He kisses Clark's jaw, mouths at it. Just a little teeth. It's sweet, not sharky. Like he still can't get enough, even though he is, demonstrably, about to fall asleep standing up in the shower, squished in between tile and Clark's body. Against him, he murmurs, barely audible (for anyone besides—), "No one else does this to me."

To me, for me.

So.

Also in the bathroom, conservatively the size of some other peoples' entire flats, is a soaking tub that's designed for style but engineered for therapy. It'll take a few minutes to fill - heat off - since no amount of money buys magically faster water. He doesn't bully Clark to go run an errand, and instead sits on the side of the bath and presses his mouth to his palm.