Defined eyebrows knit, quirk upward, a silent, sassy, Have you never met me before?

Maybe there's a part of Bruce that still feels a certain way about an alien with godlike powers trampling towards him with a determined stride, even if that omnipowerful alien is taking the time to delicately unlock and open a door he could turn to dust with a nudge of a finger. But what is that way, now? It's not fear. It's something else. Some small, jolt of his pulse likes it, likes the incredible power wrapped up in labrador harmlessness. Likes the fact that Clark could kill him easier than breathing, and doesn't.

Likes that Clark is alive.

He moves, stepping forward into the midwestern nerd's personal space and pushing him back into the apartment - one of those things Clark'll have to play along with, despite Bruce's stature cutting a literally looming figure over him - and stopping, far enough in to offer a slim cut of privacy despite the open door.

Alright, he doesn't say. He leans forward, down, and kisses him.