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.
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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Bruce shifted his weight. The situation in his pants became intolerable. The rest of the world rushed back in. He sighed and pushed at Clark, who let him sit, then let him up altogether when Bruce pushed at him again. Bruce adjusted his belt. He picked up a pen and flash drive and random lipstick that had sometime recently been devoured by the void under his desk, and tossed them onto the desktop. He surveyed the Batsuit detritus strewn about his office. Clark had tossed the cloak and cowl onto a chair earlier; Bruce tied up the ends to make a bag and began loading the tactical plates into it.

No doubt Clark would say something to ruin the moment very soon, but for the time being he just leaned back against Bruce's desk and watched him work. Bruce was always discovering new knock-on effects of Clark's biology; today's was that kissing didn't redden Clark's mouth. He looked thoroughly debauched and he was wearing Bruce's suit, but dig down and he was as physically unaffected as he would have been if Bruce had spent the last half hour punching him. He took off his remaining glove, finally, and began to kick off his boots -- soon he wouldn't be wearing the suit, either.

"Can you fly home in the undersuit?" said Bruce, looking around idly for his lost buttons. Thanks to Clark, the wet spot now extended a fair distance down his pants leg and stuck the wool unpleasantly to his thigh. "I think I need my spare clothes more than you do."

"No problem." Clark had pulled up the undersuit pants so he was more or less modest, and was wriggling out of the bottom of the outer suit, which was interesting to watch but would have been moreso if he'd done the top first. "Sorry about ... everything you're wearing."

"It's not like I'm hard up."

Clark ignored this. "I guess I do need to stop at home, but I was thinking about -- your place? Later?"

"The Clock King incident doesn't need much of a postmortem."

Hurt flickered across Clark's face, but confusion quickly replaced it. He was halfway out of the top of the suit but stopped with it bunched up under his arms. "I thought if you were going to brush me off after all, you'd do your meditation thing first so I wouldn't be able to read you."

Blood thundered in Bruce's ears: the specific panic of the jig being very much up. He knew it more from childhood than from whatever the adult experience of that feeling was supposed to be like, because he had crafted an adult self who alternately did not care about being caught out, or had the escape routes and plausible deniability to ensure that he simply never was. Except by Clark. Twice in one night, when forces were really aligned against him.

"All right, I don't know why you're so upset by that." Clark finished working his way out of the top half of the suit and discarded it on the desktop; he took a step toward Bruce in the black undersuit and his stocking feet. His socks were red.

"Are you planning to announce every endocrine response I have from now on? Can I expect to enjoy this at League meetings?"

"Depends on whether you're holding my hand at the time," Clark fired back. "Bruce, are you okay?"

"All this time -- the considerable effort that went into my 'meditation thing' -- you knew."

Bruce had a flat voice specifically for looping Clark in on his fuck-ups. This was not that voice; he didn't know where that voice was right now. Even his merely human ears caught the raw edge of the accusation. This was, come to think, probably the least guarded he had been around Clark at any point in their acquaintance, maybe less even than when Clark had been half talking, half grinding an orgasm out of him a minute ago. None of his speculation about how harrowing it would be had prepared him for the experience.

Paradoxically, Clark's posture softened; he rocked back on his heels. "I didn't," he said. "I knew you were hiding something from me, about yourself. Everyone knows that about you. You're the great leveler."

Bruce's hands were fists in his makeshift cape-bag; he made himself relax them. "And you thought it was what."

"Everything?" said Clark, throwing up his hands. "Surprise, Bruce, people have noticed you're secretive and like the upper hand. I figured you didn't want me smelling your opinions about sports." He turned away to collect the batsuit from the desk and the boots from the floor in front of it. "And that you were trying to be polite about how much you hate aliens."

"I don't hate aliens," Bruce said automatically.

"Let's just say I thought you did and not have that argument right now. I thought you found me -- extremely off-putting, as an alien and maybe as a person, and were making every effort not to jeopardize our working relationship." The Batsuit was too rigid to fold like a garment; Clark made a couple of attempts and gave up.

"That wasn't ... exactly it."

"Yeah, I'm just starting to catch on."

"Was it the blowjob, or--"

Clark wasn't expecting that; he laughed, just briefly, but it transformed his face for a moment. Even when he looked up at Bruce from his armload of Batsuit and went solemn, something of his smile lingered. "If you're going to play dumb," he said, "I guess I have to be direct."

"Oh, good."

"That was a come-on, earlier. I asked to come around to night because I was angling to stay over."

"I know what it was. I have a meeting tomorrow morning that's case-related and need to be fresh. I can't have you monopolizing my entire night."

"We could just sleep, you know," Clark said, then worked his mouth, fighting a grin, when Bruce raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"I also have a stakeout in the evening," Bruce went on. Clark's face, implausibly, brightened even more. "I'll contact you about where to meet me when I know more."

Clark came toward him at last. Bruce held out the cape-bag and Clark stuffed the Batsuit and boots into it, then looked up into Bruce's face. He wasn't wearing any fewer layers now than he did when he wore his own blue suit, and at least this borrowed undersuit had a pocket, but to Bruce he seemed so exposed that it was hard not to look away.

"In all that," Clark said, in a voice so heavy with admission that a listener could have been excused for not realizing the two of them had just fucked on Bruce's desk, "all that thinking you were barely keeping a lid on an existential crisis every time we talked.... There still came a point when I started wanting you to like me anyway."

Given a moment to consider, Bruce could have told Clark the month, if not the day. He remembered once reflecting that Clark's stiff politeness had begun to thaw, after Darkseid; Clark had started to laugh sometimes when they talked, to seem no longer determined to exit every conversation in as few words as possible. Bruce had put the difference down to a change in the subject matter, not a change in Clark.

They were very close now; Clark still held a fold of the cape in his hand. He reached up with the other to stroke his fingers through Bruce's hair again. The right line here would get Bruce kissed, probably.

"How's that working out for you?" he said.

It didn't even have to be a good line.

I love how self-aware Bruce's internal monologue is, how even in this, he's constantly cataloguing his (and Clark's reactions). And two kinds of suit!porn! Yessssssss.

Anon, this is spectacular on a vast number of levels. I've encountered snippets in the wild but it's phenomenally satisfying to get it all at once like this. I am mostly going to succumb to my id as per, but there are so many sharp phrases in this I was just constantly delighted all the way though.

I love that it's Clark being the weird evasive one right off the bat (no pun intended), and all it takes is Bruce getting to one knee. She says, like that's not a pretty damn potent thing. XD

Yay bickering and Bruce being precious about the suit. And oh my god, all the Clark-things Bruce has steeled himself for in order to keep up his front, only to have forgotten about the other side of the coin. What a wonderful 'oh no' moment.

Pff, the reverse Pavlov.

If he bit Clark's thigh now, the layer of non-Newtonian fluid armor in the Batsuit would stiffen between his teeth and neither of them would really get anything out of it.
...But I did, so, like. Thanks for considering it, Bruce. :D

I love Bruce cataloguing Clark's noises the way he would anything else, but this time for personal reasons. Do you think he files his wank bank material aphabetically or by category?

"I know," Clark blurted, "god, I can smell you."
Responses in order: Jesus, wow, hot; Bruce is going to hate this as much as he gets a thrill from it; tell me that Clark has been able to smell him all night on the Batsuit.

it wasn't enough to lead Clark into the thicket of trying to finish that sentence.
Wouldn't want to get lost in the forest of foreplay. I hear it's very moist.

There was so much to conceal from him, Bruce could hardly remember how he had managed any of it.
Oh, Bruce. At least now you can reassign some of that processing power to something more useful.

YES, MORE BICKERING AND MAKING FUN and god I'm so predictable about how much I love this. Please jam all these smartass exchanges in my face please, thanks.

but no, Clark wanted to fuck him, not choke him./i>
Maybe later, okay.

Bruce let him get away with this for about fifteen seconds, then gradually stopped entertaining it
MORE MAKING FUN. I am won over a hundred times.

I, a 100% anonymous anon, am definitely making note of this gradual suit destruction, fyi.

GOD, Bruce fantasising about more sex in the middle of actual sex. CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS GUY.

You're lucky I didn't have any friends in high school
Slip that into the middle of a sweet little exchange like a knife between the ribs why don't you.

Aaah, all of CLARK'S fantasies now. I love how they all revolve around catching him, one way or another, and just how much Bruce is into that in combination with Clark totally immobilizing him at that moment.

GOD, Clark sending that desk across the room. Bruce is going to spend the rest of his life happily/horrifiedly meditating upon death by snu snu.

His socks were red.
*is delighted*

Bruce held out the cape-bag and Clark stuffed the Batsuit and boots into it
"Hey here's your armour back, you can try your best but I've already been way under it, sorry."

IN CONCLUSION, WORTH WAITING FOR, WOULD WAIT AGAIN.

Yeah I fucked up the italics, you can make fun of me later.

More plz. 8^)

[Going to do these in order; and it may take a while. Reply to 1/4]

Author!anon, a tl;dr to start off the comment: this fill is fantastic. It's great, and there's probably not a lot of ways for me to convey that, that don't sound entirely repetitious; I am, however, going to try.

One of my favorite things about this fill is how it takes the impersonation of Batman & Clark's adventure in the Batsuit as a given, and catapults us right past that into the aftermath of a hostage situation with the Clock King. The unraveling of what exactly happened prior to Bruce undressing Clark in his office is slow, comes to us in sideways glances (and only, finally, fits together when Clark is enumerating his wishlist); but what a picture. I like how it accomplishes for the reader what Bruce is doing with Clark: we have to imagine what Bruce and Clark were doing with the Clock King, build that fantasy, add it to what's already going on in the story itself to find the context behind the immediate scene.

In part one of the fill, I'm struck by how much of the emotional energy revolves around Bruce's dichotomy of truth vs. lies, failure vs. success, and how those two overlap (truth::failure) in the scene. Of course, as a a man who's built an entire goddamn life in hiding himself, he'd see the revelation of both his (and Clark's) feelings as a simultaneous, mutual failure. BUT EVEN BETTER THAN THAT, is that when he's finally "drunk on honesty," he's still fucking projecting. I was so struck by Bruce's line during this reading:

"But you're not quite as interested in that in its own right as you are in hearing me talk about it."

Bruce is putting this desire (to talk about it, to be open about it) onto Clark, but, for fuck's sake, Bruce, it's like you export your honesty!kink onto everyone around you. Probably because it's the single most intimate thing that Bruce Wayne has to offer. And Clark knows this about you, Bruce. Who wouldn't want Bruce to talk about his feelings, after he's spent maybe years hiding them?

And that cuts at me in the hurts-so-good way. Each turn of Bruce's thoughts about Clark obscure and reveal all at once, because they've both, through very dissimilar circumstances, and because of one another, evolved very similar defense mechanisms. And so while I laugh along with (and at Bruce) a bit, I hit Bruce thinking this about the potential xeno-sex he may be having momentarily:

"...if only to manage the likelihood and timing of that particular sort of rejection"

And it slips the knife into my heart. That's what Bruce has been doing, all this time, hasn't he? His lie...his timeline created as a mirage through his biofeedback training... it's all to manage this possibility. Maybe put off indefinitely a rejection he couldn't bear; or at least time it in such a way that it doesn't fall on him like a ton of bricks.

FUCKING OUCH.

THIS SMUT IS GIVING ME TOO MANY FEELS. DDDDDDDDD:

Anyway; all of this is threading under a gorgeous and delightful surface of bickering, Bruce totally making Clark's a hell (he doesn't deserve this; but then again, he's the one who likes Bruce), and incredibly hot smut.

But wow do those undercurrents rise up to grab me unawares. It's fucking amazing.

/op

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

FILL: Convergent Evolution, Bruce/Clark, Clark in the Batsuit [4/4]

Re: FILL: Convergent Evolution, Bruce/Clark, Clark in the Batsuit [4/4]

Re: FILL: Convergent Evolution, Bruce/Clark, Clark in the Batsuit [4/4]

Re: FILL: Convergent Evolution, Bruce/Clark, Clark in the Batsuit [4/4]

Re: FILL: Convergent Evolution, Bruce/Clark, Clark in the Batsuit [4/4]

Re: FILL: Convergent Evolution, Bruce/Clark, Clark in the Batsuit [4/4]