Discussion/Writing Post

[dceu_kinkmod]

This post is for everything that's not prompts, fills or comments on prompts/fills. You can discuss the movies or trailers or headcanons here, but you can also use this as a writing post: talk about fic ideas you've had (whether they're based on kinkmeme prompts or not), brainstorm with others, bounce ideas off someone, or post snippets you've written to get some feedback. Or even just some cheerleading and support while you write. You can also use this post to find a beta.

Basically: if it doesn't go on the prompt post, you can do it here.

Prompt post #1 is here. All non-DCEU prompts go here.

Comments

The turtleneck thing

[(Anonymous)]

It seems no one have used the post for writing yet? I'm stuck at a family dinner surrounded by screaming children and it seems as good a time as any, so I'll start.

***

Clark hears it, a quiet exhale, a considering, promising sound that somehow reverberates all the way up his spine, giving him goosebumps despite the fact that they're indoors in a crowded kitchen, with the oven on no less. Not for the first time that evening he wishes his hearing weren't so sensitive -- there is simply no way he can ignore Bruce's muscles shifting under his shirt as he follows Clark's every move, his lips parting whenever Clark is turned or stretched or bent at a certain angle, his heart speeding up like a siren call. If Bruce's smirk the few times Clark catches his eyes is anything to go by, the man knows exactly what he's doing. Clark has had to turn away every time, face hot, reminding himself over and over that they have company.

Very stern, very rowdy, very superhuman company.

A family gathering, his mother has said, to celebrate the return of my boy. Three whole years have passed for everyone but him, Clark is not going to pretend that it doesn't hurt to see Lois intertwining her fingers with Diana's, his engagement ring held on a chain round her neck as a keepsake. He also can't, however, pretend that is doesn't hurt less compared to when he woke up six months ago. Perhaps because he didn't spend a second of those six months alone -- just not with the company he would expect.

The last chunk of carrot splits neatly into four under his knife. Clark looks up at his mother's puttering back, looks over at Alfred's dismissive wave, casts his gaze around one more time, desperate for something else to chop--

--and finds none, obviously. Bruce is leaving his seat by the table, throwing one last look over his shoulder before disappearing into the dark hallway. Clark despairs. It is Thanksgiving, the whole League plus his ex-girlfriend are in various degrees of inebriation all over his childhood home, here he is trying to be a good born-again Superman, and Bruce is practically taunting him to misbehave?

Clark really, really hates to be underestimated.

Re: The turtleneck thing

[(Anonymous)]

It is embarassing how much it turns him on to be yanked into the storage room, pushed against the door and then have all six-foot-four of muscles descend onto him. Clark has to bite back a laugh because Bruce's stubble on his neck tickles, really, not because the speed of all his blood plunging south has left him a little light-headed. He raises his hand in the dark to reach for Bruce's collar, his thrumming veins, the slick cut of his fancy waistcoast. Under the rolled up sleeves his shoulders are bulging, given the hands now impatiently pushing Clark's sweater all the way up his chin.

"What's with you today?" Clark asks, breathless, his grip quickly slips into slicked back hair as Bruce drops to his knees right there and pushes his face against's Clark's stomach. The math is off somewhere, Clark just can't figure out where, and Bruce is making it seriously hard to think straight with how he's tonguing Clark's belly-button like that.

Then Bruce licks a line, straight up his sternum, hands pushing Clark's jeans down to bare his hipbones. Even knowing what will come next, Clark still feels his knees go weak when Bruce's mouth moves down. No tongue, no bites, just the ghost of lips and feather-light breaths. Clark twists away, over sensitive, hair raising as if electrified, clasping a hand over his mouth to stop his sound. It's unbearable what his body does, what Bruce makes it do. One searing hot brand, fading as soon as he stepped into sunlight, and yet he can't help trembling every time Bruce goes near now, every time Bruce looks at him; pumped with an exciting mix of trepidation, fear, and arousal.

Re: The turtleneck thing

[(Anonymous)]

Bruce looks up at him, pleased, and Clark has never seen a man so smug even though he's on his goddamn knees. Before he can raise his objection though, Bruce raises an eyebrow, then the blood rushing in Clark's ears quiet down enough for him to hear--

Heavy, mechanical footsteps, alongside lighter and more graceful ones, mixed with animated laughter. It's Victor and his mom. There are very few things on Earth that can give Clark true blood-curling fear -- being caught pants-down in a broom closet with Batman by his own mother is definitely one of them. His freezing must have broadcasted sheer terror, because Bruce thankfully stays still until the footsteps have moved past them to the adjacent door.

His old room. Mom is showing Victor his room.

That's when Bruce makes his move. Clark has no time to catch his breath before he's spun around to face the door, Bruce kicking his feet apart while plunging a hand down the front of Clark's jeans to wrap around his erection. That guarantees another hand clasped over his own mouth, which would send Clark knocking head with the door if not for Bruce yanking his hair back, making Clark's upperbody rest against his chest.

Not fair, so not fair. Clark breathes through his nose, heart hammering like a wild horse, struggling to swallow any noise from Bruce's thumb grinding and swiping over his foreskin, spreading precome all around. Even when Bruce lets go of his hair to wander down his chest, the message is clear: he is to stay like this. Clark has no choice but to loll his head on broad shoulder, pressing back until he can feel the hot outline of Bruce's cock against his ass. That earns him a pinched nipple and nails scratching over his left pec. It doesn't hurt him, but memories can. Memories of being pierced, of green light rendering him utterly vulnerable and helpless. Just the phantom pain is enough to send Clark bucking, his cock growing larger and slicker in Bruce's hand.

Re: The turtleneck thing

[(Anonymous)]

Clark can hear mom moving around in the other room, picking up and putting down his own trophies, Victor trailing fingers against book titles, the various photo frames clacking against each other on his desk. He can't register a word they're saying though, because Bruce has taken an earlobe into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth before yanking off to start whispering. Nobody else in this house has superhearing, Clark knows that for a fact, he still can't help the instictive shiver when from the bass of Bruce's voice tumbles out what he desperately does not want anybody to hear.

"Wanted this since you opened the door. You've never worn turtleneck around me before, is that because you know what I'd do?" Bruce's other hand rubs over the fabric on Clark's arm, heat seeping onto his skin, and Clark recalls the progression of this afternoon with sudden clarity. As if to demonstrate his point, Bruce is tracing every place his eyes has wandered, recounting to Clark each turn of his head, each plased sigh, each dry swallow. His rough palm tugs from the helm bunched at Clark's armpit down to his side, where the shirt used to hug him snuggly, before sweeping round to rub down his abdomen, then the up swell of his chest. Bruce molds himself to Clark's back, jacking him off leisurely, mouth wet against his nape.

"You remember every place I marked you. Here," underarm, "here," his clavicle, "here," beside his belly-button, "here," jeans and boxers pushes as far down as they can go with Clark's legs still spread, so Bruce can draw the shape of a bat on the inside of his right thigh. With each touch, Clark grows more and more desperate, toes curling, his body making the connection between pain and release, of overstimulation where barely anything could make his flesh feel before. His palms are wet with how much sound he's muffling, and yet Bruce refuses to take it out, give him what he needs.

Re: The turtleneck thing

[(Anonymous)]

As someone with a huge thing for turtlenecks, I absolutely loved reading this, anon! Love how much Bruce is into Clark, how he just grabs him, I love Clark's pain kink and Bruce talking about marking him, unf. I will be here if you write more of this. :D

Re: The turtleneck thing

[(Anonymous)]

+ so many 1s to the anon above! This is great, anon author, and unfairly hot (and I 100% appreciate the side of Diana/Lois). So very much here if you ever feel like coming back to this!