The thin shirt is slowly pulled up over her head to join her sweatshirt (and the ripped remnants of his own t-shirt) on the floor beside them. And suddenly, there's nothing awkward about sitting in the middle of his sparsely furnished apartment with a topless woman in his lap. Especially not one he's in love with.

If training all these years has done anything for Clark, it's get him to the point where he's completely comfortable with who - and what - he is. He's not the blush-at-the-drop-of-a-hat nineteen year old boy she met, nor is he the slightly matured but still shy twenty-two year old who left her behind.

And for right now, the man he's become is going to brush her hair off her shoulders and trail his hands lightly up and down the sides of her body, before drawing her closer to kiss her again, skin pressed against skin.