There were so many things that Bruce still didn't know - about what Clark had endured and where he had been. One thing he knew, though, could read in every place their bodies touched and the taste of Clark's mouth.

He knew before Clark found his voice the first time, certainly before language changed and Bruce heard it a second.

He knew - could feel, could taste, could hear - the raw need.

That was his road map, now, when he didn't trust himself to stay together if he were simply himself. That he loved Clark and was the force that kept him moving.

He didn't flinch under the roughness, didn't turn it into anger on his end, just met it and held onto Clark. And when Clark needed evidence that Bruce was real he didn't answer. He didn't say a single word.

He twisted his fingers up into the too-long hair at Clark's neck and kissed him back just a bit harder. Hard enough to reopen a split at his own lip and fucking bleed into the kiss, without the slightest hint of reserve.

He didn't take anything from Clark, but he didn't hesitate for one instant in giving to him.