This feels as new as the first time he'd taken to the sky, when he wasn't immediately certain if that feeling was fear or thrill. Clark's eyes are big in his head but likewise focused, watching as Bruce calibrates, locks that hand around his wrist, finds a sort of equilibrium that feels core to how he functions.

Clark holds him there for as long as he thinks is worth the risk. His other hand glides again down the centre of Bruce's chest, resting his palm against his erection, both coaxing arousal and relieving it with that warm friction.

Slowly, the iron collar of grip at Bruce's neck lessens, slips into something tender. As soon as he breathes easy, Clark wants that too, kissing him warm and messy and full of desire.