Turns out, in addition to having all these dovetailing issues that can only be satisfied with each other, they also enjoy fucking. Together. Imagine. What excruciating ordinariness.

Pressing together like this is not going to encourage Bruce's erection to fade. It's alright. He considers tugging the curtain back, staring out into the city, but that would require moving. It would also take off the table the opportunity for Clark to get fucked feeling so bruised as post-high euphoric, if he so wishes. There's plenty of time to decide.

Bruce manages to get his other hand, with the arm tucked under Clark's head, out to flex his fingers and reach for the other man's free one. C'mere. He circles around where his wrist had been in the cuff, stroking it, pressing his thumb over the pulse point. For no reason other than the pleasure of it, as he settles with his cheek against dark hair.

(I love you. You're becoming everything to me. It's either going to save everything or end the world. Should I wish for it to be meaningless.)

"Feeling alright? Besides that one out of three lurking in the wings."