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“You know they call them marshmallows because there used to be these plants–”
“Yes, I do know.”
“So then you know that they practically count as little protein pellets now—”
“No, they do not.”
“Why won't you even try them?”
“Well perhaps because I don't feel like eating the Styrofoam peanut equivalent of dessert.”
“Come on, Bruce. It's a camping classic.” Clark said, attempting to sound like he was the preeminent authority on all things camping. He was not. Bruce had spent several months in the wilderness practicing survival techniques and nowhere during those many months did he ever eat a single one of the pale abominations.
“I didn't think when I agreed to this trip that I was also agreeing to have anything pushed down my gullet as well.” Bruce sniped at Clark.
“Well I mean you did mention wanting one thing pushed into somewhere–” Clark started to say with a grin.
“Oh do not, and I really mean do not, get smart with me. Now drop it and hand me a damn chocolate bar.”
“OK jeez. I just thought you wanted the full Smallville experience when you said you’d be ok with coming here this weekend.”
“I meant that mostly as an innuendo, Clark.” Bruce said, crossing his arms and quirking his eyebrow.
“Hey, why is it ok when you bring up innuendos but when I do, it’s ‘getting smart with you.’ I feel like there’s a double standard here.”
“Well the difference here is that I was clarifying a previous statement while you were being crass.”
Clark rolled his eyes. “Ok, Bruce. You win. No marshmallows. Is there something else that you would like to eat?”
“Oh. Well there is something.” Bruce said, a low rumble in his voice. His eyes were still so clear in the dead night of the Kansas prairie. That look did things to Clark. It always had, but even more so now that he knew that he was allowed to act upon those things.
“Fuck you, Bruce.”
“I’d rather think that was the point.”