This is still a kind of intimacy. Very much so. They could choke it by turning the TV on, or fussing with trays. Instead it's comfortable conversation with the occasional bump of knee or crossover of hands, shift of weight on the mattress, an 'oops' about olive oil on the duvet cover. Bruce is more likely to lean back against the headboard, which puts him in a position to occasionally peer over Clark's shoulder, or reach behind him to put something on the night stand. When he sits up to steal half of an uneaten fritter, it puts him nearly curled behind him.

"How's the game going?" The game is of course, Lois vs her current mark. Bruce wonders if Clark will even have an update - he had been endlessly amused to discover how often she lets Clark hang out to dry, guarding scoops and leads from him like she would any other rival journalist. No wonder he was skulking around in Gotham. She'd pulled all the good shit out from under everybody's feet already.

Decent sandwiches, considering they're mostly mushrooms. Bruce informs him what the fritters are; he has no super-senses, he just seems to know everything. You'd think he'd be pickier, with his money and character flaws of things like not knowing how much milk costs, but really, he'll eat anything. Makes up for it with his diet of falcon eggs protein shakes and rocks while at home.