
"There you go," Bruce says, depositing a sparkling flute of champagne in Clark's hand, "and there I go," and he snags a second one for himself before the server has passed him entirely. "And yes, you don't have to repeat yourself: you can't get drunk. Verisimilitude, Clark."
"I don't even like the way it tastes," Clark admits—which is true, but he makes himself take a sip anyway. Verisimilitude.
It shouldn't help as much as it does, standing with Bruce in the middle of a room full of people he doesn't know. But he is in the middle, just about, standing right under the huge shining chandelier: he's in the middle of it and they're all moving around him, close enough to touch.
(In retrospect, as much as he loves the farmhouse, it's possible Smallville wasn't a great place to try to fight with feeling isolated and set aside and alone.)
And he doesn't know anyone, but it doesn't matter. He's not supposed to. He stays at Bruce's shoulder, smiles when people look at him, and makes smalltalk here and there when Bruce gets into some deeper conversation with a businessperson or politician. One of the things Clark always loved best about being Superman—aside from being able to save lives, obviously—was just getting to meet people, learning even a little bit about someone he might otherwise never have known; and he hasn't been Superman in weeks.
Which, it had been nice at first, realizing that nobody expected him back and he could take his time. But he thinks he's starting to miss it.
"Another glass, sir?"
"Oh—I, um," Clark says, and then watches resignedly as the champagne he'd painstakingly whittled down to half-full is whisked out of his hand and replaced. "Thank you," he tells the server, smiling, and then glances around for Bruce.
Who hasn't gone far. He hasn't really wandered away from Clark at all, even though he never looks like he's paying much attention to where Clark is. "I thought you might be here," he's saying to a tall woman in a striking dark blue gown, leaning to kiss her hand while she waits with a studied sort of patience, just a hint of amusement in the lines around her eyes—
And then her gaze slides past him to Clark, and her eyes widen just a touch, her chin coming up.
"I did tell you," Bruce murmurs to her, and then turns. "Clark, this is Diana Prince. She ... helped me and your mother with a few things, afterward. Diana Prince, Clark Kent."
Diana keeps looking at Bruce for a long moment, face unreadable; and Bruce looks back and then raises an eyebrow. Diana's jaw tenses for a split second—but when she does finally turn to Clark, her smile is brilliant. "Clark," she says warmly.
She reaches out and it makes him freeze for a second, uncertain—is she expecting him to kiss her hand, too?—but all she does is take his hands and squeeze them, still beaming.
"I'm so glad to see you're all right," she adds, and then breaks off to laugh. "I'm sorry, this must seem very odd coming from a stranger. Bruce told me about what happened to you, about your injury and your memory?"
"Oh, of course he did," Clark says, and then, on a whim, "Busybody."
He judged right: Diana grins. "You have no idea," she tells him, very wry.
The conversation with Diana is the first time all evening that Bruce goes more than about five feet away. He watches them work their way through a few more pleasantries with an odd little smile on his face, and then claps them both on the shoulder and tells them to enjoy themselves.
"It will be easier if you aren't hanging over us like a vulture in dress shoes," Diana observes, and waves him away. "Go on, will you?" and then, pointedly, "I promise not to tell him the truth about how awful you are."
"All right, all right," Bruce says, hands raised defensively, and goes.
"Now," Diana says, turning back to Clark, "I know more about you than you do about me, so you should be asking all the questions—but I'm afraid you must let me have just one to start with. Are you all right?"
As if the answer to that one doesn't change every day, Clark thinks. But he smiles when he thinks it, and that means that maybe Bruce gave him today's answer back on the plane. "I will be, I think."
Diana looks at him seriously—the answer does matter to her—and then says, "I'm glad." And she is: he can see it in the softness around her eyes, the way she holds his gaze so steadily. He doesn't even know her, but while he was gone, she got to know him; she learned to care about him, somehow, even when he wasn't there. Which should be weird, but Clark can't bring himself to mind.
"Thank you," he says, and then has to clear his throat. "My turn now: Bruce mentioned that you know my mother?"
"Yes," Diana says instantly. "Yes, I was also in Metropolis on the day of the battle," and Clark likes how she says that: her word choice, the battle, and her calm steady tone, not hesitating or dancing around anything. "I knew Bruce already, and when I learned what had happened, I—came to help him. And your mother, in the end." She smiles. "You know this already, but she's a good woman, the best. I wish it hadn't happened the way it did, for your sake," she adds, "but I could never be sorry to have met her."
And it's—it's the first time Clark's ever thought about it like that: like maybe some good came out of it all. He mostly hasn't let himself dwell on what it was like to die, because he doesn't want to have one of those little freakouts around Mom. And when he does think about it, it's all—fire and lightning, rubble, the awful sick feeling of touching kryptonite and the sound his bones had made as they broke.
But the idea that it hadn't just been an end, that some things had also started that day, is new. That Mom had lost him, but had found Bruce and Diana, that it had brought them together and let them help each other; that it hadn't all just been destruction.
"I'm not sorry, either," Clark says aloud, and when Diana reaches out to squeeze his hand again, he squeezes back.
It's a good evening. A great evening—Clark almost causes a scene by literally floating with the lightness of it, until he catches himself and eases his heels back down onto the floor. He was telling Bruce the truth, he can't get drunk, but if this is how people feel when they're drunk then Clark can understand why they chase after it sometimes. Diana is kind and easy to talk to, even though she holds herself like a queen, and when the night starts to wind down, Clark skips the hand entirely and kisses her on the cheek instead.
"So you got along all right," Bruce says, dry, from somewhere over Clark's shoulder.
Clark turns and smiles at him, and god, he must look like an idiot, but he just can't help it: he feels so—so alive, so whole and glad and not alone, and every part of that is pretty much down to Bruce. Bruce, who's rude and bitter and ungenerous—except for all the time and money and effort he's spending on putting Clark's life back in order. Bruce, who's ostentatious and wears the wrong cologne and—and touched Clark's throat not three hours ago.
Bruce, who could have kissed him.
Clark thinks it and looks at him and it's like a live wire, the nearness of him, the idea that Clark could close that space any moment and just—
—well, all right, go outside and get back in Bruce's car, first. Bruce says goodnight to Diana quietly, and then to ten or twelve other people really loudly, and then Clark takes his arm and he turns and raises an eyebrow.
"What?" Clark says, and blinks innocently. "Don't I meet your standards for arm candy?"
Bruce looks away, almost a shake of the head, and then wets his lower lip, and Clark only just manages to yank his gaze up in time when Bruce looks back at him to say, "Oh, I think it's safe to say you exceed them, Clark."
He doesn't shake Clark's hand off his arm, not in the museum and not outside; when they get in the car, Clark goes for the near seat instead of the opposite, and Bruce doesn't even give him a hard time.
"So what are you going to do," Clark says once the car is moving, "bundle me back onto the jet?"
"I should," Bruce says, but then he glances at his watch and makes a face.
"Seems a little late for that," Clark says, because it's easy enough to see Bruce is thinking it.
Bruce looks at him, the slant of his mouth full of amusement. "Why, Clark," he says, "are you angling to get invited up for coffee? I don't suppose caffeine has any more of an effect on you than champagne does."
"No," Clark says, "but it tastes better."
Bruce raises an eyebrow.
"With about six creams and six sugars," Clark concedes.
"Dear god," Bruce murmurs, and then, very soberly, "Whatever you do, don't say that to Alfred."
Clark laughs, and that's the moment when he just—lets go. He lets himself lean back into the leather seat and think about Bruce's mouth, all its curves and angles; about himself undoing one of Bruce's buttons, and then another and another and another, and relishes the electricity of imagining it with Bruce not even a foot away.
He lets himself look at Bruce in the elevator: the perfect clean lines of him, the width of the shoulders, Gotham's lights blue and yellow and gold on his face. And he lets himself not feel bad about it. He doesn't know how all this is going to shake out, with Lois and his job and Superman, with everything; but somehow Bruce Wayne has turned out to be the one person who's staying in step with him when everything else is running away. And Clark likes him, and wants him, and that's okay.
So he doesn't waste any more time second-guessing himself, once the elevator dings. He steps out, and Bruce steps out, and the doors swish closed behind them; and then Clark turns around and catches Bruce's face in his hands and kisses him.
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-07-23 03:48 am (UTC)(link)I love all of that stuff at the beginning about Clark actually enjoying Bruce's flirting, and then this: But Bruce could have kissed him. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh. <333
And then Clark can't stop thinking about it, oh my god! In great detail. This is the best thing. And I love them at the party, I love how rich this is, how many details there are.
(In retrospect, as much as he loves the farmhouse, it's possible Smallville wasn't a great place to try to fight with feeling isolated and set aside and alone.)
This made me cackle so much. But yeah, it's one of those things you probably wouldn't realise until after you've left.
Who hasn't gone far. He hasn't really wandered away from Clark at all, even though he never looks like he's paying much attention to where Clark is.
Such a perfect Bruce moment. <3 And oh no, does Clark not recognise Diana? But he's seen her, no? But I do love his conversation with her, Diana is just so wonderful and I always love seeing her. <3
Clark turns and smiles at him, and god, he must look like an idiot, but he just can't help it: he feels so—so alive, so whole and glad and not alone, and every part of that is pretty much down to Bruce. Bruce, who's rude and bitter and ungenerous—except for all the time and money and effort he's spending on putting Clark's life back in order. Bruce, who's ostentatious and wears the wrong cologne and—and touched Clark's throat not three hours ago.
I love this whole paragraph, how viscerally alive Clark feels, how much he downright enjoys those contradictions of Bruce's personality. And that bit about the "wrong cologne", like he already knows what belongs on Bruce and what doesn't.
"What?" Clark says, and blinks innocently. "Don't I meet your standards for arm candy?"
Oh, Clark, you cutie. :DD And Clark's hand on his arm, I am in love. And haha, Clark has no idea why Bruce is concerned about the time, does he now. ;D
And he lets himself not feel bad about it. He doesn't know how all this is going to shake out, with Lois and his job and Superman, with everything; but somehow Bruce Wayne has turned out to be the one person who's staying in step with him when everything else is running away. And Clark likes him, and wants him, and that's okay.
I really love this, that sentence about Clark letting himself not feel bad about it, Clark pushing down on all his brooding and worries and just allowing himself to feel alive and happy and good about the person who's helping him so much. How all that brooding and thinking leads him to the point where he realises that he can have this, he's allowed to. So that kiss feels absolutely beautifully organic. I think with a lot of Bruce/Clark fic their eventual kissing or fucking feels like the accumulation of a lot of high tension, and I love that, but in the scenario you chose for this fic, this much slower, gentler build-up works so perfectly. It just feels right at this point. I can't waaaaaaaaaaaaait for them to bang. And to angst. And for Clark to meet Batman. And angst more. And Bruce angsts. And everyone bangs? Either way I know it will be awesome. :D
/braintwin OP (I love that I've graduated from OP to braintwin OP ;D)
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-07-25 01:25 am (UTC)(link)As always, your excitement and enthusiasm give me life! :D I'm so glad you like their ridiculous flirting, and I really wanted Clark to marinate in the idea of kissing Bruce for basically as long as possible, so. And I'm EXTRA glad that this:
it's one of those things you probably wouldn't realise until after you've left
makes sense to you, because I wanted to make it clear that Clark kind of WAS in a rut and really did need a change in perspective. :D
And oh no, does Clark not recognise Diana? But he's seen her, no?
... Technically yes! I admit it, this is a bit of a handwave - but he only saw Wonder Woman for the first time in the middle of Stryker's basically right before he died, so I figured it wasn't too big a stretch to think he wouldn't recognize her in such a wildly different context. ;) (And it won't last; as a contrast to Bruce and all his issues, Diana is going to be upfront about things when Clark capes up again.)
:D Haha, thank you, OP, I'm so thrilled you liked the party and Clark and Diana's dialogue, Clark's mood at the end, just all of it! /o\ :DDDDDDDDDDD And most especially the build-up - with this prompt, I really wanted to try to get Clark to a place where it made sense for him to want to hook up with Bruce Wayne. And for that hooking-up to be coming from a positive place to start with, because, um, yes, angst. SO MUCH ANGST. Bruce angst, Batman angst, and Clark ... well, sads, at least. ;D But a HEA in the end, never fear!
And I say this basically every time but you deserve it basically every time, so HERE IT IS AGAIN: THANK YOU FOREVER, braintwin OP, for your kindness and generosity and confidence and, of course, AMAZING PROMPTS. ♥ I always feel so happy and so lucky to be filling anything of yours, and so very glad to be here.
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-07-23 01:28 pm (UTC)(link)Nonnie, nonnie, nonnie, this was so lovely and heart-warming, the descriptions of how Clark felt about his death, about being surrounded by people, about Bruce who could have kissed him and his thought progression about it <333333 Diana was wonderful, too, always a pleasure to have her around *happy sigh*
You are an awful, awful tease though with the way you ended that part (WHAT'S GONNA BE BRUCE'S REACTION?!?) but then this whole part was so lovely, can't be mad at you :D
♥ ♥ ♥
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-07-25 01:29 am (UTC)(link)Aw, thank you so much, anon! I really loved getting to give Clark a chance to start looking at what happened to him a little differently, and that I got to have it come from Diana was a huge bonus - I enjoyed writing that conversation so so much. :D
/o\ :D I know how much you guys love your cliffhangers! ;) But I DID promise you they were going to bang, so it's really not as bad a tease as it could've been.
I'm so glad you enjoyed this section, anon - thank you so much for reading, and for your comment! ♥
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-07-24 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)It shouldn't surprise you that I (like pretty much the entire kinkmeme I think) absolutely love identity porn. And this was pretty fantastic. Bruce swans through a charity event with Clark on his arm figuratively, only for Clark to be on his arm literally by the end of it.
I AM SO EXCITED TO SEE HOW BRUCE WILL REACT IN THE NEXT PART. All of his yes/no buttons are being pressed at once. Yes Clark kissed me! Holy shit, Clark kissed shallow billionaire Bruce Wayne. Except Clark only kissed shallow billionaire Bruce Wayne because you're terrible at playing yourself, and he likes the you that isn't a complete asshole.
And still Batman lurks in the background...
There's nothing I don't love about the delicious tension you've created. I have NO IDEA how this Clark will react to Batman. Not now that he's created these new, different memories with Bruce. I'm so ready to go anywhere you have to take us.
*chinhands*
8D
*floats you a heart & kinkmeme cookies*
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (8/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-07-25 01:55 am (UTC)(link):D I'm just thrilled that on a kinkmeme full of such identity porn enthusiasts, you guys are enjoying this fill so far! That people who love identity porn so much are finding this satisfying (at least so far) is a compliment in and of itself. ♥
Haha, oh, poor Bruce. :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD Always overthinking everything ...
/o\ Oh, gosh, thank you (again) - your faith in me is so very encouraging and I hope in the end you feel equally sure it wasn't misplaced! ♥ I'm enjoying the writing process for this fill a LOT, and all I want is for it to be even a fraction as much fun to read throughout. :D
*yoinks heart and cookies out of the air before you can decide to take them back* ;)