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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: Here Be Dragons -- Bruce/Clark, kryptonite bondage [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2017-01-10 03:34 pm (UTC)(link)"I take it you have some control over making that happen."
Clark blinks, mentally backtracks. Right--his shield. He hums an acknowledgement. "I have to tell it to," he says, in a vastly abridged explanation. And then, because no matter how tightly he's pressed to Clark's body, Bruce seems ready and willing to take a detour into dissecting his suit's tech, he says, "Would you just touch me?"
Bruce sucks his teeth as though he's run the odds and come up long.
"Please," Clark says. He struggles to make it sound like a command. The crack in his voice lets him down, but maybe it's a combination that works well on Bruce. He capitulates with something like eagerness, curling his hand over Clark's hip.
It's several degrees more intense on his bare skin, his nerve-endings screaming with it. It feels like he's being branded--like Bruce will move his hand and there will be an imprint of his touch left behind. He grits his teeth at the hot bite of it, grunting as his back arches away from the chair.
"Steady," Bruce murmurs, and then bends to lick the head of Clark's dick, firm and slow, dipping in to taste his precome as though that'll do anything to keep him under control. Clark shudders and collapses back into the chair. He can feel every crease in the leather seat and the direction the air is circulating in the cave, his own pulse against Bruce's tongue--all distinct, even through his kryptonite-dimmed senses.
It's a muffled kind of silent, all the peripheral racket of his surroundings muted without needing his input. His vision is like fuzzy VCR tape, bereft of the elaborate contour of waves and signals that usually patina his environment.
This is probably how the average human perceives the world. He takes a moment to wonder how the hell they manage, then Bruce opens his mouth and slides it around most of Clark's dick in a typically ambitious movement. After that, Clark isn't thinking much about anything except the careless scrape of his teeth and the ferocious dig of the gauntlet into his hipbone.
Bruce pushes himself down, mouth stretched and frowning like this is some kind of goddamn problem he has to solve. Clark helps him along with a thrust of his hips. Bruce rides up with it then pulls back, cheeks hollowing as he sucks hard on the head. Too hard--almost spitefully hard. Clark convulses.
Bruce circles the length of his dick while he's shuddering--and god, he can't figure out of it's agony or pleasure, but the sensation is an expected one. An anticipated one. His mouth is watering with it. He's never wanted something so awful so badly. It's excruciating, thunderous, quickly resolving into warmth that gathers at the base of his spine, and he gasps and twists in on himself as far as the chains will allow, just to keep himself a little longer.
The look on Bruce's face is--he uncurls his hand and Clark falls back, heaving in breath and making rough noises of relief that won't quite keep to themselves. He sounds like this when he wakes up, sometimes.
"Okay?"
He takes a few more shaky breaths, and swallows. "I'm okay." He thinks about the augmented batarang, about claws and his skin parting. "Bruce," he says urgently.
"I'm listening."
"Remember, when--I messed up your car," Clark says, then shakes his head, fumbling for a more lucid explanation. His concentration is shot, thoughts scattering when he tries to pin them down. "Back when we were--when we first--" He sighs in frustration. "The thing you asked me."
Bruce blinks at him. He wets his lips. "I remember," he says, carefully uninflected.
"I want to--remember what that's like," Clark says. "To bleed like that. To just--keep bleeding."
"It's not as exciting as it sounds," Bruce says.
"You don't have to worry about whether it'll stop."
Bruce presses his mouth into a hard line, a muscle clenching in his jaw. Clark rolls his head back against the chair and watches him sort through whatever logic tree consists his decision-making process.
"No, Clark," he says, not unkindly.
"Then, can you--" Clark starts, but Bruce has already pressed up against him again, bare hand tangling in his hair to pull him into a slow kiss. The other slides between his legs, bypassing his dick to grasp his balls. Again the shock of the kryptonite, the heady burn of it. The moan it startles out of him is lost in Bruce's mouth.
Bruce continues to feed him shallow, messy kisses, slowly rubbing his own erection against Clark's thigh. His fingers roam lower, brushing over Clark's ass and his whole body seizes with the promise of it, the wicked crackle of the kryptonite and those vicious fingers curling inside of him.
"I'm gonna," Clark says, "oh god, I--"
He's going to come against the Batsuit. Bruce doesn't seem to care, so neither does Clark. He loses Bruce's mouth when he arches his neck, but then there's the sting of his teeth bearing down on Clark's Adam's apple, his nose pressing in against his jugular, making his head rush. Bruce could tear out his throat.
Bruce's fingers press harder, not breaching him--but they could, with just a little more. Could settle deep.
"Why do you want this?" Bruce asks quietly, muffled against Clark's neck, as though he doesn't feel the same need in his bones a hundredfold stronger.
He must know that part of it. But maybe what he's not understanding is that he's the only person with enough ruthlessness and empathy in balance to do this to Clark without devastating him, one way or the other.
And, because if it comes down to it, Bruce won't shy from using this against him, but--here be dragons.
"The novelty," Clark gasps.
Bruce's fingers nudge hard, both punishment and reward for his lie, and Clark trembles violently as his orgasm lashes him, burning up his spine and drawing every muscle in his body taut. He doesn't have the breath to yell. Bruce holds him steady through it, pressing cheek to cheek as Clark shudders. He might be saying something, but it's drowned out by Clark's roaring blood.
He's vaguely aware of Bruce reaching over him as it ebbs, and there's sudden relief as the chain uncoils from his wrists. He lets his hands slide bonelessly over the wide span of Bruce's back, just breathing as the wider world starts sparking back into his consciousness.
His arms ache and his fingers feel weird, like they're not his. He clenches and unclenches his fists against Bruce's shoulder blades.
Then he digs in his fingernails and gently pulls the weave of the Batsuit apart. He feels the hard catch of Bruce's breath as he tears out the seams down his chest and through the wet mess soaking into his stomach, peeling back his tough hide, exposing his soft underbelly.
He snaps the belt like a ribbon.
He's going to be in an entirely different world of pain for this. He grins up at Bruce's furious, desperate expression and pulls away the suit's protective cup.
"Shit," Bruce rasps and presses his forehead into Clark's shoulder. He's coming before Clark can even work his hand inside the compression shorts he wears underneath the suit. Clark rests his palm over the damp material instead, luxuriating in the pull and release of Bruce's orgasm, his uncontrolled shivering, the way his breath burns against Clark's skin.
He shudders one last time and then sighs
"I am incredibly unhappy with you right now," he says. He plucks at a strip of ruined fabric.
"Sure," Clark says sunnily. He is phenomenally tired all of a sudden. If Bruce wants to go ahead and have this argument while he's only half-conscious, that would be quite optimal. "Business as usual."
Bruce peels the glove off, but lets it drop to the floor instead of putting it away. Clark's not sure whether it's that or the exhaustion or a combination that's fogging his senses, but he's pretty sure he can get away with tilting his head and pulling an openly hopeful face. He catches Bruce's eye roll before he's obliged with a kiss. No argument. Later, then.
"Come on," Bruce says. "It's cold down here. Are you good to move?"
Clark considers this, and then shrugs lethargically. Even if he could, he doesn't want to just yet, but Bruce gets to his feet and hefts Clark up out the chair and straight over his shoulder into a fireman's lift. It's an impressive maneuver, even if he has to grunt and step back to center his balance.
"Jesus, you're heavier than I remember," he mutters. "What are you made of, moon rock?" He hooks an arm around Clark's thigh, grabs his wrist and bears him out of his lair.
"Doesn't matter," Clark says, lets his grousing wash over him with unprecedented fondness. "You're strong." It's way more uncomfortable than Clark could have anticipated, being carried like this. Bruce's shoulder digs into the soft flesh below his sternum and makes talking, and breathing, a more labored experience. He quickly feels lightheaded on top of his orgasmic high.
"Don't patronize me," Bruce says, and slaps Clark's ass with his free hand.
Clark starts in surprise and laughs, or tries to, just wheezes out a few breaths. That sets off a chain reaction of snorting and Bruce muttering jesus under his breath, which just makes Clark laugh more. By the time Bruce dumps him onto his bed, he's almost asphyxiated himself.
It's late evening. Clark didn't expect it to be, for some reason. The dipping sun smothers him in its low, red rays and he feels a twinge of wistfulness as it bathes the ache from his muscles. Bruce stands beside the bed, arms folded. His uniform hangs in shredded loops around his waist.
Clark closes his eyes, just for a moment. When he opens them again, it's fully dark. Bruce is at his back, silent. He sleeps again. He doesn't remember his dreams.
***
Bruce twists the bedsheets and shouts himself awake. Clark leans over him, and when it takes a good few seconds for the terror in Bruce's face to subside into lust, Clark remembers that the Bat is not the only one with glowing eyes and the strength to break a man.
Re: FILL: Here Be Dragons -- Bruce/Clark, kryptonite bondage [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2017-01-11 07:32 am (UTC)(link)And Clark just breaking the belt at the end, ha.
That final line was perfection too.
Thanks for this fill, author!
Re: FILL: Here Be Dragons -- Bruce/Clark, kryptonite bondage [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2017-01-12 11:31 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Here Be Dragons -- Bruce/Clark, kryptonite bondage [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2017-01-12 04:31 pm (UTC)(link)+ so very, very many ones to all of this! *_______________* All the sensations Clark is feeling throughout this whole thing are just so vivid and clear and spectacularly hot, GAH. It deserves a way more articulate comment than I'm currently capable of composing, given that my brain just basically melted. AMAZING.