The groan Clark gives at that is inarticulate complaint. Kind of a rare one, from him, not much of a whiner in general. The harshness of the slap is like a shock to his senses and then comes that gentler touch between his legs that he can't stop himself from bucking back against. He can feel himself starting to drip against the sheets beneath him, speaking of mess, but the race towards an orgasm feels oddly tertiary.

And. He's being quizzed on a complex topic, that being, what does he want more of the most. One of his hands has wrangled a fistful of sheet, just for something to grip, and he lets out a harsh sounding breath as Bruce's fingers dig against him.

"The hitting," comes out harsh, half-whispered. It feels like a trust fall, even now, even after he already asked for this, after they talked about, after it's already started. It's not a bad thing, when you're caught. He swallows, musters up another morsel of courage and breath in his lungs, asks, "Will you do it 'til I say?"

He's not sure if that's how this works, really, but on Clark's side, he's only ever made this up as he goes.