His pulse must sound funny as his blood pressure adjusts to the sudden change of altitude and folded limbs, Bruce's face all confused and bleary for a second before it's covered in Clark's own face. Mm, better. He allows himself to be held up under the other man's power, and drapes his arms over his shoulders, easy and comfortable and close.

"Your hand," he all but whispers against his mouth, kissing him in between. "Stay with me."

Up here, he means. Stay crowded and pressed in, keep kissing him. Bruce slides his hands around the back of Clark's head, cradling it and messing up his already bath-messed-up hair further, like he's missed doing. It won't take long; he'll kiss him until he has to stop just to drag in air, forehead pressed against Clark's temple instead of thrown back, shivering against him as it creeps up his spine.

Over-sensitive and over-sore now, but he relishes it. Everything is so far past aching that it feels gentle again.