Clark was too tired for masks. Bruce was still too emotional and too brittle to let his slip.

He knew exactly how easily Clark recognized them for what they were, and knew that Clark didn't want them and that they didn't belong here. Clark's touch communicated that truth as clearly as if he'd spoken the words outright.

Bruce couldn't do anything about them. Couldn't have if both their lives depended on it.

He could, and did love Clark, though. Clark had more than loving, he had being loved.

Bruce didn't answer Clark with words, but instead left his hand on Clark's neck, other resting sprawled against a scar on his side, leaned in and kissed him. It was gentle and warm, almost sweet, for a moment or two, before turning just a bit more aggressive. Not quite rough, definitely not punishing, but... fierce.