Sometime in between Clark's visits to the Batcave, he hadn't noticed exactly when, a high stool from one of the workbenches had materialized to the left of Bruce's vaguely bionic chair. At his monstrosity of workstation the two of them could sit elbow to elbow and still have screens to spare, which resulted in a lot of schematics zooming between displays while they argued.

There had been vague indications of someone in the background pulling strings and whispers about a particular kind of cargo coming into Metropolis. Bruce was insistent they had to operate under the assumption that Luthor was behind it all and kryptonite was in use.

"The container ship isn't due for another week and a half," Clark said. "We should focus on the building." The left two monitors swirled together as he called up blueprints for the warehouse their suspicious shipment would be transported to. For a place that was ostensibly storing small home appliances it had more security features than most government buildings.

"Exactly," Bruce said. "We only have a week and a half, and it could be days before we get any more information." Nothing changed with the two of them: they came at every obstacle from opposite angles.

Unfortunately, Clark couldn't argue the point. Getting Arthur to show up on anything but his own time was like pulling teeth (frankly, so was watching someone who looked like that come striding out of the surf and calling him Arthur). "We don't need to assume the worst about everything," Clark said, crossing his arms over his chest so he wasn't touching anything he could break.

"I'm not assuming anything. I'm telling you we should have a plan that doesn't require you going inside that warehouse."

"That's not your decision to make." Funny how Bruce never considered extra precautions when they were running into a building full of people with guns.

Sitting farther forward Bruce was only a chiseled profile, impassive. "You're absolutely right. It's a joint operation, we can take it to the others for a vote when we meet with them." The others. Everyone who'd been in Luthor's files, anyone else they could find who could help the way they could. "Until there's a decision one way or another, we need to plan for every possibility."

Any potential Luthor might be involved always made Bruce squirrelly, and Clark had a lot of patience for that. It couldn't be easy for someone as tightly controlled as Bruce was to butt heads with someone who'd manipulated him once before. But they were quickly approaching the point of annoyance where they'd be better off either stepping away and cooling off apart, or burning it off together, and as far as options went it didn't have the same appeal it used to. Making that kind of offer got a lot harder when Clark wasn't sure exactly what information he was offering.

"This new epoxy they're using," Bruce said, "it's advertised as opaque in all known spectrums between terahertz and x-ray. Do you think you can see through it from the facility perimeter, or do we need to get an alternate visual?"

Of all the questions he'd asked, it was the most reasonable, timely, and appropriate. A straw could break even Superman's back.

"I should," Clark said. "Which you'd probably already know if you'd asked for a full inventory of my abilities outright instead of interrogating me." Bruce continued staring resolutely at the display. "Although I guess I should thank you for not waiting until I'm naked this time."

"It's nothing," Bruce said. "Idle curiosity."

"You don't ask idle questions." Bruce had spun his chair away from the desk and gotten half a step before Clark added loudly, "You had to know I would notice."

Bruce clenched his fists so tight the muscles in his forearms jumped beneath the rolled up cuffs of his shirtsleeves. "Of course I did," he said easily.

Clark slipped off his stool and turned Bruce back to face him with a hand in the crook of his elbow. "What do you mean you—" and he cut off when Bruce picked his hand up, fingers cupped under his like he might ask him to dance.

Bruce rubbed his thumb across the expanse of Clark's knuckles. "As strong as you are and you can still crack eggs and use a keyboard. You can see bones, hear the blood rushing through someone's veins. How am I not supposed to be curious about that?"

He played the part of a curious lover so well Clark actually shivered when Bruce curled his hand in to kiss Clark's knuckles with a wistful smile. Bruce radiated heat pressing in against Clark to kiss him too, guiding him back into the hard edge of the desk with a tilt of his hips, already moving to unbutton Clark's shirt. Clark leaned his hands on the desk behind him, letting his legs fall open so Bruce could flow into the space between them and push his shirt off to get his hands on Clark's bare shoulders. Whatever his thoughts, his body still had a fundamental trust in Bruce's hands. He didn't shiver in the chill or feel pain at the rough scrape of Bruce's calloused thumb--but he felt everything, always so much, enough that he could fall into them entirely, if he let himself. If it hadn't been a blatant tactical move. Almost half a year of sleeping together and the cave had always been sacrosanct.

Clark swallowed hard, awkward with his tipped so far back and Bruce bent to nip at his collarbone. "I can't help but notice you haven't told me what you're hiding."

Bruce's hands fell away from Clark's shoulders, the weight at his hips eased. He went upright like someone had pulled a string up his spine. His mouth was a thin, pinched line. "I have told you the absolute truth." He sounded like himself again, clipped and cranky, and his lip curled with disdain. "I find your abilities. . .fascinating."

"You didn't need to make me one of Bruce Wayne's conquests to get intelligence about my powers," Clark said as he looked away. "I would've given you whatever you wanted."

"I know." Bruce sounded heartbreakingly concerned. Clark never had been the same caliber of actor he was. "Clark," he said, urgent enough to make him look up. "I know." That determination wasn't something Bruce ever faked. He'd never need to. It was indelible, like his fingerprints, or the sound of his heartbeat in a crowded room.

"If you're telling the truth, what aren't you telling me?" Clark pleaded. There was more to the two of them than a tactical seduction, he could believe that. What else lay there was beyond him. As much as Clark could see and see through, and there was still a wall between them. "What do I have to do to get you to trust me?"

Bruce's face went carefully smooth in one slow blink. "You know, for a professional you ask all the wrong questions."

This time Clark was the one who reeled Bruce in. "I'm sorry. That was unfair."

Bruce had his chin tucked down against his chest. "I would be lying, he said slowly, "if I said I blamed you. I know I'm not the easiest person to deal with." He was breathing so steadily Clark could've set a clock by it. He was probably counting.

Clark had to nudge his head up to be able to kiss him. The wall looked different from this side. Like the fact that he saw it at all when everyone else only saw the expensive art hanging in front of it. Everyone knew Bruce Wayne was an open book to anyone who could read a newspaper gossip column. Clark knew the engineer, the observer, the detective--as difficult as he could be.

Bruce didn't ask idle questions, and there was something else lurking in the shadows of that, something still hovering at the edge of Clark's understanding.

"Come on," he said, pulling Bruce away towards the stairs. "It must have been killing you to risk messing up your stuff."

If you can't tackle a problem head on, you have to come at it from a different angle.