#(unfinished)

posting unfinished gifsets that were going to rot in my drafts: 4/?

the two of you stepped out of the shower in a haze of steam, laughter still lingering in the air from some joke clark cracked while rinsing the shampoo out of your hair. the mirror was fogged, towels clung to your bodies, and the world outside your little apartment might as well not exist.

you sat at the edge of the bed, towel tucked around your chest, squeezing lotion into your palms. clark watched from across the room, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. he couldn’t stop staring—not at the towel, not at the curve of your body, but at the way your skin glowed. rich, deep, beautiful.

“you’re staring,” you teased, rubbing lotion into your arm.

“i know,” he admitted easily, stepping closer. “i can’t help it.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

clark knelt in front of you, gently plucking the lotion from your hand. “let me.” his voice was low, careful, like this was sacred work. he warmed the lotion between his palms before sliding his hands over your calf, slow and thorough.

you tried to act casual, but the way his thumbs pressed softly into your skin made your breath catch.

“clark…” you started, but his eyes flicked up, stopping you.

“do you have any idea,” he said quietly, smoothing lotion up your shin, “how beautiful you are? how your skin is? i’ve seen sunsets over kansas fields, i’ve flown past entire constellations—but nothing looks like this.”

your heart thudded, and heat bloomed in your chest.

he shook his head, moving to your other leg, his touch reverent. “i get obsessed sometimes. i’ll catch myself staring at you in the middle of the day, in the middle of the street, even at work. i can’t stop.”

by the time his hands trailed up to your thighs, you were leaning forward, eyes searching his. clark’s voice softened even more. “you’re art. and i get to love you. do you know what that does to me? i can’t ever get enough of you.”

you cupped his face, pulling him up to kiss you. his mouth was warm, insistent, like he was trying to pour every word into the press of his lips. when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath shaky.

“and i’ll never stop telling you,” he promised. “never.”