And lo, the reason he bound Clark's hands but didn't tie him to the headboard, exposed. Bruce makes sure he can at least bend at his elbows for comfort. Checks the wraps again, mindful of circulation, but not letting him free. It lets him run his hand over his neck, shoulders. Leaning on his butt a little with the other one.

"I've got some options. Why, do you have somewhere else you need to be, at the moment?"

Patience, grasshopper. Something like that.

Bruce moves, making sure to always stay in contact so that Clark doesn't feel like he's vanished, and nudges his knees apart. Getting into the same position as a moment ago, practically, just with the younger man flipped over. He is still very hard, and he lets Clark feel it, leaning in to rub his cock in the cleft of his ass. Which for a mind-numbing second feels like it may be a mistake, his own patience threatening to fray, but he masters it. Leans up, presses both hands on Clark's shoulderblades.

"Tell me if you don't like something."

Pressure. Hard and uncompromising, and his hands moving, along lines of energy and circulation. It draws heat up; not really a massage, but there's no better word for it. For such a serious guy, he sure believes in a lot of hippie chakra crap, but it's hard to argue its validity when applied in a way that, after a few minutes, can feel like an electric shock from a touch to a pressure point.