Is it actually a problem. Bruce is sucking at his adam's apple, applying teeth, for all that teeth make any bit of difference on Clark. But he relents, hums something appreciative at the hands in his hair, and tips his head into it a little.

"Maybe I don't actually want to send you out anywhere."

Even though he should, for the ice. But there is still a small gossamer thread of No, stay, don't leave me, don't let me leave you. A silly psychological thing after such intensity, even though Bruce would understand even if Clark had to vanish mid-event to scoop a town away from an erupting volcano. Bruce shifts up enough to kiss his mouth, soft, chaste in comparison to everything else.

Alright, alright.

"Shower, then."