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dceu_kinkmeme2016-04-14 12:37 am
dceu_kinkmod) wrote in 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: wildest dreams (burn it down); Bruce/Clark, heat (3b/4)
(Anonymous) 2016-12-02 12:53 am (UTC)(link)The ship does have more of those uniforms, or can make them, and can even be talked into spitting out one in two pieces, one that doesn't have the crest of the House of El plastered across the chest. Somehow Clark is pretty sure that going out there as Superman is not going to make this easier.
Once he's dressed, he tries to decide on the least invasive way to find Bruce and then realizes with a guilty start that that low regular sound he's already listening to is Bruce's heart. He'd just thought about where Bruce was, and his hearing had—
(—in the middle of it all, there had been nothing but Bruce, everywhere: filling Clark's ears, his gasps, his low sharp cries, the rush of blood through him like distant waves; too much to look at even though Bruce was the only thing, every scar and furrow, each tiny helpless contraction of the muscles in his hands, his arms—the individual perfect curves of his eyelashes; the feel of him, shameless and alive in Clark's arms, hot and wanting and winding his fingers through Clark's hair, saying harder, come on, I can—Clark, ah—)
Clark blinks and shakes himself. He has to find Bruce, and—and Bruce knows what he's capable of.
But it feels like cheating anyway.
Clark bites his lip for a second; and then he carefully stops listening, and stands in the corridor trying to decide which way he might think Bruce had gone if he couldn't hear anything at all.
Bruce is a deck up, Clark discovers in the end, in one of the rooms with a ceiling so perfectly transparent it might as well be open to the sky, when in reality even the vacuum of space wouldn't crack it. He's looking up at it, but not through it: the ship is explaining something to him, some kind of ridiculously advanced Kryptonian physics, with hovering metallic diagrams that shift and rearrange and reform every time Bruce asks a question.
And he looks—absorbed. It had started to become one of Clark's favorite things about the League, getting to see Bruce just this way. In the Cave, working on some new schematic, frowning and intent; as though everything else has ceased to exist—nothing to hide or paper over, no one to outwit or outplan or paste on a smile for. Just Bruce.
But Clark can't keep standing here watching like a creep. And Bruce wouldn't look like that if he knew Clark could see him.
So Clark takes another step forward. The doorway chimes lightly around him as he passes through it, and Bruce turns around and—smiles.
Clark shuts his eyes.
After the first time they'd fought—and not Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne arguing about city politics, or Batman being terse and stubborn and not doing a single damn thing Superman ever asked him to, but just Clark and Bruce. Just Clark and Bruce, yelling at each other in the lake house over—over the database, actually, Clark is pretty sure; over Bruce keeping secrets and never asking first.
Anyway. After that time, Bruce had mostly stopped doing this to Clark. He'd still hammed it up in public, playing a part, and Clark had understood why—he'd even done it at Clark specifically sometimes, during press conferences or at fundraisers, but that had been—that had been because Clark knew what Bruce was doing. That had been because Clark was in on the joke.
But this isn't a joke, and Clark doesn't have a backstage pass this time.
"Clark," Bruce says, in an easy friendly tone that Clark doesn't let himself flinch away from.
He's lucky Bruce is talking to him at all. Jesus. How is Clark ever going to fix this?
"Feeling all right?" Bruce is saying.
"Sure," Clark says automatically, "fine," and he makes himself open his eyes again. "And you aren't—I didn't, uh—"
"All in one piece," Bruce says, with another perfect awful smile he can't possibly mean.
"You're sure," Clark says in a rush, because—because if he at least didn't hurt Bruce physically, didn't break or—or tear anything—
"Never better, Clark, I promise," and on the one hand he's still got that smile on his face, but on the other hand Bruce has never used those words lightly. "I should be getting back to the office, though," as if this is a meeting that ran long, Clark thinks wildly. "Anything you'd like me to pass along to the League?"
Clark stares at him, helpless. How does Bruce do this? "I'll—be another day or two, I think," he manages.
"All right," Bruce says. He thanks the ship, crosses the room toward—toward the door, that's all, the door Clark's standing in front of. His hand moves like he's going to reach out; like he's about to make himself touch Clark, like he hasn't martyred himself hard enough yet—
Clark steps away. He's not good at this like Bruce, he can't make it look natural, but he hopes it means something to Bruce anyway, that Clark would let him off the hook.
Bruce doesn't look like it means anything to him. There's not a single scuff on the whole gleaming surface of him, as far as Clark can see. But he does pause for a moment, hand still halfway outstretched, to say, "I'm glad it worked."
"Yeah," Clark says inanely, and looks away, and waits until he can't hear Bruce's footsteps anymore—not even when he tries.
(Who is he kidding? He can't fix this.
He should have realized the second he'd stepped into Bruce's office, the second he'd known something was seriously wrong. He should have made sure Bruce would never find him. At the end of the day, it wouldn't have mattered how responsible Bruce felt or how stupid he'd planned to be. Because Clark could have prevented all of this if he'd just sealed the ship up properly, but—
But a part of him had wanted Bruce to come in. A part of him had allowed that door to open and let Bruce inside.
And there's nothing Bruce won't do if he thinks it's necessary, necessary and his responsibility. He'd known, at some point: I'm glad it worked. He'd thought he had to. And the only reason any of it had even happened in the first place was because of Clark. Because Clark exists and is who he is, is—
not regulation
—what he is.
It shouldn't have happened at all, but it has; and even Superman can't fix that.)
Bruce said he was all right. But Clark isn't feeling particularly sure of anything right now, and that's something he can find a single solid answer to.
"Ship," he says, "do you—are there sensor records of the time since Bruce came on board?"
"Yes," the ship says, and something comes up out of the floor, forms together out of—
It's him. Him and Bruce, cast in gray-bronze, soundless moving statues, at the precise moment when Clark had first slid inside—
"Stop," Clark says hurriedly, "stop," and they vanish.
Because of course the ship not only had records, but could play them back as life-sized three-dimensional—jesus.
"Just check them, please," he manages, with a hand over his eyes. "If there was ever anything wrong with Bruce's vital signs, or any—blood. Anything like that."
"Yes, Commander," the ship says.
The only instances the ship flags for him, in the end, are things like Clark biting Bruce's lip a little too hard, or the ferocious bruise it seems he'd sucked into life just to one side of the hollow of Bruce's throat, rippling down over Bruce's collarbone. Nothing Bruce would have flinched from, or would be struggling with—not Bruce, who liked to swan around at fancy parties pretending he didn't have broken ribs. At people who had x-ray vision. Because he was an idiot.
And of course Bruce had come here, Clark thinks, staring down at his hands. Because Bruce is an idiot. An idiot who thinks Clark is his problem—his responsibility—who has no idea that this happened to him because Clark wanted it to. It would almost have been easier if Clark had hurt Bruce physically; then at least they'd have had a starting point they could agree on for—
For what? Clark lies back against the deck, feeling cold and tired and nauseated, and scrubs his hands through his hair. For an apology? As if that'll be enough to make up for it. As if that were even a fraction of what it would take—as if there were any way to make up for this.
But he has to do something. He has to.
Re: FILL: wildest dreams (burn it down); Bruce/Clark, heat (3b/4)
(Anonymous) 2016-12-02 02:39 am (UTC)(link)Bruce is odd at first. Braced, Clark thinks, but there's nothing he needs to be braced for here—all Clark wants to do is kiss him. Clark manages to find half a thought to spare for the room, the lights; he tosses a muddled request through his link to the ship, and everything obediently dims around them. Bruce is more comfortable in shadows.
Awwwwwwwww, oh Clark, you sweetheart. How cute is he.
Bruce is human and so easily hurt—so careless with himself, he always has been, and Clark hates that.
This is such an amazing echo to Bruce thinking about how much it might hurt, how much Clark might injure him, and taking that in stride.
And I love the ship, by the way. Clark is clearly not doing things properly here. ;) AND THEN MORE CLARK ANGST BECAUSE HE WORRIES ABOUT BRUCE AND THINKS BRUCE ONLY DID IT TO HELP HIM, OH CLAAAAAAAAARK.
then realizes with a guilty start that that low regular sound he's already listening to is Bruce's heart. He'd just thought about where Bruce was, and his hearing had—
Eeeeeeeeh. <3 I always love Clark listening to Bruce's heartbeat.
And of course Bruce is working and letting the ship explain things to him, of course. <3 And I love that Clark loves seeing him like that. AND THEN OUCH BRUCE IN BRUCE WAYNE MODE? OH NO.
not Bruce, who liked to swan around at fancy parties pretending he didn't have broken ribs. At people who had x-ray vision. Because he was an idiot.
Haha, oh Bruce. <3 Worried Clark breaks my heart. All of this breaks my heart, anon! I cannot wait for the last part because I NEED THEM TO MAKE UP AND BE HAPPY BECAUSE RIGHT NOW MY HEART IS HURTING A LOT. Because this is amazing and you are amazing. <3
Re: FILL: wildest dreams (burn it down); Bruce/Clark, heat (3b/4)
(Anonymous) 2016-12-04 02:59 pm (UTC)(link)How cute is he
THE CUTEST. ILU CLARK ♥
:D And woo, I'm so glad you liked that reflection/callback - Clark's and Bruce's differing perspectives on that is basically what the angsty misunderstanding is built on! OH YOU GUYS.
Clark is clearly not doing things properly here
... Now I'm imagining a tag where the ship is all AND WHERE SHOULD I PUT THE FLOWERS. YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE HIM FLOWERS, RIGHT? AND WHERE SHOULD I PUT THE "WELCOME TO THE HOUSE OF EL" PLACARD. THE PLACARD IS TRADITIONAL, COMMANDER. ;D
The prompt had such glorious angst built in! WHO AM I TO TURN THAT DOWN. ♥ BRUCE IS JUST BEING PROFESSIONAL ABOUT ALL THIS. /o\
:D /o\ Oh, thank you so very much, anon - that you continue to permit me to break your heart is so generous. ♥ And I can 100% GUARANTEE YOU that they will make up and be happy, because that is ALWAYS HOW IT ENDS. ♥ ♥ ♥ :D You are the best and your comments are the best, and as ever, words are not enough for me to express my gratitude.