Clark relaxes into everything that's happening, draws his arms in once they're free, shifts as Bruce encourages him to shift. The touches to sensitised skin is more soothing than stimulating, but also, not not stimulating. A hummed sound as Bruce's hand moves down to graze his cock and slip over his inner thigh, which he's almost forgotten and probably would have remembered in a worse way in a few minutes than this gentle reminder.

It's not boring, the talk. Even if his physical movements are sleepy, cosy, he's alert, listening. At the very last thing he says, he smiles to himself, turns his head to lay a nuzzled kiss against Bruce's arm, quiet appreciation for

well, framing their weirdness as something human and shared, not just alien.

"I think I like whatever you wanna give me," is more flirtation than factual, but also: factual. His hand has wandered back, touching Bruce's hip, tracing his fingertips down his thigh, up again, soft butterfly tickles of contact.