Clark opens his mouth, and kind of stands there stupidly for a moment before closing it just when Bruce has finished. He's not sure whether the contents of his present are inane enough in a way he should be shy about, all of a sudden, or defensible in light of Bruce talking about owning the world. Paper crinkles a little before he makes himself stop.

"Bruce," is a little laughed. Steam in the air, from between perfectly aligned white teeth. "Trust me, I absolutely realised the 'man who has everything' factor, so just-- here." He manages not to say it's stupid, so don't worry, because surely Bruce can come to that conclusion on his own.

He holds it out.

(It's socks, he got him socks. Not practical socks, nothing that Bruce could hope to fit into his most generous of bat boots, but the woolly, curl up at the fireplace kind of socks that require some degree of homebody relaxation to be appreciated.

They are black, with yellow bats. Wintry Halloween fair.)

"Bat guy," he says, clumsily, around when Bruce actually opens it.