He takes a moment just to look at him. Clark is incredible in every way, honestly. Bruce runs a hand down his bare chest, fingertips caressing over the peaks of his nipples, against the contours of his muscles, below his belly button. Doesn't touch his cock yet. Instead he slips out of his own remaining garment, which has long since become too tightly confining.

"Hope springs eternal is one of your endorsements, right?" He's had it for a while. There's no need to conjure past entanglements - everything in his kit is replaced regularly to avoid expired products - but his life is, well, his life. Sometimes you just have to fuck somebody on a rooftop. Maybe he's been waiting.

Bruce kisses him and presses their bodies closer once again, erection against the other man's; the tiniest shiver runs through him at that warm silk-friction. "What position do you like best?" he asks in a murmur, still placing kisses against his mouth-- a practical inquiry, maybe not terribly sexy, but his quiet voice is still gravel-deep, and his hands are rubbing his ass, vial of lubrication held between two fingers.