Clark shuffles over and Bruce wraps his arms around him, letting him tuck in close like a golden retriever wiggling up onto his lap. A sweaty, sticky golden retriever. He presses a very chaste-feeling kiss to the top of his head, and for a long time, is content to leave it at that on the slow spiral down.

When he does move, it's to cradle the back of Clark's head, rub affectionate lines on his scalp through his hair. That he's trusted this way is like no other feeling he's had. After what he's done, but also, simply at all.

Bruce nuzzles against his temple, and murmurs quietly, "I love you."

He always feels it, but sometimes it's too hard to say. He's glad when he's able to.