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.
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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.

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 has to observe Bruce during a mission that involves Bruce sleeping with someone. Maybe the sex was always part of the mission, maybe it's Bruce improvising; maybe Bruce knows Clark is observing, maybe he doesn't. Either way, Clark is uncomfortable ... but he's also really into it. Because, holy shit, he's into Bruce.

Something something Bruce/Clark. Maybe Clark starts acting weird later and Bruce has to pry it out of him? Maybe Bruce indicates that he's fantasizing about Clark during the sex, either to rile Clark or because he assumes Clark will never know? BOTH? Something else? I don't know!

YES. THIS. YES, GOOD.

Star City Technology Conference and Expo, the banners and sailflags bedecking the hotel concourse announce, reflected manifold in the building's modern glass-and-steel facade. It figures that it would be held here in the space-age curvature of contemporary architecture and not in one of the stately buildings downtown. Cramming that much technology per square foot into something so old would probably make it an art installation instead.

Clark Kent shoulders his bag and, as he checks in, wonders what kind of slick modernity will have befallen his room.

Massive, massive glass windows that facilitate a tropical microclimate, naturally. His compliments to the architect. He'll only have to sweat through two nights, at least--tonight, when Bruce Wayne will make himself known as a surprise attendee, having taken a last-minute hands-on interest in his own products for whatever fickle reason--and tomorrow, by which time they should have located their target, extracted the necessary information, and Clark can get on with writing his article on the How to Identify Risks, Threats and Vulnerabilities in Your IT Infrastructure panel for the Planet's technology spread.

He mashes the AC controls and then sits to kick off his shoes; the sound of them hitting the floor echoes loudly around the room. He sighs.

*

Bruce Wayne arrives fashionably late, as is his wont. The hotel is booked solid and has been for months and any number of bills slipped to the concierge can't change that. The basic suite he has wrangled is next to Clark's by design, but it would be like him to attempt to lubricate his way into the penthouse as a matter of course.

They rendezvous in Bruce's room so that he can be intractable with authority. The case has had something of a learning curve so far, not least for dealing with Bruce's inconsistent interpersonal skills. Clark knows he's a personal affront to him in a myriad of ways, many of which he doesn't fully understand and probably never will. Existing was one reason, until it wasn't. Not existing seemed to upset him equally, or so he's heard. Being alive again: opinion pending, erring on the side of exasperated.

"Piper Moritz is on the event roster. I still think she's our key."

"She's a junior management gofer." Bruce lounges in the lone taupe wing chair, leaving Clark on his feet.

"She has the contacts."

"But not the clearance levels."

"Not officially."

"What's your evidence, Clark?"

"Intuition. With the pattern we've been seeing, I think--"

Bruce holds up a hand. "Look, I'm not in the habit of committing corporate espionage based on nothing but a hunch."

"Really? I thought that was very much in your wheelhouse."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "What we have here is circumstantial at best," he says.

"But you think there's something we can learn," Clark points out, "or you wouldn't have bothered coming."

It took him a few incidents to figure it out, but Bruce doesn't like it when Clark is right. That part is obvious. The part that took a bit more consideration was that it's not being wrong that bothers him. It bothers him because Clark has figured something out--either before he's managed to, or more likely because it was something he was withholding.

Clark can only assume that Bruce thinks he cheats, the same way as he cheats at gravity, at being faster and stronger, at death. Maybe he harbors some paranoia that Clark is privy to more than he actually is. It would explain why Bruce still feels foreign even after months of working together; his reflex is to make himself unknowable.

Regardless, it's always a gamble to cut through his deliberate speciousness, and it rarely pays off. Today has not been exceptional in that regard.

"If you don't mind I'm going to shower," Bruce says, "and then I'm going to recon the bar."

*

"I'm slumming it," Clark hears Bruce say to the woman at his side, napkin and a tumbler of gin in his hand, tie already loose and he's barely been here an hour. "There's not even a minibar."

She laughs and tugs a strand of hair out of her chignon, resting her clutch on the bartop so she can lean on one elbow and touch her neck. "Lucky me," she says, "now you have to hang out at the actual bar instead of having a private party."

Bruce smiles and lays his phone face-down next to it. Great, Clark thinks. Finally. If Bruce can intercept Moritz's contact history then this will be more straightforward than either of them had hoped. Bruce taps the back of the phone, an idly flirtatious gesture that activates the cloner with a haptic command.

The phone stays face-down. Bruce orders another drink. And another, and a round for the bar. He's had plenty of time and then some for his software to work its magic, and he hasn't glanced in Clark's direction even once where he's sat alone at one of the tables with his notebook and a glass of coke.

One of Bruce's hands migrates up Moritz's arm until it's cupping her shoulder.

Clark frowns and pulls up his contact list. Bruce's ringtone trills loudly--the WayneTech startup jingle; familiar to anyone running a device with the OS. Three other people in the bar go for their phones. Clark's heard it once or twice on the rare occasion that the Bat's computer has needed rebooting, a strange, lively echo in the sheetmetal shadows of the cave.

He watches Bruce pick up his phone, look at it and then hang up. His hand slides down Moritz's arm again and flattens in the small of her back. A moment later Clark is pinged with an auto-reject message: In a meeting.

Not soon after, Clark senses someone approach his table. "Don't bother," the someone says. "That's Bruce Wayne."

Clark looks up from his phone. It's a man in the first flush of middle age, unremarkably handsome but wearing his suit like it's a costume. He's clutching his drink tightly enough that his fingertips have gone white. He's sweating, ever so slightly.

Oh, no, Clark thinks. Whoops.

"He'll chew you up and spit you out," the man says.

"I don't think there's any danger of that," Clark replies, cheerfully misunderstanding even as he wonders if the man speaks from experience or is just parroting some gossip. "At best I'll get a lousy quote. At worst, nothing on the record."

"Oh," the man says, following Clark's lanyard down his chest, eventually arriving at his badge. "You're press? The--" He makes a gesture that encompasses Clark's glasses and shirt, "--make you look like a tech guy. Are you covering the expo?"

"Yup," Clark says. And that's all he says. A slightly awkward silence ensues.

"Well," the man says, cautiously. "I don't suppose I could buy you a drink?"

It's an easy enough question to answer, but for some reason the grey flecks in his hair give Clark pause. "Ah, no, thank you," he says, not unkindly, and offers an apologetic smile as he feels the heat crawl across his face. "Not tonight."

The man hesitates for a moment and then leaves after dropping a pleasantry and a handshake, but not his name. Clark's view of the bar is restored. Bruce has turned his head and is looking at him for the first time since he got here, his expression carefully schooled.

Well then. Clark checks his watch--it's late enough. He takes himself back to his room.

*

Some hours later, amid the usual ambient noise of the hotel--the foot traffic and slightly-too-loud voices, the struggling AC and inexplicable moving furniture--he's awakened from a light doze by Bruce stumbling up to his room.

He's not alone.

"Your eyes are so incredible," Bruce says. Clark can hear him unlocking the door, the magnetic displacement of the keycard in the lock. "So blue."

"They're green," Piper says, half-laughing, confusion softened by her evening at the bar.

"Oh," Bruce says, no sharper. Clark can't tell if it's an act, this time. "Must be the lighting." The door shuts behind them.

*

Clark can ignore this. He doesn't have to listen to them kissing, or the sound of skin brushing the bedsheets. He sighs up at the ceiling, kicks his own sheets down to his knees, caught between the chill of the AC and the swelter of the day's heat stored in the room.

He's had a lot of practice with this since his powers manifested as a kid, especially after that one scarring incident with his parents. He perfected it during his travels, in hostels with paper-thin walls and in shared rooms, situations where even a lack of enhanced hearing would require a pillow over his head. It just takes a bit of mindfulness, a meditative drawing inward. Something to bring his focus back into his own body.

In the room next door Piper gasps, bubbling into a laugh. Bruce's returning laugh is muffled. Then she gasps again, serious this time, and Clark hears with pin-drop clarity the scrape of Bruce's stubble on the inside of her thigh.

And, okay, whoa. He is suddenly focused on his own body, alright. A little too focused. Kind of overwhelmingly focused, if he's being honest with himself. This flavor of awkward response was something he thought he'd got a handle on a long time ago, too.

Clark groans and rolls onto his front, which only underscores that he's at half-mast and rising. God, why did he think coming here with Bruce was a good idea.

Sometimes when he's like this sensory satiation is the way to go, overloading his brain until everything turns to white noise. He's not keen on the idea at this particular point in time, so Clark screws his eyes shut and lets his mind drift instead. They're mostly quiet for a long while, just small, intimate noises he can filter out--which means he's almost asleep when her breathing deepens and breaks into an ascending string of moans. Bruce's heart is a metronome.

Bruce. He's good at what he does. Whatever he turns his hand, or mouth, to.

Clark takes a deep, deep breath. He's gotten fully hard while he was dozing, a steady beat between his legs.

Piper quickly reaches a crescendo and then dissolves back into gasping. Clark cracks open his eyes, stripping the wall away in time to see Bruce's slacks slide down over the long cut of his thigh muscles, belt clunking to the floor. It wasn't exactly deliberate. He's tired, sleep-fuzzed and he could go so far to say it was an accident, but he usually has more control than this.

Bruce is helping Piper onto her hands and knees on the bed, hiking her skirt up around her waist. This is already more than a few steps over the line so Clark turns to stare at the ceiling again, ignoring his hard-on as best he can.

"Oh, god," Piper murmurs. "Oh, god, Bruce."

Clark wonders if the bar might still be open. Probably not. Maybe he could go sit in the foyer for a while.

At least Bruce is his usual stoic self, even if the bed is complaining rhythmically. Clark holds his breath and suddenly loses his grip on his restraint, imagining Bruce sinking into her. He lets out a long, shaky breath. He's not going to jerk off, even though his dick is getting wetter against his stomach with each creak of the mattress. He won't be able to look Bruce in the eye if he does. Clark doesn't need to give him that kind of an advantage.

God, he likes to drag things out. Maybe a side-effect of his stoicism, or a manifestation of his usual thoroughness. Piper seems to appreciate it regardless--constant low exclamations and breathy encouragements until finally she gets louder again, escalating as she reaches her second orgasm.

It's the sounds between her gasping that makes Clark realize that's not what he's listening for. Bruce's breath has started dragging in his throat, and god, it's that--that's what is keeping him at a high burn.

Well. Shit.

He sets aside his morals for an instant and stares through the wall. Bruce is curled over her as she collects herself, his hands huge around her waist. He's resting his forehead in the middle of her back, his mouth against her spine. There's little reverence to it.

"You want to come?" Clark hears him say.

"Again?" she says breathlessly, laughing, hair clinging to her face. "Okay."

Bruce straightens up and slides his hands down over her hips. His shirt obscures his cock until he begins fucking her again in earnest, but even that only offers quick glimpses. Clark could look through the cloth. He will not look through it. This should be enough--he's gone far enough.

"Then touch yourself," Bruce says.

Clark clenches his teeth.

"Touch yourself," Bruce says again, much quieter. Barely a whisper. "Go on." Then he hooks his arm around Piper's thigh, brings her leg over his hip and turns her body into Clark's view in a motion that's as efficient as any Clark's seen him execute in combat. She goes onto her forearm so she can rub herself, fingertips brushing Bruce's cock as he glides into her. Clark can see him--all of him, whenever he pulls out, wet and--

It's raw and explicit even after listening to them, watching them. It shocks the breath out of him, in truth, but not so much that he can't make for his dick, his last shred of decorum melted in the white-hot flare of his arousal.

"That's right," Bruce says and pulls her onto him deeper, faster. His pulse breaks into a sprint. It barrages Clark's hearing and he can't bear it for long, the way his own pulse is trying to match him beat-for-beat. He turns his face away and jerks himself with shaking hands. Roughly, as though it's--Bruce is evidently considerate in bed, but he's not gentle with Clark in any respect. He wouldn't need to be gentle with Clark.

God, he's actually going to come from this, and probably before Bruce does. It's not a competition, Bruce would say. Not a competition, no, but definitely a game and Clark's not sure there's any way for him to win at this point. May as well lose gracefully.

Piper beats them both with a sedate groan that quickly subsides, and then Clark is alone with Bruce's ragged, shortening breaths. Clark strokes himself in time, his heart pressing into his throat.

Bruce makes a small, harsh noise that Clark will never, never be able to get out of his head and then exhales all at once. If Clark turned his head right now he would see him in his moment of climax, guard dropped for an instant. Maybe he'd see if this is a way that Bruce can be gentled.

He wants to so badly, but--he struggles briefly with his conscience until it turns out the mere idea of it is enough. He shudders, muscles clenching hard enough to twist him up off the bed. He comes over his fingers and his stomach, a foot above the mattress.

He just floats there for a moment in a stupor, slowly rocking into his own hand until he comes back to himself. He can hear talking in the next room, bodies moving around. The hum of the bathroom light. Clark lets himself watch this part without guilt: Bruce splashing water onto his face; Piper pulling down her skirt.

"That was fun," Piper says, stepping into her pumps and patting her hair into place. "We should do it again sometime."

"You're not going to ask for my number, are you?"

"Bruce," she says. "I'm not stupid." She pushes up on her tiptoes and lands a small, sweet kiss on his mouth. Bruce lets her, then sees her to the door.

Clark suddenly feels distinctly uncomfortable. A shower would probably help. He drifts onto his feet and slopes into the bathroom to wipe at his hands and stomach, and lets the shower heat up while he stares at himself in the mirror.

Just as he's about to step in, there's a knock at his door.

"You've got to be kidding me," he groans, bolting through and casting about for yesterday's slacks. "Are you kidding--goddamn--"

He doesn't bother buttoning his shirt, and there's not much he can do about his sweat-mussed hair and its wild licks. He opens the door and Bruce, who's put his shoes back on even if he hasn't bothered to tuck his shirt, invites himself in.

"It's kinda late," Clark says, following him past the steam billowing out through the bathroom door.

"Not too late for a shower," Bruce remarks. "I need your laptop."

"Didn't you bring your own?"

Bruce just makes an ambiguous noise and leans on the melamine table where Clark's laptop sits, rubbing at the trackpad until the screen wakes up. He hooks his phone up and drags a bunch of files onto Clark's desktop, displacing most of his icons.

Neither of them acknowledge Clark's bed and its rumpled sheets, its conspicuous wet patch. Clark sees Bruce's nostrils subtly flare. Both of them smell like sex. It's unmistakable.

"Did you get what you need?" Clark asks. His heart won't seem to calm the hell down, like Bruce's proximity is triggering some kind of fight or flight instinct.

"Yes," he says. He glances sidelong at Clark and abruptly closes the laptop. "Did you?"

Apparently a rhetorical question, since he goes to leave while Clark is busy floundering over what he means, whether is was--ah, the guy at the bar. Not this. Whatever this was. "No," Clark says in a rush. "I didn't."

He didn't expect that to bring Bruce up short the way it does, but he mitigates it quickly, a flash of his eyebrows that drop into their customary furrow. "Too bad," he says. "I'm heading back to Gotham first thing tomorrow."

It's a perfectly relevant piece of information. Clark struggles with the context. "Sure," he manages.

"Enjoy your panel tomorrow." Bruce says. "Goodnight, Clark."

*

*FANS SELF* HOLY CRAP, NONNY. OKAY. I'MMA NEED TO CALM DOWN A LITTLE AND THEN RESPOND TO YOU MORE THOROUGHLY.

Spoiler alert: this is VERY GOOD, and you should feel proud, because OH GOD.

*inarticulate flailing*

SA

OP, I've mustered some smart after reading this fill three times in rapid succession. You really nailed this prompt. I love that you've chosen to tackle voyeurism through the medium of "Bruce sleeps with a mark, maybe just for fun, we're not sure." Like Clark, we're not really sure what Bruce's intentions are, but we sure do know the results. BUT FIRST, let me count the ways I love this fill.

Clark knows he's a personal affront to him in a myriad of ways, many of which he doesn't fully understand and probably never will. Existing was one reason, until it wasn't. Not existing seemed to upset him equally, or so he's heard. Being alive again: opinion pending, erring on the side of exasperated.

QUOTING A WALL OF TEXT BACK AT YOU, because wow. This was such a darkly humorous way to sum up Bruce's reactions to Clark being alive, dead, and then alive again. I break out in laughter when I read it, but then I am punched with Bruce-pines-for-Clak-while-he's-dead feels. IT'S A WONDERFUL, POWERFUL COMBO, OP. THANK YOU. <3333333333

And you weave that darkly humorous touch throughout the entire fill; this sense of understatement on Clark's part; the way that understatement always seems to bring out the snarkiest side of him when he's thinking about his relationship with Bruce. (Today has not been exceptional in that regard. Oh my god, I'm dying.) Bruce might not feel... antagonistic towards Clark, but it sure doesn't show. And Clark sure as hell is keeping score.

(call this: a wonderful list of all of the best parts of this ship.)

AND OKAY, IT TOOK ME LIKE, THE FOURTH READING for me to realize that Bruce is suspicious that Clark has just hooked up with gray-flecks-in-hair dude. He's staring so hard at the table. I figured Bruce bet on Clark turning him down, but he probably has no way of confirming this (at this time). Did Bruce sleep with Piper as a subtle sort of "up yours, Kent"? Even if this isn't what happened, it adds a delightful frisson of one-upsmanship between them.

Then we get onto the voyeurism part, and wow, this is scintillating, nonny. (And still hilarious! I love that Bruce does the complimenting-Clarks-eyes-through-the-veil-of-drunken-confusion. On the kinkmeme, we've forged onward from the blue-eyes of fandom talk, and seeing it here gave me the weirdest sense of affection for that trope as Bruce Wayne's bad sex talk. Oh god. xD)

Everything about the voyeurism set-up feels in-character, and that's a real feat. That's basically *the rub* with superbat voyeurism... how to make Clark setting aside Bruce's privacy & his morality even temporarily feel like something that Clark would do. Tying it up with the weird competitiveness of their relationship, Bruce goading Clark, Clark's slips of his senses & concentration in the face of his arousal, followed by him choosing to set it aside, just for a moment. This slow-roll through the stages of accidental to intentional voyeurism? So. bloody. good. 8D

AND THIS IS JUST PART ONE /o\ I FEEL LIKE YOU'VE ALREADY HANDED US A PERFECTLY FORMED FILL. I AM THRILLED BEYOND THE TELLING OF IT THAT THERE'S GOING TO BE MORE.

Thank you kindly, OP. <33333333333333

Ahhhhhhhhh. I love this so much! Clark being flustered and guilty, and Bruce totally being a show-off! *showers you in hearts*

Prompter here, ABSOLUTELY OVER THE MOON.

I love Clark's perspective here. He's so funny and dry and put-upon, and seems simultaneously mesmerized by Bruce and completely over his bullshit. I just like him, tremendously, even when he's also being the huge weird creep I asked for him to be.

Cramming that much technology per square foot into something so old would probably make it an art installation instead.

Fucking delightful, as is his description of the room itself. I'd have a drink with this guy and listen to him complain, probably endlessly.

The totally anonymous person above, whose identity is definitely a complete mystery to me, already quoted you the bit about Clark being a personal affront to Bruce -- which I adore, so picture me drawing hearts and exclamation points around their reaction to it -- so here is a different big slab of your own writing instead.

It took him a few incidents to figure it out, but Bruce doesn't like it when Clark is right. That part is obvious. The part that took a bit more consideration was that it's not being wrong that bothers him. It bothers him because Clark has figured something out--either before he's managed to, or more likely because it was something he was withholding.

Clark can only assume that Bruce thinks he cheats, the same way as he cheats at gravity, at being faster and stronger, at death. Maybe he harbors some paranoia that Clark is privy to more than he actually is. It would explain why Bruce still feels foreign even after months of working together; his reflex is to make himself unknowable.

I just kept having to add more sentences because I love them all so much. This is so well-observed. I'm fascinated by Clark trying to figure Bruce out, and find his failures and successes equally compelling; I love how fucking squirrelly Bruce is. I've been thinking all day about the implications of this secretive, elusive Bruce having to claw his way back to plausible deniability after having tipped his hand about a man he figured would stay dead.

The porn is outstanding. All the little things that pry away the layers of Clark's restraint and self-respect. His progression from NOPE to jerking off is completely believable and absorbing. And, well, this moment, which is so vivid:

Clark can see him--all of him, whenever he pulls out, wet and--

It's raw and explicit even after listening to them, watching them.

YEP I'M CONVINCED.

Clark floating when he comes is a detail I love -- so is that instant of him comparing the sex Bruce is having with Piper with the sex he'd like Bruce to be having with him. I'm so pleased for Piper that she had an awesome time and then got the fuck out of this trainwreck. XD

Also, very intrigued by Bruce's surprise at the end -- I get the feeling Bruce is playing a different game here than Clark thinks he is, and that's my jam. I can't wait to see where this goes. Thank you, anon, you've turned my handwavey prompt into magic.

Wow, this is just amazing. I love how you write their relationship, the tension between them, how Clark is still trying to figure Bruce out. And unf, Clark listening and then watching a bit is the hottest fucking thing. I especially love the bit where he starts thinking about how Bruce wouldn't need to be gentle with him.

And then that scene at the end, Bruce just showing up in Clark's room and both of them not talking about what just happened and I bet Bruce desperately needed to use Clark's laptop. ;) this is so amazing, I can't wait for the next parts.

!!!!! This is so great, I can't wait for the rest. I love how you've woven the competitiveness in their relationship into how Clark reacts- and then this:

If Clark turned his head right now he would see him in his moment of climax, guard dropped for an instant. Maybe he'd see if this is a way that Bruce can be gentled.//

<3

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

Bruce/Clark, voyeurism

Re: Bruce/Clark, voyeurism

FILL: It’s more than silhouettes tonight, Bruce/Clark, voyeurism [1/3]

FILL: It’s more than silhouettes tonight, Bruce/Clark, voyeurism [1b/3]

Re: FILL: It’s more than silhouettes tonight, Bruce/Clark, voyeurism [1b/3]

Re: FILL: It’s more than silhouettes tonight, Bruce/Clark, voyeurism [1b/3]

Re: FILL: It’s more than silhouettes tonight, Bruce/Clark, voyeurism [1b/3]

Re: FILL: It’s more than silhouettes tonight, Bruce/Clark, voyeurism [1b/3]

Re: FILL: It’s more than silhouettes tonight, Bruce/Clark, voyeurism [1b/3]

Re: FILL: It’s more than silhouettes tonight, Bruce/Clark, voyeurism [1b/3]