Even when teeth set against seemingly soft flesh, or when nails dimple impervious flesh, and neither of these things are painful and so their effects are thereby—muffled, they are still felt, in their own way. And it's like every little thing Bruce does, down to the hand settled warm near his cock or the timbre of Bruce's voice in supersensitive ears sparks Clark's interest.

There's probably some expert out there that could tell him why he desires so much for this man in particular to touch him a whole lot, but—

He's busy. And he kisses him, murmurs a negatory sound and an, "I'm good," while he's there. The mattress dips and sighs beneath the shift of weight as Clark moves to crowd over Bruce again, lifting himself up a little. The articulately combed waves of his hair have been thoroughly disrupted over the course of the last several minutes. In spite of certain fan blog essays on the subject that Clark definitely hasn't read on slow news days, it doesn't take a lot.

"Where do you wanna be? On your back?"