Clark had genuinely not intended to end things as quickly as he did (for a given value of ending things, what with the time spent afterwards laying around, kissing, cleaning, teasing), but likewise had sort of known that was the only possible outcome as soon as Bruce had laid a first bruise onto his neck. Next time will be different. Maybe. He will, at least, be better prepared, maybe more willing to hold back from diving off that ledge.

No such issues tonight, anyway. The cuffs are left on the mattress as Clark straddles him comfortably, the full density of his weight channelled more into his own knees braced on the mattress than where he rests a little weight on Bruce's hips.

"Not at all," he says. "Sometimes it's too much of a good thing."

The real problem is more likely to be Bruce's mouth, and the words that come out of it, but that's not something Clark is prepared to take away. Maybe one day. It may be shocking to know that he is not, in fact, any kind of expert at kink, but he's adept at following impulse. He reaches up to grasp Bruce's wrist, and gently (unstoppably) lay it back down on the pillow beside Bruce's head.

He kisses him, long and slow, just holding him there for now while his other hand pushes up his shirt, a broad sweep of his palm up his side.