Dreams of a Dom VII:
I Could Have Titled This Cock Robin, but That Would Have Been Too Much
by Scribe

"Tiffany, precious, the chairs are not for climbing on. Lamb, no, don't play with the cord for the blow dryer. Scissors!"

The yell startled the tiny four-year-old blond girl into dropping the nice, shiny toy she'd just found. She started wailing as Trenton scooped her up into his arms and started petting her soothingly. Her mother had sat up abruptly in her chair at the first sound of distress, and now she was adding her complaints to those of her daughter, since she'd just had shampoo drip in her eyes.

Clive winced, but picked up the sharp barber's shears, checked them for damage, and slipped them back into the jar of sanitizing solution, then pushed the jar farther back on the counter. "Wanda, dear, I love children, honestly I do, but this is not the place for toddlers--not unless someone can ride herd."

"I'm sorry, Clive," Wanda Glowars said meekly. "I tried, honest, but my babysitter wanted to go stand on line for tickets to the concert by that new boy band, and I couldn't get anyone else, and I just couldn't miss this appointment, since I have to go to my husband's awards dinner, and..."

"Please, darling, cease the flow," Clive sighed. The little girl had stopped sobbing and was sniffing now. Clive said, "I'm sorry I snapped, Tiffany, but..." Tiffany moaned and threw her arms around Trenton's neck, burying her face in his hair.

Trenton rubbed her back. "Oh, come on, Tiff--Clive wouldn't hurt you. He was worried. Those scissors were sharp--hurt the baby."

She pulled back and looked at Trenton doubtfully. "Hurt the baby?" Trenton nodded. She looked doubtfully at Clive, then pointed at him. "Hurt the baby?"

"No, precious. Most certainly not," Clive assured her. He made a face. She giggled, hiding her face in Trenton's hair again, but she peeked back at the Dom.

Clive leaned close, his voice conspiratorial. "Doesn't Trenton have nice hair, Tiffany?"

She nodded, and petted Trent's curls. Trenton blushed, because he knew exactly how his lover felt about hair in general, and Trenton's hair in particular. "Clive..."

"What, precious? Just promoting an early and earnest appreciation of one of the body's most wondrous features. You hang on to Little Miss Busy till Lynette is finished with her mom."

"Yes, sir." He bounced Tiffany on his hip. "How about looking at a magazine, munchkin?" He sat in the chair beside Lynette's station and grabbed up a magazine with a bright, splashy cover, "Here ya go--Vox Populi."

"Trenton, are you going to feed that cherub trash?"

"You read it."

"I didn't say I didn't like it--I just said it was trash."

"It's okay," called Wanda. "Tiff loves Populi. It has pictures of all the famous people in it."

"Sure does," said Trent. He'd settled Tiffany on his lap, and he opened the magazine across her lap. "Look, Tiff!" He pointed. "There's Scribe, from the last time she was here."

"What?" Clive peered over his shoulder. "I thought we managed to avoid the paparrazi, but apparently not."

"What IS that she's wearing?" Trenton asked.

Clive indicated the caption. "She calls them Mickey Mouse ears."

"Looks like two black coasters on a skullcap." He cocked his head. "But on her, it's kind of cute. I want to know how she got her name embroidered on it." Trenton turned the pages slowly.

Suddenly Tiffany got very excited, and started poking the paper. "Rob, Rob, Rob!"

"Which Rob?" asked Clive.

"The," said Trenton. "Tell Clive his full name, sweetie."

Tiffany scrunched up her face, concentrated very hard, and slowly said, "Raaaah-bin."

"Oh, I know him!" Clive bent to look at the paper again. The photo was taken at some event promoting good public relations between teens and law enforcement agencies. "Oo, and he's in full costume, too--black cape, red bodysuit, green sleeves and tights, high black boots, fringed gloves..." Clive sighed, eyes dreamy. "Mmm. I may have gotten an idea for your next birthday prezzie, precious."

Trenton snorted good naturedly. "Yeah, I'll be like the wife who gets a box from Fredrique's of Fresno. 'Is this a present for me or for you?'"

"You get like that and I might just pull off that utility belt and use it to..." Tiffany turned wide blue eyes up to him, "Oh, er, uh..." Trenton raised an eyebrown. "Hold your pants up. You're in for it later, Mister, you know that?" Trent grinned. "Change the subject."

"Okay." Trent flipped the page. "Look, Tiff--a poem. 'To My Toy Boy. When I introduced you, my mother shook her head. I wanted you to have a child, but not like this, she said.'" Trent looked up innocently. "Do you need a glass of water, Clive? You sounded like you were choking?"

"After tonight, don't plan on sitting down anytime soon, precious."

"Pome!" said Tiffany. She tugged Trenton's collar. "Say pome."

"What kind, sweetheart?"

"Goose kind."

"Mother Goose? Um, let's see... Hickory, dickory, dock..."

"Pome 'bout bird," said Tiffany. She turned the page back and patted the picture of the Boy Wonder. "Dis bird."

"Tiff, that's not a bird, that's..." he trailed off as Tiffany looked at him. "Oh. Riiiight. Okay, let's see... Um, I know Rockin' Robin, but that's a song."

"When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin' Along," suggested Wanda.

"That's a song, too. What rhymes do they have about robins? Ah! I have it! 'The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will poor Robin do then, poor thing? He'll sit in a barn, To keep him self warm, And hide his head under his wing, poor thing'."

"Poor thing indeed," murmured Clive, "if the best shelter he can find is a barn during a snowstorm. I, myself, once managed a snug little cabin with a perfectly delightful Mountie."

Trenton put his hands over Tiffany's ears. "Yes, you've told me about that one. And if I remember correctly, you promised to reinact it with me."

Clive made a kissing motion at him. "When you're ready, precious--when you're ready. I'm still looking for a tunic." He sighed. "I suppose I'll have to have it custom made. For some reason the RCMP are hesitant to sell them to outside parties."

"Talk to Mrs. Havasnark. Among other things, she claims to have been wardrobe mistress to the Metropolis Yiddish Theater."

"Darling, among other things she claims to have been on *cough* intimate terms with five of the last eight presidents. But since I'm firmly convinced that she would have had to mug a gypsy to get most of her outfits, that other claim might very well be true. I'll have to see about finding some reference photos for her."

Tiffany spent the next half hour on Trenton's lap, or toddling after him while he did a few chores. She held the dust pan with great solemnity as the tall boy swept clippings into it. When she managed to dump most of them into the wastebasket, she was lavishly applauded and rewarded with a jellybean, after her mother gave permission, of course.

It was almost closing time when Tiffany gave Trenton and Clive hugs and sticky kisses, then toddled out the door after her freshly coiffed mother. Clive slumped over the counter, letting his head droop to rest against the appointment book. "I am absolutely knackered. Good God, if we could siphon about three per cent of that child's energy, we could stop worrying about nuclear power, because we'd have a reliable energy source."

Trenton, amused, rubbed the small of his back. "And you weren't even doing the majority of the chasing."

Clive arched his back. "A little higher and harder, precious, and use the nails a bit. Theeeere's a good boy. No, I wasn't, but I watched you, and it was positively exhausting."

"I read somewhere that if an Olympic decathalon athlete tried to exactly duplicate every movement of a toddler, they'd never be able to keep up the pace."

"I can believe it." Clive straightened up and yawned. "How much time left?"

"About forty-five minutes. I'd say let's go home early, but Miss Pembleton specifically asked for me to show her how to set her hair in pin curls, and," he pointed, "that's her about to come in."

"Mm. Well, I tell you what... I'm going back into my station and grab a few winks while you finish her up, then we'll scamper home. The Snark dropped off a nummy beef stroganoff casserole this morning, and," he stood up and rested his chin on Trenton's shoulder, "you are now eighteen, and I thought it would be a good meal to introduce you to the joys of wine."

"Hi, Miss Pembleton!" Trenton greeted the young woman. "You just go on back to the last station on the right and I'll be right with you." Trenton turned laughing green eyes on Clive, whispering, "Are you planning on getting me drunk and taking advantage of me, you dirty old man?"

Clive bit Trenton lightly on the neck. "Lamb, I don't need to get you drunk to take advantage of you. If I remember correctly, all it takes is rubbing a certain place on your inner thigh."

Trenton shuddered, eyes unfocussing slightly. "Please, Clive. I need to have my hands steady for this."

"You started it, pet." He gave Trenton a kiss. "If anyone else comes in, tell them it's going to have to be tomorrow. Lock up when you're done, then come get me."

Clive walked back to his private station, warmly greeting Trenton's customer before he went in. The boy still had more than a year to go before he got his license, but he was already building a loyal customer base. *Chairside manner,* Clive thought as he shut the door. *My precious has that ellusive something, and he's talented, too. Add that to his stunning good looks and what a package! Precious is going to end up very well known in hair circles, and out, I think.*

Clive dimmed the lights, arranged his special chair till it was a nicely padded, inclined settee, and settled down. He noticed that it was a bit cold in the room, but didn't feel the ambition to get up and adjust the thermostat. Instead he just turned on his side and curled up, murmuring, "The North wind doth blow, and we shall have snow, and what will poor Robin do then, poor thing?" Just as he was drifting off he thought, *Oh, I could come up with a few suggestions.*

Clive looked around at the bleak, twilit countryside and sighed. "Once, just once, I'd like to enter one of these dreams and find myself in a five star luxurey hotel, with unlimited room service, including hot-and-..." he smiled, "Well, hot-and-hot running bellboys."

He looked around, rubbing his arms. *I fell asleep in nice, warm suede. Why have I awakened in thin silk and denim?* He answered himself. *Because this is a dream, Clive, and we have yet to discern the logic, or illogic, behind it. Ah, well, I may as well go looking for whatever is going to happen.*

As he trudged along he took note of his surroundings. *Um, I'd say either New Englandish, or America's Heartland. In other words, perfectly rural. Ick. I wonder if I can find a nice bed-and-breakfast.* He shivered. The temperature hadn't been all that toasty to start with, and it was dropping with the sun as it sank behind the horizon. *Somewhere with a roaring fire, and afghans, or a huge four poster bed piled with quilts and feather beds. Mm, I think I just got an idea for my next vacation with Trent. I think he'd make a lovely snowbunny, with those beautiful curls just peaking out from under a knit cap, and his cheeks all flushed with cold... Damn, I'd better stop it. No point in getting warmed up like that when I haven't any way to conserve the heat. And I'd better find some shelter pretty fucking fast, or I'm going to be a Clivecicle. As popular as I'm sure those would be on the open market, I'm not ready to sacrifice yet.*

Finally he rounded a bend in the dirt road and was confronted with a very large structure. Clive walked over to it, peered, and sighed. *A barn?* He looked around. *A barn, and no farm house in sight. Isn't this just ducky?* A chilly wind whistled around him, and he felt minute specks of cold moisture on his face. He looked up in time to catch the first really fat flake on his nose. "Well, fuck," he said mildly. "I guess this settles the question of whether or not I soldier on."

There was a normal door to the side of the big, closed double ones. He tried it, and was gratified to find it open. *Because I could have kicked it in, but I hate that whole 'exercise to keep warm' nonsense, unless the exercise happens to be a vigorous shag.*

Clive shut and bolted the door behind him, and looked around. With the encroaching night, it should have been pitch black inside. Instead the interior was dimly illuminated by a faint silver glow from an indeterminate source. *Riiight. Well, we're officially in Dreamland now.* He stepped farther into the barn, looking around.

It was pretty much a cleaned up dream version of a barn. Clive had been around barns and stables a time or two, and he was familiar with the smell. Instead of the ripe scent of herbivore shit, there was just the rather sweet, musky scent of clean hay and straw. If this place had ever housed a farm animal, it was long ago, and the place had been disinfected betweeen then and now. *Fine by me. Mrs. Havasnark's 'babies' are tne closest I care to be to barnyard animals, unless said animal is socially acceptable protien, and has been processed, and is sitting on a warm plate, sizzling.*

There was a large open space, and there were three stalls against the far wall. These were sheltered under an open hayloft. Clive could stand on the floor and look up into it, seeing mounds of golden hay. The only way up appeared to be a steep ladder leading up through a small hole in the floor of the loft.

*Well, it looks like this is beddie-bye for tonight,* he sighed. *I don't suppose I'm going to find Jethro Bodine in one of those haystacks, though, drat it.*

There was a knock on the door, and Clive turned to look at it in surprise. He walked over to it. The knock came again. "Ye-es?"

"Uh, excuse me, I hate to bother you, but I'm lost and extreemly cold. Can I come in?"

The voice was young, and male, and vaguely familiar. "I don't know, dear, can you? I can usually think the doors open in situations like this, but then, this is my dream." He paused. "I think."

"Could we discuss the different natures of reality later? This costume wasn't really designed for cold weather. I'm not wearing my thermal tights."

"Really? Well, then..." Clive unbolted the door. When he opened it he was hit in the face with a burst of cold, snow laden air. "Oof!" He was also hit by a sturdy, snow-dusted young male body. Clive quickly dragged him inside, then shut and bolted the door again. "Now, then, what are you...?" He trailed off. "Well, now!"

He had been truthful--the costume definitely didn't look designed for cold weather. It consisted of yellow tights under abrieviated black trunks (the whole of which gave a splendid view of long, muscular legs), and a sort of red tunic/vest over a short sleeved green shirt. The ensemble was completed by a cape, fringed gloves, and a mask.

Robin (because that's who it was) blinked at him. "Clive? What are you doing here?"

"I already told you, dear--this is my dream."

"Then what am I doing here?"

"Same answer." Robin blinked at him. "Where's the Caped Cutie?"

That got a grin out of Robin. "Promise me you'll call him that sometimes when I'm around. I don't know. I was driving the Batmobil a couple of miles down the road--don't ask me how or why, because Bats never lets me drive the Batmobile alone--and it stopped. The Batmobile never breaks down. Even if it did, I'm pretty proficient at mechanics, and I couldn't find a blamed thing wrong with it."

Clive pinched his cheek. "Blamed. You're so cute."

Robin blushed. "Anyway, it started snowing, and the heaters didn't work, so there was nothing for it but for me to start walking. This was the first shelter I came to, and I figured I'd better get inside before I froze." He rubbed his arms. "Frankly, I was hoping it would be a bit warmer in here."

"Well, precious, it's a lot better than it is outside, but we're going to have to do our bit to keep comfy. There's plenty of straw and hay, and I understand that those are excellent insulators. And..." he thought hard, then pointed. "I believe that if you look over there, you'll find some nice blankets."

Robin started over to the stalls, prepared to humor Clive. "I'll look, but the place seems pretty deserted, and if there WERE blankets, I doubt they'd be very NICE. They'll probably be..." He paused. "Well, I'll be darned."

Clive chuckled. "Darned."

"Yeah, I know, but Bats doesn't really approve of swearing, and the habit is hard to break when I'm not around him. Anyway, you were right--there are tow horseblankets here." He picked up the blankets that were hanging over the stall dividers. He sniffed them. "They're actually clean."

"Well, I should hope so! As if I'd create dirty blankets." Clive started toward the ladder that led up to the loft. "Bring them along, lamb." Robin did, and Clive bowed to him. "After you, pet." Robin tossed the blankets over his shoulder, then started up the ladder. Clive paused, admiring the flex of muscles in the boy's legs and buttocks as he climbed. He sighed. "Poetry in motion." He cocked his head. "Poetry? Robin, dear, from which direction would you say that the wind was blowing?"

Robin had reached the top of the ladder. "Wow, there's plenty of nice hay up here! This should work out well. Um, it's coming from the North, I think."

"Huh. The North winds doth blow, and we shall have snow." Clive started up the ladder, grinning. "And what shall poor Robin do then, poor thing?" He chuckled. "He'll hide in a barn, to keep himself warm..." *But I think we can find something a little better than hiding your head under your wing.*

When Clive reached the loft, Robin was spreading one of the blankets over a thick pad of hay. "Too bad we couldn't find a couple more blankets. I guess we'll just have to fold them and slip inside."

"We will not. I'm not about to have myself strangled in what amounts to a woolen pita pocket. There are two blankets--one for the bottom and one for the top." *And yes, that WAS a double entendre, and you caught it, judging from the yammy blush.* "Look, the only way we are going to avoid mild hypothermia, let alone be comfortable, is to share body heat. Now, as much as I hate to say it," Clive started to tug off his boots. "Off with the boots. Play is one thing, but if we're going to be actually sleeping, I don't want footwear in bed with me." Robin hesitated. "Darling, I'd rather not have to remove those. Trenton enjoys playing bootboy, but I much prefer Lord of the Manor, and can you possibly blush any redder? My God, I haven't seen anything like that since Benny."

Robin removed his boots, flexing his toes, and set them neatly to the side. Clive approved. He loved neat submissives. Clive began to unbutton his shirt, and Robin said, "Clive, should you do that? I mean, the more layers of clothes..."

"Dear, skin-to-skin contact is much more effective."

"It is?"

"It certainly is in my world." Clive waved a finger at him. "So get rid of the pretty ensemble." Robin undid the fasteners on his tunic top, slipping it off to reveal his green, short sleeved shirt.

Clive had his own shirt off. Robin noticed that his nipples were puckered, drawn up into firm points. Clive noticed him noticing, and raised an eyebrow. Robin said quickly. "Nature's thermometers, huh?"

"Why, yes," said Clive. He tweaked first one, then the other. "They show that I'm hot." Clive swaggered over to Robin and settled his hands on the boy's chest, then pinched. "Oh, look--you're hot, too."

Robin didn't try to pull away, but he said, "Uh, Clive, maybe this isn't the best time to..." Clive rubbed firmly till the points of the younger man's nipples thrust sharply against the thin green fabric. Clive leaned down and gave the right peak a sharp nip. "Or maybe it is."

"Go on and strip, pet." He smiled lasciviously. "But leave the gloves and mask. I do so love kink."

"I... uh... I sort of ought to keep the trunks on, because... You see, the tights... I never know how long I'm going to be in costume, so we had to..."

"Yes, I'm familiar with the concept of the comfort opening."

Robin blinked. "How?"

"Let's just say that you aren't the only caped hunk I've ever been with."

Robin pointed. "You and Bats?"

"No." Clive smirked. "Not yet, anyway."

"Well, thank goodness. If you had, it would mean that I've been wasting a lot of time by not crawling into his bed for the last couple of years."

"You have been wasting time, pet. Shame on you, but we can discuss that later." Clive pushed the shirt up, revealing washboard abs, and the dark, hard nipples. He licked first one, then the other. "We'd better get under cover, lamb, before this dampness gives you a chill. Strip and on your back."

Robin made short work of the rest of his clothes, retaining the gloves and mask as Clive had instructed. "On second thought, put the boots back on." Robin did. Clive sighed. "You're a fetishists dream, except most of them don't usually picture their fantasy objects as goosebumped and shivering. Down." Robin lay on the spread blanket, shifting nervously. "Dear, why so shy? It isn't as if we haven't 'been here' before."

"Yes, well, that was in a pitch black cloak room."

Clive laughed. "There's no one around to see." As he dropped his shirt there was a rush of wings and a bright bird darted over their heads to settle high in the rafters. "Well, perhaps aside from one of your namesakes. Just look at how fluffed up that poor little thing is."

Clive looked down at the younger man, and his smile became sly. Still wearing his pants and boots, he dropped to his knees, straddling Robin's legs. "Let's see about getting you fluffed up, shall we?"

Robin let his head drop back as Clive took him into his mouth, caressing the underside with his tongue. "Uhhhhn-believable."

It was quiet for a little while, save for the young hero's increasingly ragged breathing, and some very enthusiastic slurping. Finally Clive pulled free with a final lick, and Robin groaned. "You're not stopping now, are you?"

Clive was opening his fly. "Have you done anything I should know about that might piss me off, lamb?" Robin shook his head vigorously. "Well, then... You see..." he pushed down his pants and lay in the vee of Robin's quickly spread legs, "I don't use sex as a weapon."

"What?"

"Quote from an interesting song Scribe sang for me once. Now, concentrate." He started to move. After a few minutes of increasingly active motion, Clive said, "Tell me, dear, have you furthered your experience since that little incident at the auction, back among the woolens?"

Robin's face was flushed. "I thought you wanted me to concentrate."

"Well, precious, if you can't talk and hump at the same time..." Clive started to get up.

"No!" Robin grabbed his shoulders. When he saw the arch look, he said quickly. "There's been a few incidents. A little."

"Excellent." Clive started humping again. "Tell."

"I thought a gentleman didn't tell?"

"Usually he doesn't, but you don't have to use names, pet, and this IS a dream, after all." Robin bit his lip. "Well?"

"I've... sort of parked."

"A wonderful beginning. Groping? Dry humping? More?"

"Mostly just kissing, but I did get a hand job."

"Just one? Tsk. And why are you blushing?"

"Well, it was... uh..."

Clive pinched his hip. "Tell."

"It... it was with a girl."

Clive laughed. "You look like you expect me to be horrified. Lambie, I like girls, quite a bit. Ask Scribe some day. It's just that when I have to choose, I usually lean one direction a little more strongly. Girls are absolutely fine..." he gave Robin a sever look. "As long as you're careful. The poor dears have more complications to worry about than we do."

"Sheesh, Clive, give me credit. I did have sex education class--which I suddenly realized was woefully inadequite when I was alone with you in the dark."

"I love flattery, as long as it's sincere."

"Hey, what are you doing with my utility belt?"

"I'm going to utilize it, of course."

"Heck, Clive, do I have to? All the metal on that darn belt is cold."

"Hm? Oh, not that, pet. I'm just looking for supplies." *blink* "Now, why on earth would you need dental floss?"

"That's a high tensile, compact climbing rope."

"Well, it's a damn good thing you wear gloves, darling. That looks like it could slice your palms to ribbons. A quarter?"

"You never know when the batteries could run out on the portable bat phone, and you'd need to make a phone call."

"Sensible. What's this flat plastic square? I know! It's a device for unlocking doors. You slide it between the door and the jamb and wiggle it."

"I suppose you could do that--but actually it's just my Spiderman Club Membership card. What sort of supplies are you looking for?" Clive gave him A Look. "Oh. I don't carry any of those. If Bats ever did a spot check, he'd flip."

"Yet again I tell you--you might be surprised. Anyway, also as I've said before, this is MY dream, and so... Ta-da!"

Robin stared at the tube of lubricant that Clive had fished out of some hidden receptacle in his utility belt. "How do you do that?"

"Simple--I'm Clive."

"What about a condom?"

"Dear, this is a dream--we really don't need it. But bless your safety-conscious little heart for remembering. If you want, I'll find one, but since this is a dream, I don't think you'll insist."

Robin seemed to think about this, frowning. "For some strange reason, I believe you. Okay."

"Grand. But if I ever hear of you doing this in real life, the spanking will not be for funsies." Clive was still kneeling between Robin's spread legs. "Lift them and grab your knees, dear." Robin obeyed. Clive sighed as he opened the tube and squirted some of the gel on his fingers. "Mmm... I wouldn't mind a picture of that for my private Christmas cards."

Clive was rubbing his fingers together, and Robin said, "Clive? There's a draft?"

"It's a barn, pretty boy--of course there's a draft. Don't try to rush me--lube can be uncomfortably cool at the best of times. Imagine what it would feel like in this weather if I didn't warm it." Clive leaned forward, reaching down, spreading the slippery substance around the boy's anus. Robin shivered, and Clive said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I'd warmed it enough."

"Not why I shivered, Clive. Damn it, I'm not in the right position to push onto your finger."

"Just hang on, Robin, and I'll give you your perch." Clive tickled around the puckered opening till Robin was visibly sweating, and his cock was lying along his belly in eager rigidity. Then he pushed firmly, sliding one slick finger deep into the tight passage and beginning to work it in and out. Clive hummed happily as he carefully, but efficiently began to open the way. He soon added a second finger, then felt until he located the small bump of Robin's prostate. He rubbed gently. The boy drew his knees back almost to his chest, making a happy sound. Clive said dryly, "Birds aren't supposed to purr, pet."

"Learned it from Catwoman."

"Oo, that interesting woman in vinyl, with the whip? I'd like to meet her sometime."

"Excuse me interrupting your thought process, but could you please fuck me now?"

"God, always so polite." Clive grabbed Robin's knees, edging forward.

Robin moaned in delight as he was filled, Clive's thick cock sliding in to the very limit. When he felt the older man's balls nestle against his own, he grunted. "Man! I didn't remember you being this big!"

"Different angle of thrust, pet. After all, we did the vertical boogie in the cloak room--this position give pretty much the deepest penetration." He slid back till he was almost out, then slammed back in. Robin squawked. "Now, that's a more appropriate sound. Let's try again."

Clive set up a pace that would have been punishing if they both weren't getting so much pleasure out of it. Clive leaned down, pressing Robin's knees back toward his shoulders, watching his face to be sure that he wasn't causing the boy too much discomfort. Robin just smiled, squeezing down on him. "I'm way limber, Clive. And remember, I come from a circus family."

"You're a true treasure, pet." Clive leaned the last couple of inches and kissed him. "I'd say that Batman is a fool for not jumping you already, but I have to admire his ethics and self-restraint. I know how damn hard it was to keep my hands off Trenton till he hit the magic age of consent. Couple of times there I thought it might be easier if I just put chastity belts on both of us till the time came."

Robin grinned. "Not just on you?"

"My dear, you haven't met Trent--you don't know what a tease the dear boy is, God bless him. Oh, lord..." He moaned as his heavy balls drew up tight, then emptied their contents. Robin joined him in groaning as he felt the hot spurt of liquid deep inside. Clive released Robin's knees and reached down to grab the boy's hardened cock with still slick fingers. He tugged almost roughly once, twice, and was rewarded with a small, warm gush of spunk.

Clive pulled out gently, then used a corner of the blanket to wipe both of them clean. He lay down beside Robin, then pulled the cape over them--it just covered them when they spooned, and curled up.

Robin sighed happily. "I have no idea how the heck this happened, but I'm glad it did."

Clive yawned. "It's a lovely concept called 'lucid dreaming', pet. You really ought to look into it." He shivered. "Are you cold?"

"Mm, no. Exercise is so warming, and the cape is designed to be good insulation."

"There was the exercise, there's the cape, and you're a proper little hot water bottle." He shivered again. "Why am I still feeling chilled?" It was getting dark in the barn. He couldn't see Robin, even as close as he was. "I'd say that perhaps it's because the sun has gone down, but it still seems a bit extreme." Eyes closed, Clive frowned. His arms were empty. *How did that happen?* "Where did you go?"

"I'm right here, Clive. It's freezing in here."

"Yes, I know." He reached out. "Get back here and share body heat."

The laugh was familiar. "Sounds like a plan to me, but you could just turn up the thermostat."

"In a barn?"

Pause. "Clive, wake up."

He was gently shaken. Clive opened his eyes to bright lights. He sat up, looking around. He was in his private station, on his special chair, and Trenton was standing beside him, with an amused, puzzled look on his handsome face. "I thought you'd smack anyone who dared to call this place a barn."

"Oh. All done, precious?"

Trenton nodded. "I closed up about fifteen minutes ago, and did the cash register for you. We're all ready to go." Clive was rubbing his arms, and Trenton reached over and did so, too. "Babe, why didn't you turn up the heat, or at least put one of the ponchos over yourself?"

"Didn't think to. Didn't feel like getting up."

"Uh-huh. And what would you do to me if I slept in such a cold room with no covers."

Clive pressed his lips firmly together, but Trenton folded his arms and gave him a mock stern look. The corners of Clive's lips twitched, and finally he said, "I'd probably warm your bottom manually for not taking better care of yourself." He stood up and turned around, sticking out his bottom. "One free."

Trenton gave one taut buttock a smart slap, but left his hand there in a lingering caress. "What were you dreaming? Things usually get very interesting after you've been dreaming."

Clive put his arm around Trenton's shoulder and led him toward the door. He flipped off the lights and they started through the darkened salon. "I'll tell you on the way home. First of all, let me observe that many verses that are now considered nursery rhymes were once written about very adult subjects..."