The landing's slow. Holding Bruce just like this for a few moments, face half-buried in his hair (he likes the grey, it can't be overstated), gladly folded up into the arm yoked across his shoulders, Bruce's words still simmering warm at the bottom of his brain.

Minor adjustments follow. Clark pulls out, to start with, doing so with the most minimal of movements and so when he resettles he is still on top. He thinks of lions lying tangled under the sun. Thinks of never getting up again. Thinks it'll be a matter of time until the state of them demands they do something about it but maybe not for a minute.

"You're incredible," finally, sighed out, into the over-warm atmosphere of their immediate vicinity. His eyes are closed. He always gives the impression of being able to see anyway.