What a relief, that touch to his hip, and the smallness of the thumb rub that accompanies it. It is physically impossible to relax, but there's something like it that happens anyway, and he leans into that touch, feeling the solidity of it. The physical assuredness, and the psychic assuredness. When Bruce reminds him of where they are, Clark nods, ironically quiet in conveying his understanding, and senses himself bracing.

Which is also new, in a way, not just for the pain factor, but the absence of superhuman reflexes. If something's coming at him fast, he can watch it, feel it happen, decide what to do next, like a more sophisticated set of responses than a more human flinch-signal through his nervous system. His processing feels slower when he doesn't have the kind of physiology that can respond to anything faster.

Anyway. There's no flinch until after Bruce's hand lands on him, a human-like delay between impact and response, hips jerking forwards some, more if it wasn't for the other man's grip. And again, this time getting a sound out of Clark, a breathless grunt. The next against a new spot is less painful but has him gasping in. His hands close into fists.

Bruce's hand lands somewhere particularly sensitive, some midway point between thigh and ass, a sharper cry startled out of Clark, but he only pushes his hips back up.