DCEU Prompt Post #1

[dceu_kinkmod]

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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Comments

Re: FILL: Position Awareness

[(Anonymous)]

Chapter One



~”In making tactical dispositions, the highest pitch you can attain is to conceal them;”~ -Sun Tzu



Clark’s not proud, that it makes him happy. He’s not proud to feel this joy, this delirium. He’s not proud of how it makes him whimper and shake; not proud of how the silence and the shadows and the strength of Bruce’s grip and the weight of Bruce’s body and the absence of Bruce’s attention make it clear. Dedicated and hallowed as these grounds may be, this is no veneration, and Bruce is no supplicant. Bruce isn’t body shy—he’s never been a man easy to humble or bluff. Bruce and his Mission; the Mission and Bruce—they were inseparable. Clark could never have one without the other, and Bruce. Bruce would never have Clark without Superman. Bruce is rage and will, a Presence that he hides behind a soft-eyed, soft-minded mask. Bruce is darkness and brilliance; secrets and masks, incredible fortitude. Bruce endures.

The man in question, the man Clark loves enough to not let the world burn. Resting heartbeat steady at 38 beats per minute, breath tightly controlled as he fucks up into Clark for the second hour with what should be bruising strength. By all rights, Clark should be screaming. Clark should be begging for mercy. Clark is just fine, only distantly aware that he’s staring up at Bruce from under his lashes; that he hasn’t stopped staring since Bruce laid hands on him tonight.

“Bruce…” He can’t recognize his own voice these days. He’s never sounded like this before, like he’s drunk, like he’s starving, like he can’t get enough.

Clark begs for more, and Bruce shifts silently, always graceful. Always deadly. Bruce presses down, gives him more. A dry caress of lips across Clark’s bent knee, a profoundly still space of deep even breaths. A slight tremor to the callused hands gripping Clark’s hip and thigh is the only warning before Bruce surges forward again. Steely eyes remain distant, fixed into the distance above Clark’s head.

He’s probably reviewing the results of his latest metallurgy test or running the odds of nanomesh-induced allergic reactions to the newest wave of Wayne Technologies HazMat protection gear. It really shouldn’t matter to Clark; this is enough, really it is. If only Bruce would kiss him, he thinks, that would be even better.

And then he does.

Re: FILL: Position Awareness 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

~”Therefore the clever combatant imposes his will on the enemy, but does not allow the enemy’s will to be imposed on him.”~ -Sun Tzu



There are Rules.

One is explicit, the rest remain Unspoken, but Clark knows them all the same.



Bruce Wayne the mask is ineffective, ridiculous—he’s what everyone wants to be and yet he’s no one at all—his weaknesses are legendary and endless. Stupidity, culpability, lecherousness, an authoritarian possessiveness; he’s undeserving of his riches and cavalier of them; a squanderer, a sleazy drunkard and a weak-armed handshake, the worst kind of businessman, the worst kind of man—the list is exhaustive. A more perfect waste of space hadn’t yet been invented.

Batman is too imperative to have weaknesses. Clark can’t be his weak point, any more than Robin—any Robin—ever could be. Bruce would never forgive Clark, for making this weird. Fine, weirder. This is exercise, training, this is Bruce being the first Human to understand the Monitor-servants of Clark’s Colony Ship. This is Bruce learning things about Clark that even Clark didn’t know, and stopping a disaster of untold proportions caused by nothing less than the unsanctioned signature of Clark’s mixed-caste DNA. This is Bruce helping Clark curb some very adult Kryptonian urges that Clark wouldn’t admit to having until Bruce shoved his nose in them. This is Bruce, being allowed to let off steam with someone he unequivocally cannot hurt unless he intends to. This is as safe as it gets.

Clark has to be strong. And yet…

He really doesn’t.

There’s the Case, full of what Bruce calls ‘K’. The one they don’t—cant—talk about. The only reason Clark gets this privilege; the only reason Clark is allowed even this close. Clark should be grateful, really. He should, he should be thankful that there is someone who can put him in line.

Bruce never lets his debutantes and fuck-boys undress him—never lets them see him. He may tongue-fuck them in public restaurants and get caught receiving suckjobs in the kind of sophisticated places that cost more for a plate than Clark’s apartment does per month, but they don’t know these shadows. Truthfully, Clark isn’t even sure if Bruce fucks any of them. He knows they don’t kiss these chapped, hard lips or this scarred skin, though admittedly, the kissing is a new thing. They don’t know how Bruce kisses, like each one is a cryptogram for him to interpret and unravel with his tongue; like Clark is a lock he has to finesse open or coax to surrender his secrets. Kisses like breathing and biting, tarnished conduits that light up the dark in fast-dying flares. Kisses that make Clark feel exactly as he sounds right now—no, he can’t get enough.