Clark's eyes half-closed, and he is kissed, a curl of pleasure embering low in his gut. He sinks into the welcome of Bruce's reaching hands, hitching leg against leg, hand on his hip.

He shakes his head, but finds his voice. "No," quietly spoken between them. "Had to be careful."

More careful. Extra careful. In the few moments he's been taken to bed by another man, the prospect always seemed stressful in a way it doesn't now. The potential for harm, yes, and the potential for somehow being found out, an ever present spectre of possibility. Since then, he's had some time to figure himself out, both in those moments stepping off the ruins of a Kryptonian spacecraft and learning to fly, and in the past minute of holding Bruce's throat so gently, like a butterfly in cupped hands.

Okay, well. It's not nothing to do with Bruce.

"I will be," he says, with a crack of a smile.