Bruce's arm around him is firm, and where his hand curls into side, he occasionally strokes his thumb over unearthly fabric. His shoulder is sturdy, able to hold the weight of Kal of house Drunky easily-- though it's much appreciated he isn't wasted to the point of forgetting his strength, or Bruce would be a pudding of bashed bone and blood on the floor regardless of how nice he smells.

"Chemically, what you're experiencing is like alcohol intoxication," Bruce tells him, and points at the screen. "Obviously we can't take your blood or check how your liver's filtering anything, but as far as the waves in your brain are concerned, 'drunk' is you sorted out, Kansas."

Alfred re-sticks Clark with more electrodes as Bruce continues to explain, his low voice almost comforting as he runs through the whys and whats of the things they can detect happening inside of him with sensors and scanners. During this, Alfred gives them some space, either deciding he's done all he can or that, frankly, he doesn't need to see them canoodling. (The security feed will be plenty.)

"It's because you inhaled a bunch of neurotoxin." Bruce is quieter, now that they're alone. He presses a kiss to the top of Clark's head.