At that moment, Midnighter will take just about anything. He wraps his arms around Clark's (terrific) shoulders and presses a sucking kiss into his neck, wondering if he can even give this man a hickie. He's gonna try like hell, though, panting shamelessly and moving his hips eagerly into Clark's hand.

It takes a little longer than it should, really. He has to think around the images of blood and gore and the eminent warning that Clark is going to rip him to shreds with those hands. But he does come, accompanied by a loud, long groan, his face sweaty and pressed into the crook of Clark's neck. "Oh, fuck," he murmurs, breathless. "Thanks, I- you didn't have to. Shit. Perfect fucking... bastard."