It's heady to stay connected like this, everything over-sensitive, exhaustion crashing against adrenaline and euphoric relief. Bruce breathes deep against him, the position miraculously holding itself together despite his lopsided weight and Clark's folding limbs. Bruce controls the collapse down, getting them there, a tangle of body parts. The bed's surface could be on the ceiling for how ordinary it seems.

Does indeed feel like reality's faded away around them.

When he pulls out he keeps a hand pressed against Clark's rear, conscious of the sting of it after such rough treatment. Just staying there, giving him a point of contact instead of immediate abandonment after a sharp withdraw. Sprawled at his back, face against his shoulder, other arm squished beneath him.

Oof. (Good oof.)