The surface level is easy: Bruce is allowed to like it, so why not Clark? But he knows - he thinks he knows, anyway - what the hesitation might be. The potential for shame, as a being who has entered debates about intelligent design by virtue of existing. If there's anything human he should want, how dare he yearn for what could be harmful. Not the same as the revulsion at a billionaire being unhappy, but perhaps there's some insight. Feels like walking into a trap to admit anything. Trust me with it. Let's go into it together.

And fuck, how could he not want to help him with it. The real embarrassing thing is how unbelievably turned on Bruce is going to be, watching Clark lose it.

His groan is sharp and quick when Clark pushes his thumb against that little bruise. Pulse still steady, but so much faster than usual, exposing his shaken composure. Tilts up into that kiss, making it deeper, harder, as much as Clark will let him. He feels hypersensitive and too slick, some mess of wetness on his abs where his cock's been leaking. Like a teenager. Like no one's been able to do to him since he was a teenager.

"Clark," he pants when they break. That's all. Just his name.