Bzuh? That stops Eirene dead in her tracks, which might look pretty damn comical from a voyeur's point of view, tongue having been gliding just below Clark's chin during a rare moment when they weren't tongue wrestling.

Bedroom? She can do this. After a few moments, she gently untangles herself from his lap and stands up, which doesn't do much for the perspective, since she's barely three inches above five feet, but hey -- at least she's trying.

And those small, deft hands are being held out to him.