Bruce does remember. He'd had a few red welts left on him from Clark's experimenting, allowed to keep them while the Kryptonian's healed. Now, the slightest miscalculation will cave his chest in. (And you took her from me. He hadn't known what to say. Even in the dreams, then, his self-avatar merely furiously waited to die. Now, he never finds himself in quite the same conversation, in that otherworld.)

Clark is so gentle with him, but so pointed, too. Bruce huffs something that could be interpreted as petulant, if one were determined.

"Orgasms help."

He blinks, the faint sound of a tear belatedly registering as what it is. Too busy being distracted by dull nails and Clark's mouth ghosting over him. Stares down at the younger man.

"Suddenly impatient?"