Clark has not exhausted himself to the point of being totally incapable of reacting, although the temptation to flop on the mat is extremely great. No, he gets his knees under him before he's hauled again in close, eyes flashing wide as his hand clasps down on Bruce's arm—
—which is at first a feather light touch until he remembers, and so goes ahead and digs fingers into bicep.
And then gusts out another disbelieving laugh as Bruce goes and checks his vitals. Honestly. There is sweat on Clark's forehead and his eyes are bright in a way that would ordinarily take a lot more physical exertion to encourage. He already feels like he's doing something stupid, and it is tempting to drag Bruce down with him. Further down.
No, alright. Let's not immediately fuck with the data. He loosens his grip on Bruce's arm too.
"You should too," he says. Don't explode on exit, Wayne.
Clark leans in to plant a kiss on Bruce's forehead, clumsily friendly, and moves to roll away.
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—which is at first a feather light touch until he remembers, and so goes ahead and digs fingers into bicep.
And then gusts out another disbelieving laugh as Bruce goes and checks his vitals. Honestly. There is sweat on Clark's forehead and his eyes are bright in a way that would ordinarily take a lot more physical exertion to encourage. He already feels like he's doing something stupid, and it is tempting to drag Bruce down with him. Further down.
No, alright. Let's not immediately fuck with the data. He loosens his grip on Bruce's arm too.
"You should too," he says. Don't explode on exit, Wayne.
Clark leans in to plant a kiss on Bruce's forehead, clumsily friendly, and moves to roll away.