In one way or another, Bruce has desperately, ravenously desired him since the moment he became aware of him. That night (that night), its direction was skewed, but only that. No interruption. It is still desperate, and ravenous, and all of his objections along the way about it being a bad idea and Clark having Lois to prioritize have been objections towards himself. Because he can't say no. He has clawed at him in every way, to hurt him, to keep him (I'm a friend of your son's), against his tombstone, against him now.

They should not, under any circumstances, consult an expert.

"Is that where you want me?" Bruce sits up enough so that he's crowding Clark from below, held there by just his abdominal muscles, speaking close and low. "Unable to look away from you? So you can watch my face? Or do you want to hold me down with your hand at the back of my neck?"

When he grabs Clark's jaw, it's with the kind of force that would hurt a human. As if he could hold him there, force him to maintain eye contact, bruise the tendons under his chin.

"Tell me."