If Bruce wasn't laying beneath Clark, he might have bolted. He stills, a flinch moving through him as those words sink in-- he doesn't feel worth it, and it's almost painful to know how much Clark believes it. His hand moves then stops, like he's thinking of covering the other man's mouth in a fit of emotionally-charged panic, so close to overwhelmed. He ends up just burying his face against Clark's shoulder, a small shake of his head the only response he can come up with.

He's not unhappy, it's just so much - especially after coming so hard he's already dizzy and pliant - and he doesn't have words for it, hell, he doesn't have an emotional reference for it in his head. In all his experience, no one's professed to love him like this, no one's stuck with him through so much. It makes him feel stupid for never saying anything at home (but it also makes him think different universes, he might never feel the same), and it makes something in his chest ache. Some strange thing he can't define.