Bruce handled the pressure of Clark's breath forcing the cut open pretty well. Oh, it made him harden more, pulse, flush with heat and arousal more, had his hands curling into fists and his breath catching, but he handled it in a fairly Bruce-like way. Quietly, sinking down into his head to process sensation and heat and arousal and desire.

And then the heat became less about desire and more literal and Bruce -

Bruce jerked, hard - against the hands holding him, against the wall. He would have risked seriously injury if he'd been held in place by anything short of Superman, but even so he wasn't jerking away. It was intense. It was way, way more than anyone could ever have called sane or safe.

But it absolutely perfect and unravelled something in Bruce. Pushed him solidly into pure sensation and unfettered arousal, shut his brain down properly, and had him panting, shaking, eyes watering, and a light sheen of sweat on his skin. It was a place where there was nothing but him, Clark, and feeling that was too strong to deny.

Also undeniable: Clark got it. And probably always had.