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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: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (20/23ish?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-17 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)Diana very politely doesn't tell him he's an idiot. Alfred probably does at some point, but his biting commentary goes mostly unappreciated; Bruce lies there and keeps his hands relaxed, breathes calm and smooth and slow when Diana has to step in to pull that gleaming green bullet free of the bone, and stares at the ceiling. He should be thinking about the shooter, whoever had been waiting up there for Superman, the robots. But there's only one thing in his head.
He can't let Clark touch him.
Bruce Wayne can be struck by a stray polo mallet, but he can't get shot out of nowhere; and there's absolutely no way Clark won't notice. There's a bullet wound in Bruce's side and his rib is cracked, if not fully fractured—it'll take weeks to heal completely. Bruce Wayne can't disappear for that long, and doesn't even need to: he can handle the demands of his position at Wayne Enterprises like this without too much trouble, and skipping a few meetings, ignoring a few invitations, just makes him look appropriately rude and unreliable. None of that is a problem.
The only problem is Clark.
And there's no short-term solution. Whether Bruce allows Alfred to talk him into using medication or not—either he'll be drugged, judgment in tatters, unfit for company, or else the pain will be dogging him with every step, every movement. Even he can't act that away—even at his absolute best, he couldn't. And he's no longer at his best with Clark in any case.
Diana seems to have reached the same conclusion. When she's got the bullet out—a little superstrength was enough to ease it loose—she moves out of Alfred's way to let him start cleaning up. Which means she's free to step around to the other side of the table, take Bruce's hand, and say quietly, "He has to be told."
Ominous, coming from an Amazon who favors action over hesitation. "But you won't tell him."
Diana's mouth goes flat. "I made a promise," she agrees slowly, "and I won't break it. The truth shouldn't come from me—because it needs to come from you, Bruce."
"It will," Bruce says, because he does recognize the inevitability of it. He does. But if he can only figure out how best to manage it, how best to control it— "But this isn't the right time."
"Bruce," Diana says, as if that's a sentence in itself; and then she squeezes his hand. "Bruce, for some things—there is no right time. There is only a moment when you know it will be your choice, and a moment when it will not be. And if you don't find one yourself, then the other will find you, and you won't be ready for it."
Bruce closes his eyes.
He can practically feel the glance Diana and Alfred exchange over him; and then Alfred clears his throat and touches Bruce's side just above the gauze, and says, "There's quite an impressive hole in you, Master Wayne. I realize you don't enjoy resting, but I would advise it for the moment."
"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce says.
Whatever they think of it, the path ahead of him is perfectly clear. Telling Clark now would be—Batman was just shot, in an effort to save Superman from worse. Having lied to Clark for weeks, months, and then telling him now, at the precise moment when he's most likely to feel like he owes Batman something; as if that bullet were a chip to bargain with, as if Clark's gratitude could be cashed in on. The thought alone puts a sick sour taste in the back of Bruce's throat.
(Clark will be angry. Clark will be right to be angry. Leashing that anger with a chain of a gauge as heavy as obligation—because Clark wants to do what's right, Clark doesn't want to be unfair; anyone who's spent five minutes with him knows this about him—would be almost as unforgivable a manipulation as the lying itself.
Almost as unforgivable: except Clark would forgive it, for someone who'd put themselves between him and a sniper's rifle. That's why Bruce can't let him.)
Bruce has already started laying the groundwork, because Batman might be salvageable but Bruce Wayne was never going to come out of this clean. And he's already well aware that Bruce Wayne has to be the asshole—this can't be an amicable, no-fault kind of proceeding. He'd already known he would have to break things off in a way that gave Clark no reason to look back, nothing to regret; just a dickbag ex-hookup he was better off without.
Given today's events, the timetable will have to be accelerated. It can be handled.
Clark is a creature of habit; it makes him predictable. It's easy enough to ensure that Bruce Wayne is in the middle of a conversation on the phone when he arrives. And he's considerate—of course he is. He doesn't just barge in, doesn't make noise or insist on Bruce's attention.
But acknowledging that fact can't be how this plays out. Bruce laughs into the phone, and then shoots Clark a quick sharp glance, a grimace: divorcing one as clearly as possible from the other, making it obvious that the second reaction is for Clark alone. He puts out a hand, too, to hold Clark at bay, as if finishing the conversation is what's more important to him. Two more quick, meaningless responses, and then all Bruce has to do is follow his own self-imposed stage directions; he glances again at Clark, flattens his mouth, makes a little considering face, and says into the phone, "Actually, Jerry, hold on—I'll call you back. Five minutes. Yeah, of course, you too."
He swipes off the phone without looking down at it, and balances his expression carefully: not harried, Bruce Wayne doesn't work hard enough for that. Petulant; frustrated; inconvenienced.
"This is the third time in a week, Clark—"
"Sorry," Clark says instantly, with a small smile; he's caught Bruce's off mood, and is trying not to make it worse.
For all the good it'll do him.
"I didn't mean to interrupt or anything. I don't mind waiting—or, uh," he adds, having no trouble interpreting the flicker that crosses Bruce's face, "I can come back?"
Bruce pauses like he's considering it, and then shakes his head quick. "No, no," he says, and then stops and sighs, like he's trying to figure out how to start.
(He isn't, of course. Bruce knows how this goes, plus or minus a little improvisation here and there. He's had it worked out for days now.)
"Look, it was nice for a while, okay? But this is starting to add up to more trouble than it's worth."
Clark had started moving toward him; but he stops after a step, brow furrowing. "This," he repeats slowly.
Bruce waves a hand between them, vague and careless. "You know. You. This. It's been great, it's been fun—and you have some extremely enjoyable assets, don't get me wrong—"
It's been a while since Bruce Wayne has been deliberately crass in Clark's direction—at least while standing apart from him, not touching him, and with that obnoxious showman's voice instead of flirtatious, fond. Clark doesn't quite rear back from it; but he shifts his weight uncomfortably, away from Bruce instead of toward him, and there's a dark embarrassed red creeping up the sides of his throat.
"—but you know how it goes," Bruce continues over his shoulder, turning away to set the phone down on an end table. "You try something new, you like it, but after a while it just gets sort of boring."
He looks back around, and Clark is looking back at him, uncertain. Still hoping he's somehow misunderstood this. "Boring," he echoes, and then shakes his head and takes another step, reaching out. "Bruce—"
(Clark can't touch him. He'll never be able to get this out if—Clark can't touch him—)
"What," Bruce says, affecting surprise, "one last hurrah for old times' sake? Didn't think that was your style, Clark. We'll have to make it quick, I have a dinner with a couple shareholders at—"
"One last—no," Clark says, and now, finally, anger is surfacing, bubbling up through the bewilderment.
(Forgiveness is what Bruce wants. He can admit that. But anger—anger's what he's earned. Anger is what's coming to him; and he has no one to blame but himself.)
"Suit yourself," Bruce says easily, as if it makes no difference.
Clark stares at him like—like Bruce is someone he's never seen before, like he's found a stranger looking out at him from Bruce's face. His gaze flicks over Bruce's expression, his relaxed stance, and then in a sudden cut sideways, to the phone. "Five minutes," he says.
Bruce shrugs, and checks his watch. "And look, it only took two and a half. Guess I overestimated."
"No," Clark says, very low. The flush is gone; he just looks pale now. "No. I think maybe I did." He takes one slow breath in, lets it out, and then says at a more normal volume, "Sorry for interrupting that phone call. I hope it wasn't too big an inconvenience."
He doesn't leave Bruce any time to answer: a rush of air, that muffled boom, and he's just gone.
He didn't close the balcony door behind him. Bruce looks out after him; the sky is blue and endless, and suddenly seems particularly far away.
A quick press of one hand under the suit jacket confirms what Bruce had been suspecting—he pulls it back out with a smear of red across the palm. He's bled through Alfred's bandage.
No wonder it hurts so much. Open wounds always do.
Of course, Clark is also stubborn. There's still a chance he could come back, wanting more answers or demanding a proper explanation. Bruce strategizes, decides what to say, what will be most likely to have the right effect; and he works his way steadily through Bruce Wayne's days in the office, and then heads back to the lake house to listen to Alfred scold him for overdoing it.
(He doesn't go back to the penthouse.)
He can dodge a lot of Bruce Wayne's commitments, but not all of them. He picks and chooses which ones to follow through with as tactically as possible: a charity dinner is a little too public to risk when he's still regularly discovering that he's bled through his shirt again. But a CEO doing a little publicity tour of the newest Wayne Technologies facility? It's his own turf; he can slip away if he needs to, and anyone who sees anything they shouldn't will be his employee anyway. A much more acceptable gamble to take.
Except, as gambles go, it turns out to be pretty boring. The technical manager has dumbed things down so far for Bruce Wayne's sake that her descriptions of the current projects being tackled by her staff are almost meaningless.
(She does hesitate a couple times, though, which implies that she actually knows the more complex explanation and is forcing herself not to give it. That's promising.)
Even Bruce Wayne probably can't get away with spinning around in his chair.
"Mmhmm," Bruce says instead, and after another two minutes, "Yes, I see," and then "Mmhmm," again; and then they finally get up. She smiles at him with professional coolness, and starts guiding him across the hall to head downstairs to the labs.
And that's when the first man with a gun appears.
Bruce Wayne can't react the way Batman would. But he can grab the manager's arm and pull her toward him, get his shoulder in front of her—the bravado of a man who thinks he's braver than he is. "On the floor," the man with the gun is yelling, "on the floor, now," and Bruce gets down carefully onto his knees and takes account of the information already available. The radio clipped on by the man's shoulder is the most important thing, because it means he's not alone. He hasn't just snapped and gone charging into a random office out of nowhere—this is some kind of organized effort to take the building.
And Bruce can only think of one reason why anyone would want to.
"Miranda, right?" he murmurs to the manager.
She gives him kind of a hairy eyeball; he smiles as engagingly as he can when he's got his hands up and somebody is waving a semi-automatic around twenty feet away, and after a second she says, "Yes, Mr. Wayne, that's right."
"Hi there," he says. "I have a confession to make: I wasn't really listening earlier. By any chance, is this the subdivision of Wayne Technologies that got tapped to liaise with Commissioner Gordon?"
"Uh—yes, Mr. Wayne, it is," Miranda says gamely.
"To contain those runaway LexCorp robots they've been seizing," Bruce elaborates.
Miranda's gaze cuts sideways to the gunman, and then back to Bruce. She may have caught his drift. "Yes, they're—most of them are downstairs. The Gotham PD evidence locker wasn't—"
"—secure enough, yes. I think somebody briefed me." Even from prison, Luthor just can't stop pulling strings: he must have heard about Superman, returned from the grave. And Batman had been his Plan A, Zod his Plan B—a kryptonite bullet, his Plan C. The piece Bruce had taken from him must not have been the only one he'd had retrieved from the Indian Ocean; just the largest.
(Had that sniper of his been crouched somewhere on Stryker's? Hidden in plain sight on one of those circling news helicopters? If they'd won the battle without losing Clark, would he just have gotten shot down in front of them instead?)
The robots had probably been an accident the first time—that electrical fault. Superman hadn't even shown up in public anywhere yet. There wouldn't have been any point to it. But the second time, they'd been bait. Luthor had learned Superman was back, and must have reactivated his asset, his Plan C. Bruce and Diana had showed up to deal with the robots once, that had been in the news; and Superman had joined up with them to form the League. What easier way to get him back out in uniform, at exactly the place and time you wanted him?
Bruce takes a deep breath, a second, and tries to stretch just a little, testing, as unobtrusively as possible. A spike of pain there, and—there. Not an optimal range of motion; but probably enough. No one else knows it's Luthor—no one else understands exactly what's going on here. And his employees can't pay the price for his failure to put the pieces together.
(Not again.)
He doesn't have his suit, or any of his equipment; and he doesn't have the cowl. But Luthor already knows he's Batman, there's no intelligence to be given away there. And he has to do something.
"On the floor," the guy is still yelling. "All the way down! On your stomachs, hands behind your heads—if your face isn't in that carpet in ten seconds I'm going to stand on it, understand me?"
Perfect.
"Miranda?"
"Yes, Mr. Wayne?"
"You seem like a great technical manager," Bruce tells her, "and I really don't want to have to replace you. Do what he says, lie down, and try not to get shot. Okay?"
"Okay," Miranda says, admirably steady. "And you—what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to tell you to please not ask me that," Bruce says, with a wink. "And one other thing, if you would: close your eyes."
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (20/23ish?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-18 01:25 am (UTC)(link)Whether Bruce allows Alfred to talk him into using medication or not—either he'll be drugged, judgment in tatters, unfit for company, or else the pain will be dogging him with every step, every movement.
Oh, Bruce. And Alfred! And Bruce. I love them so much. And Diana, too. You write her so wonderfully, calm and patient and wise and still so very no-bullshit. Also, I am ridiculous, but Alfred and Diana exchange a glance made me go :DDDDDD.
Having lied to Clark for weeks, months, and then telling him now, at the precise moment when he's most likely to feel like he owes Batman something; as if that bullet were a chip to bargain with, as if Clark's gratitude could be cashed in on. The thought alone puts a sick sour taste in the back of Bruce's throat.
Oh, BRUCE. Any normal person would think this is a good moment, but not him, of course not. Bruce not wanting to let Clark forgive him because he knows he doesn't deserve it, even if Clark would be kind enough to do it. Man, this is wonderful, so twisted and fucked up, but it still makes sense in itself and it's so very Bruce. <3 And the ending of that first scene, ouch! Bruce thinking about "sacrificing" Bruce Wayne in all of this, making sure that Clark won't miss him, thinking about all of this like it's still a plan he's in any way in control of. And the beginning of the following scene is just so great, Bruce basically treating himself like some puppet following directions, playing a part he has to play.
AND IT'S JUST PHYSICALLY PAINFUL, BRUCE BEING ALL AWFUL TO CLARK IN HIS BRUCE WAYNE-Y WAY. D: My heart! Poor Clark. Especially with Clark trying so hard not to inconvenience or bother him.
"Look, it was nice for a while, okay? But this is starting to add up to more trouble than it's worth."
Holy shit, Bruce, you're horrid. And the extremely enjoyable assets and BORING and OUCH. Bruce. :( And the more he says, the worse it gets. Wow, this is painful, even knowing that he doesn't mean it. Maybe even more so because he doesn't mean it.
(Forgiveness is what Bruce wants. He can admit that. But anger—anger's what he's earned. Anger is what's coming to him; and he has no one to blame but himself.)
"Suit yourself," Bruce says easily, as if it makes no difference.
NONNY, YOU'RE MAKING ME CRY. STOP MAKING ME CRY!
Clark stares at him like—like Bruce is someone he's never seen before, like he's found a stranger looking out at him from Bruce's face. NOOOOOOOOO, my heart! You're stomping all over it! And then this: "No. I think maybe I did." He takes one slow breath in, lets it out, and then says at a more normal volume, "Sorry for interrupting that phone call. I hope it wasn't too big an inconvenience." ALL OF THIS HURTS SO MUCH!
And, oh, plot twist! :D I love Bruce finding out things he needs to know while still being as obnoxiously Bruce Wayne about it as necessary.
"I'm going to tell you to please not ask me that," Bruce says, with a wink. "And one other thing, if you would: close your eyes."
Bruuuuuuuuuuce. Now I'm just having a big fangirl moment here. :D Which was necessary to cheer me up after SO MUCH HEARTBREAK. This is utterly perfect. Just, wow. You really know how to break my heart into so many little pieces and I'm just so glad I know you're going to fix it again because THIS HURT SO MUCH. Bruce was so awful in such a perfect Bruce way because ~it needs to be done~. Ouch. I can't wait for the next part, I am so excited. :D /OP
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (20/23ish?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-20 09:41 pm (UTC)(link)BRUCE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HIS PRIORITIES ARE. /o\ Oh, Bruce.
Also, I am ridiculous, but Alfred and Diana exchange a glance made me go :DDDDDD
:DDDDDDDDDDDDD I hoped it would! There weren't a whole lot of excuses to get them in the same place in this fill, but this one appeared and I was like YES GOOD DO THE THING, FAVORITE OP WILL BE GLAD. ♥
/o\ Oh, gosh, I don't want to paste this whole paragraph back at you, OP, but I'm so glad you enjoyed this because I loved coming up with Bruce's whole rationale here so much. Like, obviously in a very BRUCE, OH MY GOD, STOP RUINING YOUR OWN LIFE way - but it just felt like a thing he would do, not giving Clark the opportunity to forgive him here when it's the most likely he might because Bruce is so sure it's undeserved. /o\ GAH. Basically I'm lucky you enjoy reading about my Bruce feelings in prose format, because that's 200% what this is. :D
And oh, I'm so happy with every single thing you have to say about the break-up scene, OP! I mean, uh, not that I'm THAT thrilled you were sad - but that Bruce was sufficiently awful and yet it was obvious that it was also awful for him to be doing it, and that it gave you feelings! I PROMISE EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE IN THE END. ♥
And, oh, plot twist!
LIKE, WHO KNEW THIS EVEN HAD A PLOT, RIGHT? But oh, look, it does. ??? :D Glad you enjoyed the Wayneing pick-me-up, OP - I really didn't want this part to just be solid heartbreak end-to-end! Your confidence is, as always, a thrill to receive, and I hope the remaining parts prove themselves worthy of it. ♥ ♥ ♥ Thank you so much!
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (20/23ish?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-20 02:07 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (20/23ish?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-20 09:44 pm (UTC)(link):D Haha, this should absolutely be Bruce's personal motto! /o\ Oh, Bruce. Thank you so much, anon, I'm so glad you enjoyed watching Bruce make things worse for himself and ignore the damage it does him, on so many different levels, yet again. ;) A little worse, maybe, because - well, there's going to be some fallout to navigate; but I'm pleased to hear you're looking forward to it! :D Hope you enjoy it just as much as this part, anon. ♥
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (20/23ish?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-20 09:58 pm (UTC)(link)I hope you will accept kinkmeme cookies in place of a really detailed comment. *offers cookies in all affection*
Re: FILL: as to which may be the true; Bruce/Clark, identity porn (20/23ish?)
(Anonymous) 2016-08-20 10:26 pm (UTC)(link):DDDDDDDDDDD Oh, please, you have nothing to make up for - I'm just so delighted you're still enjoying this! ... *takes the cookies anyway* ;D