Lazily paced, a slow sinking, but the transition is less like the slow burn of going from peace to needy to desperate and more like Clark had been closer to being completely submerged in this mood the whole time than he knew about. Bruce bites his neck, works that skin there, and Clark shivers warmly. The hand above the grip to his wrist curls back into a fist.

(There'd been a slight laugh at mock-chastising. Maybe he will ask Bruce to make love to him sometime, see how that goes down.)

He moves as nudged, letting his legs fall further apart again as Bruce touches him. There's an ache there, now, from the positioned he'd sustained minutes ago, muscle fatigue in a way that's new and different and not bad, exactly. An odd and comfortable burn to lean into. He wonders what a bath of ice feels like.