You can’t believe Clark agreed to this. I mean, you can, you’re not sure Clark could say no to anything you asked, but still. He’s laying on a mildly uncomfortable, sterile operation table in nothing but his boxers, idly twiddling his thumbs like you’re not about to experiment on him.

He hums softly, taking in the equally as white, sterile room. He trusts you completely, it’s a little alarming.