Clark Kent sits in his apartment, eating some take-out. The phone rings.
Clark: *mouthful of noodles* Hello?
Bruce: *heavy breathing* Kent.
Clark: Who is this?
Bruce: *purrs* I know who you are. Nice ass, by the way.
Clark: *does quick scan of apartment* Look, whoever you are...
Bruce: Bruce. Bruce Wayne. Doesn't that make your thighs just melt? Your thighs of steel?
Clark: Er...no? Okay, I've heard of you, but why...?
Bruce: *interrupts* So I was thinking...maybe you could, heh, jet over to Gotham for a little night on the town.
Clark: Gotham? What? *takes off glasses, rubs eyes*
Bruce: *irritated* You know, the circus. A clown like you, that should be right up your alley.
Clark: Hey! I don't need to be insulted. Bye! *starts to hang up*
Bruce: Wait! C'mon Kent, I'll buy you a hot dog. You like hot dogs, right? Big, juicy, long...Maybe get you something to slurp it down with.
Clark: *mortified* Enough of the sex stuff! Are you...are you asking me out on a date?
Bruce: *laughs* Date? A candy-pants like you would think that. No, there's just this boy I want to check out...
Clark: *more mortified* Look, I'm not into that at all. What's wrong with you? *checks Gotham sex offenders list on laptop*
Bruce: *snarls* What's wrong with me? I'm what's right in this whore of a town! And if you have any goddamned sense in that idiot head of yours, you'll find something tight in your pathetic closet and meet me in five. You got that, Kent? Five minutes! *calms down* Ten, max. I'll give you ten. Just for you. *pauses and then purrs* You like leather, Kent? Because...
Clark: *hangs up, stares at phone* What was that?
Bruce: *stares at cell, blinks* He hung up. Stupid alien bastard! Just see if I try to do you any more favors. *beats cell repeatedly against back of limo seat, slumps back in a huff* Alfred, doesn't Vale live around here someplace?