Title: Dreams of a Dom IV: Who's a Nummy Treat, Then?

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Original/BtVS

Pairing: Trenton/Clive, Clive/Spike

Status: Finished

Sequel/Series: Dreams of a Dom

Archive: If I sent it to you.

Disclaimer: Spike belongs to Joss Wheland. All others are mine.

Summary: Bleached blonde leather wearing bad boy vampire. How could Clive NOT dream of Spike?

Notes: This story is a belated birthday present to Allison, who is a rabid Clive fan. Happy Birthday, dear.

Rating: NC-17

Dreams of a Dom IV: Who's a Nummy Treat, Then?
By Scribe

Trenton and Clive, snuggled on the couch together, watched as a sneering blonde man slammed a tall brunette teenager against a brick wall and lunged at him. His fangs halted scant inches from the pale throat, and the vampire released the boy, groping at his own head, obviously in the grips of a massive, skull splitting headache. "That chip is just SO unfair, darling," Clive sighed. "Rather like nipping a tom cat's danglies."

"Gah, Clive," Trenton protested, "the guy's a vampire. He killed people before they stuck him with the chip, and not just assholes, either."

"Well, there IS that, but why didn't they try behavior modification instead? That works very well for submissives, and..."

Trenton stared at him. "Spike? A submissive?"

"C'mon, Trent, you've read enough fanfiction to know that he has to be AT LEAST a switch. Sure, he manhandles Xander... Who WOULDN'T want to, by the way. But think of those lovely stories where he's paired up with Angelus. That vampire sire/childe relationship is CLASSIC Dom/sub."

Trenton nodded thoughtfully. "But they pretty much HAD to go with the chip. What else could they do?"

"I'd be perfectly willing to consult on training techniques. Granted I don't do the heavy duty stuff
myself, but I'm familiar with it. Control his source of food, a little sensory deprivation, some collar
time..."

Trenton shivered. "Remind me never to piss you off."

Clive kissed him gently. "Never fear, pet. You aren't ever in any danger, because YOU are a good boy, aren't you?" He tickled Trenton under the arms, causing him to wiggle and squeal. "Who's a good boy?" He continued tickling Trenton while the boy futilely tried to fend him off.

In a minute Trenton was reduced to a giggling, shaking mass, begging for mercy. Finally he gasped, "Swan dive, swan dive!"

At Trenton's use of his safe word Clive stopped immediately, lying half on top of the prone, panting boy. "All you had to do was ask nicely, dear." He massaged Trenton's crotch. "Oo, nice and firm. I've discovered a new, effective method of torture, I see." Clive lifted himself, then reclined. Unzipping his fly and exposing himself, he held out his arms. "Come play 'top', baby boy."

Trenton eagerly opened his pants and shoved them and his underwear down to his knees. He crawled over Clive, settling himself till their erections brushed. Then he began to hump against Clive with slow, strong strokes. Clive reached up and cupped Trenton's ass cheeks, squeezing them tight, pulling to urge him to greater effort. Trenton speeded up, thrusting hard.

Most people who knew Clive would have been flabbergasted by this. Trenton, topping CLIVE? But both Clive and Trenton knew exactly what was going on. Clive had said 'play'. This was another of their role playing games. No matter how it might appear to the casual observer, Clive was really in control, every second. But Clive loved to give Trenton chances to exercise his creativity, and the boy was as much a natural born actor as he was a natural born submissive.

Clive played along, pitching his moans in a higher register, refraining from nipping whatever bit of
Trenton-flesh came within reach, whispering to the thrusting boy about how strong and forceful he was. At that, Trenton found himself fighting down a smile, in order to keep up the illusion. Throughout the encounter, Clive's firm grip on his butt told him what was what.

Near the end Clive suddenly wrapped his arms around Trenton and rolled them both off the couch onto the floor. Most of Trenton's breath woofed out of him (Clive was very solid), as he found himself under a grinning, furiously humping Dom. Trenton wanted to speak, but the breath that he'd lost when his lover dropped on top of him didn't have a chance of returning with Clive rubbing their cocks together. It wasn't until after they'd both climaxed, slicking their bellies with warm sperm, that Trenton regained enough wind to gasp, "You devil! So THAT'S why you moved the coffee table further away from the sofa."

Clive smiled, kissing Trent on the chin. "A good Dom plans ahead, precious." He settled his head on Trenton's chest and closed his eyes, yawning. "You're not quite as comfortable as a Posturepedic, love, but you're not bad." He started to doze, then Trenton poked him--carefully.

"Can I get up now? I need to call Mom and tell her I'm staying over."

Clive rolled off Trenton and consulted his watch. "Good God, darling, look at the time! It's almost
eleven. You are NOT waking Lynette up at this time of night, and you are not going to frighten her if she wakes up in the night and finds that you aren't there. You may be an adult on paper, but while you're living with your mother, you will abide by her rules."

Trenton was zipping his pants up. "Yes, sir. But the busses aren't running now."

"I'll drive you." He tucked himself away and got his jacket. "I need to take a fast run by Attitudes,
anyway. I forgot that Betina was closing up, and she doesn't have a bank key. She left the day's take in the drop box, and since I'm going to be out anyway, I might as well make a deposit, since the bank is on my way." *That's funny--I thought the bank was in the opposite direction from where I'll be going, but it must not be.*

He drove Trenton home, necking with the boy for five or ten minutes when they parked outside his apartment building, then watching till he was safely inside. He was going to ask Trenton to move in with him one of these days, but right now the boy was such a comfort to his mother that Clive would have felt selfish asking him to move out.

He drove to Attitudes, parking in front. Clive sorted through his keys as he made his way to the entrance, but he stopped short before slipping the key in the lock. There were fresh scrapes and scratches on the lock. Clive bent down and peered through the narrow slit between the door and the frame. The bolt wasn't engaged.

Clive peered inside. The small light they kept burning in the back of the shop at all times was out.
In the illumination that came from the streetlamp behind him, he could make out that the door to the stock room was open, and he saw a dark figure move past the door.

*Oh, we have a very, very foolish burglar. Let's see... no public pay phones closeby, and I doubt if I could call from inside without whoever hearing. All right.* Clive pushed the door open, congratulating himself on not putting one of those bells over the door. He reached under the front counter and picked up the sawed off baseball bat that was kept there for emergencies. There hadn't BEEN any emergencies so far, but like he'd told Trenton, a good Dom thinks ahead. He was a little surprised to see that neither the drop box, nor the register had been touched. *They're both right out in plain sight, and the intruder didn't try to open them? What sort of a burglary is this? Shit, I hope they aren't vandals. I spent a pot getting this place just the way I like it. If they broke my mirrors I... I'll hand them over to the Dom Tribunal instead of the cops. They'll WISH they were doing time.*

Even in boots Clive could move noiselessly, and he knew his shop like most people knew the way to their bathrooms--he could navigate it with his eyes shut. He paused outside the stock room, listening. There was muttered cursing, but in only one voice, and it was on the other side of the room. He eased the door open, closed his eyes, reached in, and flipped the light switch.

He heard the thud of dropped objects and a hiss from across the room. Clive opened his eyes, and didn't have any problem seeing, since he'd protected them from the sudden burst of light. The other man, on the far side of the room, hadn't been expecting it, and he was shielding his eyes with his hand.

Clive had a moment to get a look at him. He was muscular, but lean, dressed in boots, jeans, a
t-shirt, and a leather jacket that had Clive's immediate approval. The hair above his sheltering
hand was acid drop blonde.

Clive said dryly, "I usually take deliveries between two and four--pm, not am."

"Do I look like U-fucking-PS?" the man snarled. He took his hand away for a second, then clapped it back. "Fucking blind a man, why don'tcha?"

"That WAS the intent." Clive looked around the room. It wasn't in too bad a shape. He'd been half afraid he'd find the floor awash in every shampoo, conditioner, and dye they had. A lot of boxes had been disarranged, and some plastic containers were scattered on the floor, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a little elbow grease.

"I wasn't here ta rob you, mate." The man was still blinking, but he could handle the light now.

Clive studied him appreciatively. *Not bad at all. Looks a little like that singer Scribe showed me the poster of. What was his name? Icon? No, Idol. Billy Idol. But that isn't quite it. He's familiar,
though.* "No? Let me guess. You were passing by and saw that the coffee maker had been left on, so you broke in to shut it off so we wouldn't risk having a fire. Then you got lost looking for the little boys' room."

The intruder tugged on his jacket and gave Clive a cocky smile. "Ain't been a LITTLE boy for some time."

"So I see. If you didn't break in to steal, then what?"

"I... uh... All right, I WAS going to take something, but not much. You'd have hardly missed it." He started toward Clive. "But since I couldn't find it, I'll just go. No harm, no foul, yah?"

Clive lifted the baseball bat. "Oh, I don't THINK so. Not till I have a satisfactory explanation. You look familiar."

"You don't know me. I'm from California--just passing through."

"That doesn't sound like a 'fer shur' accent to me. It almost sounds." Clive's eyes widened, and he
pointed the bat at the other man. "SPIKE!"

Spike had been edging closer. Now he stopped, looking at Clive suspiciously. "I might be."

"Oh, PLEASE! Leather, sneer, accent, attitude, bleached blonde..." Spike grimaced. Clive peered
closer and said disapprovingly. "Darling, your roots are showing. Good God, that's at least a quarter inch, and you are SO not right for the Debbie Harry look."

"Well, that's what I was trying to take care of, innit?" He petulantly kicked a large plastic bottle.
"And no nice, neat, one application bottles, conveniently labeled Moonlight Blonde. Just these
fucking institutional sized bottles."

"We mix our own, pet."

Spike gave Clive an interested look at that little endearment, but went on. "I was gonna go to the local all night store for a box of Clairol, and imagine my surprise when I find out that there IS no fucking all night store in the neighborhood. God, this place is provencial."

"There are a few places on the other side of town, but it would cost you an arm and a..." Spike smirked. "Oh, I see." Clive wagged a finger at him. "Naughty, naughty."

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I had a deprived childhood. Now, step aside and let me pass, and we
can both start to forget this embarrassing incident."

Clive tapped the bat in his palm. "No, I don't think so."

Spike vamped out. The shape of his face seemed to melt, remolding itself into unatural plains and
angles, his eyes going gold, and his eyeteeth lengthening to deadly fangs. He hissed.

"Very impressive."

Spike stiffened at the casual drawl. This should have inspired either flight or attack. Clive didn't look bored, but he certainly didn't look frightened, either. "Are you suicidal, or just stupid?"

Clive wagged the bat at him. "Don't be rude. So, you're a vampire. Yes, all right. But you're also
not all that much of a threat with that chip in your skull, are you?"

"SHIT!" Spike slammed his fist into the wall.

"Well! It's a good thing that's panelled instead of dry wall, because if you had punched a hole in it I would have been VERY displeased."

"How the fuck do you know about the bleedin' chip?!"

Clive shrugged. "I'm Clive. Now, as I was saying, you can't act violently except in self-defense, and I don't intend to attack you." He smiled. "Not in the kick-ass sense, anyway. I just think that we can come to a mutually beneficial understanding."

Spike scowled. "What?"

"You came here for a reason--I can help you. I'm the best hair care specialist you're likely to run into in your long, long so-called life. I can fix that little two-tone problem you have there." Clive cocked his head. "I'd HEARD that nails and hair keep growning after death, but I never thought about the roots problem for a vampire."

Spike considered, studying him. "So, you'll give me the 'do. What d'ya want in return?" Clive smiled slowly, giving him a raking glance. Spike's eyebrows lifted. "Oohhh..." He gave Clive his own once over, and liked what he saw. Well, people usually DID. The ridges receded, and his eyes faded to their normal color. "I think we could work somethin' out."

"Ducky." Clive stepped back, crooking a finger at Spike. "Come into my parlor." Clive carefully kept himself between Spike and the exit as he herded the vampire into his private station. He made sure the overhead lights were set to 'dim' before he turned them on, knowing how glaring they could be with all the mirrors. Once inside he locked the door.

Spike had gone to the middle of the room and was looking around interested. "Blimey, its a
narcissist's wet dream."

"It's not bad for voyeurs, either." Clive laid the bat aside on a counter and looked around the room with satisfaction. Then he frowned. "Well, drat!" There was only one person reflected in the mirrors--Clive. No sign of Spike. Clive shook his head, "Well, precious, I'm afraid you're not going to get the full effect, what with your little reflection problem."

"S'okay, mate. I'll still be able to see YOU."

"There is that."

Spike gave him an amused look. "Don't exactly suffer from low self-esteem, d'ya?"

"I don't see you digging your toe bashfully in the dust, either, darling. Have a seat and relax." Spike sat in the chair while Clive went to the cabinet against the far wall. He was back in a moment, standing in front of him, smiling, hands behind his back. "Pick a hand." Spike pointed at Clive's left hand. "Good choice." He pulled it from behind his back and showed Spike a gleaming set of handcuffs.

Spike gaped. "What the fuck d'ya think you're goin' to do with those?"

"Something like this." *snapsnap* Spike looked down to find his left hand linked to the chair arm by a second set of cuffs.

"Bloody hell!" Spike gripped the right arm of the chair, preparing to launch himself at Clive. Mistake. *snapsnap* and his RIGHT wrist was handcuffed to the other chair arm.

"HOW old are you, darling? Surely you should have learned about misdirection by now."

Spike vamped out, going ballistic. He thrashed and kicked, hissing and swearing. Clive simply stepped back out of reach, lifted one hip to perch a buttock on the counter, and pulled out a nail file. "Just let me know when you're through, precious." He started filing his nails. After a moment of motion and noise he paused, examining his nails. He gave the pinky another stroke. "By the way, if you damage that chair, I'm taking it out of your fine white hide."

Spike stared at him. Finally he made a disgusted sound, his features going back to normal. "Well, fuck me."

Clive stood up. "If you had any requests, you should have made them BEFORE I got you positioned. I'm not about to take those cuffs off till this transaction is over."

"What d'ya think you're gonna do?"

"Pretty much anything I want. But first..." He draped Spike in a black cloth, pinning it securely at
the neck. Clive turned the chair and lowered it till Spike's head was over a sink, "I'm going to wash your hair." He turned on the water. "Just let me know if this is too hot."

Spike snorted. "Unless ya got holy water runnin' through that it ain't gonna make much difference."

"Suit yourself." Clive started to shampoo Spike's hair. "Hm, and you'll need a conditioner, too. I
generally advise against bleaching, but I won't bother to try to talk you out of it, since you seem to be wedded to the idea." Clive kept washing. "My, your scalp is chilly."

"Yeah, well, when y' don't have a pulse your circulation tends to be a bit off."

"Mm."

Clive never gave less than his best. Spike's scalp got a firm, thorough working over, then Clive spend a moment or two massaging the suds sensuously through the short locks. Spike's eyes drifted shut, and his tensed body relaxed. He almost purred, Clive's voice was amused. "Like that, do you?"

Spike opened his eyes again and looked up at Clive. "Y' know, mate, somehow I get the impression that you're just a wee bit kinky."

"No, really? What gave it away?"

"Mirrored ceiling is a dead give away." Spike nodded upward. Clive glanced up, and laughed. Since Spike was not reflected, it looked as if Clive was giving himself one hell of a handwashing.

Clive rinsed Spike's hair. "No conditioner just yet, as it would slow down the process, but we'll do it afterwards, to try to counteract any possible damage."

Spike glanced sideways, noted the prominent bulge at Clive's fly, and said, "Clive, old man, are you
getting hard?"

"No need to use a gerund when you can use a past tense. I GOT hard some time ago." Clive stoked Spike's cheek. "You just relax while I go get the supplies." As he walked toward the door, Spike tensed his muscles, trying to strain the cuffs up enough to snap either them or the chair arms. He was looking forward to making it with Clive, but wanted it to be on his own terms. Without turning back Clive called, "And remember what I told you about my chair, pet. You do NOT want to damage it."

"Sod it! How did you know?! You can't even see me in the mirror."

"No, but I COULD see those cuffs straining upward." Spike relaxed, and Clive was back in a moment, carrying a glass bowl that held a box and a plastic bottle. Humming to himself (a cute little ditty called 'That's the Way I Like It' that he'd learned from Scribe) he deposited his load on the counter, then emptied the bowl.

Spike watched curiously as Clive measured some powder from the box into the bowl, squirted in a generous amount of liquid, and stirred it up with what looked like a tongue depressor. "What's that?" Spike asked.

"I thought you did your own hair?"

"Yeah, but I just grab a bottle from the store."

Clive examined the liquid critically, letting some drip off the end of the stick, then shook his head as he added a bit more liquid. "I'm surprised your hair hasn't just given up and fallen out, dear. This is powdered bleach, and a developer. I'm using a 30 developer on you. I never use the 40, it's just too harsh. Now, since I don't risk my clothes..." Clive removed his Tee-shirt. Spike got very interested as he watched the smooth flex and flow of the Dom's muscles. Amused, Clive paused for a moment to allow him a good look. He worked at keeping himself in shape, and he felt that it was only his due that people occasionally appreciated it. Finally he got a garment out of a cabinet and donned it. It should have looked like a black dentist's coat. Somehow on Clive it looked vaguely goth, and definitely sexy.

Clive reached in a drawer and came up with a pair of latex gloves. He pulled them on, saying, "Not only are these essential to my profession, they can be used as props in many delightful role plays." He snapped the last one on. "Trent is particularly fond of 'new recruit getting his induction physical'" Spike arched an eyebrow. "Let's just say that the prostate exam in unique and thorough."

He gave Spike's hair a brief tousle. "We want this moist, but not dripping." He picked up a small, soft bristled brush. "I want to get your roots first, but I think I'll pull it up to the ends of your hair to be sure of even tone."

Clive began dabbing the purplish liquid on the roots of Spike's hair, beginning at the hairline, then
working in to the crown. Spike felt the firm touch of his hands holding his head steady, and the cool squish of the brush loading the bleaching liquid against his scalp. Then Clive would comb the mixture about an inch up his hair. Every now and then he stopped, took a cloth, and wiped away a drop or dribble that escaped onto Spike's skin. He didn't talk now, but followed his work intently, a complete professional.

When he had a base over Spike's entire scalp he combed it out to the ends. "There, that's a lovely covering. Now we just let it work its magic, then rinse out the excess, give you a nice conditioner, and a quick style." He was rummaging in a drawer. Now he came up with something bright green and crinkled.

"What's that?" Spike asked suspiciously.

Clive spread it on his fingertips. "What does it look like?"

"I'M NOT WEARING A BLEEDIN' SHOWERCAP!"

"Yes you are, because it will speed up the reaction, and neither one of us wants to be here all night. Hold still." Spike did, scowling, and Clive quickly fitted the cap over his head. "Don't be such a baby. No one's going to see but me, so your macho reputation is safe." He smiled. "I won't tell." Spike grunted. Clive bumped the chair with his hip. "You're lucky I resisted the urge to get the one with teddybears on it."

"I'd cut me own throat." Clive folded his arms and looked at him. Spike shrugged. "Not fatal in my
case, but pretty fuckin' painful, I can tell you."

"I don't think I want to know." Clive pulled off the gloves, checking his watch. "We have a few minutes." He brought the chair to an upright position and stood in front of it. "Watch what happens with those boots, pet. Remember, you're still locked to that chair. I may not recover as quickly as a vampire, but I imagine that if you landed one of those where you shouldn't I could bounce back before you could get out of my reach."

"Besides," he reached up under the drapery. Spike felt Clive's hands working at his belt. "I really
don't think you WANT to get out of my reach." Clive opened Spike's jeans, slid his hand inside, and wrapped his fingers around the very nice erection he found there. "You know, this is very odd. It's familiar, but strange. I mean," he gave a squeeze that made Spike show his teeth with pleasure. "This is a dick." He rubbed. Spike spread his legs. "It feels like a perfectly ordinary dick..." Spike showed his teeth again, and Clive smiled, "Yes, though a nicely sized one. As I was saying, the texture and feel is perfectly normal, except for the temperature. You're downright chilly. If my cock ever got THAT cold, I'm sure my balls would be trying to crawl up my asshole."

"If it bothers ya, I CAN get warmer." He grinned, fangs glinting. "Course it requires a generous
donation on your part."

"No, dear. Blood play is just SO not my thing. My friend Scribe has told me absolute horror stories
about her home dimension. They have this ultra nasty disease called AIDs over there, transferred by bodily fluids, which include blood, semen, and in some cases saliva. Frankly, why she ever wanted to go back is beyond me. I've noticed that she vacations here an awful lot. I'm hoping to persuade her to move permanently, then just visit the other place."

Clive's hand had not stopped moving during his speech. Spike said, "There's better things I could think of for you to do with yer mouth, ducks."

Clive sank slowly to his knees. "Yes. This should take just about long enough for the solution to work." With one hand Clive lifted the hem of the drape and poked his head up under it.

With his own body temp (or lack of it), all humans felt very warm to Spike. The wet touch that caressed his cockhead, though, was HOT. He bucked his hips up, blindly hoping to slide into his target. Clive jerked his head back out from under the drape and glared at him sternly. "You stop that right now. I have a wonderful assortment of ropes and straps and am perfectly capable of passing a few strand around you waist and over your thighs. You won't be able to move at ALL then. It drives Trent crazy when I do that, and he doesn't have an aggressive bone in his luscious
body, bless him."

Spike scowled. "All right. But for fuck's sake, get on with it!"

"Lord, you'd think with your lifetime you'd have learned a little patience by now." Clive unfastened
his own pants and pulled out his rigid dick, stroking it.

Spike eyed his cock appreciatively, then said, "If ya can stand in the chair, straddling me, I can take care of that for you."

Clive cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, I like a little roughness, but let my pride and joy close to THOSE
fangs, even WITH the chip? Don't think so." He slipped back under the drape. Spike made a crooning noise as his cock was enveloped by moist heat. His surprised pleasure grew as the heat kept advancing till he was entirely engulfed. This man had hidden talents BESIDES hairdressing.

Clive was enjoying himself immensely. He had anticipated SOMETHING being very off (perhaps a rancid taste? Dead meat, and all that), but aside from the coolness and a faintly musty-spicy smell that wasn't at all repulsive there was nothing. He settled down to enjoy himself, masturbating as he devoured his victim... *Oopsies--subject. Let's see... Torture routine #2, I think. Long, narrow laps from base to tip, alternating with quick, light flicks to the glans. Dip into pee slit every third pass. Deep throat and hard suck on a random basis, to preserve the element of surprise.*

Spike managed to keep himself from thrusting, but it damn sure wasn't easy. It was a good thing that the parts of the chair arms that he could reach were chrome. He had a feeling that Clive wouldn't have been best pleased if he'd gouged nailmarks in his leather upholstery.

Spike growled, "Flip up the bloody sheet so I can watch ya." Clive neither replied, nor complied. Not stopping what he was doing, he lifted his free hand and shook an admonishing finger at Spike. At the same time, he bit.

Oh, he didn't bite HARD, but there were definitely teeth involved. Spike yelped, gave one hard, upward push, and came. Clive swallowed busily, rather enjoying the cool throat wash. At the same time he pumped himself, fast and hard. His own orgasm struck as he was swallowing the last few drops. Finally he withdrew from under the sheet, licking his lips. "Mmm, that was nice. Now I won't have to hunt up a midnight snack when I get home." Clive tidied himself up. "I think you should be ready now."

He lowered Spike back over the sink and put his gloves back on, then took off the cap. Whistling cheerfully, he gave Spike's hair a thorough rinse. "Oh, that's coming out just LOVELY! It's exactly the same shade from roots to tips. Now, a nice conditioner, a rinse, and a TEENY bit of styling gel." Clive finished up the process, finger combing Spike's now glistening blonde hair into artful spikes. "All done."

He got the key and unlocked both sets of handcuffs. "Generally when I do something special for someone I insist that they come back to me for any more hair care. I don't suppose that would be practical with you, as you live in California."

Spike jerked off the drape, stood up, and refastened his pants. "Dunno. I might be willing to make a special trip now and then for this kind of service." He smiled. "Then again, it'd be nice to have you on call, all the time."

"I don't work that way, dear."

"There's one way to guarantee it." Spike leapt on Clive.

Clive wasn't often taken by surprise, but Spike managed it. He had the Dom down on the floor, pinned, before Clive knew what was happening. Clive yelled, "What the HELL do you think you're doing?! What about the chip?"

Spike laughed, going to game face. "Ya should check your canon, pet! I didn't ALWAYS have the fuckin' chip, did I? Well, guess what? It hasn't happened yet."

"But you..."

"I never said I had it. You're not the only one who likes ta play games." He grabbed Clive's hair and jerked his head aside. "You're gonna make a fab vampire, luv. Angelus is gonna love you!"

He lunged. Clive yelled at the pain in his neck, and...

"Jesus, Clive, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I was trying to be careful! You usually LIKE it when I wake you up by nibbling on you!"

Clive's eyes snapped open. The body on top of him was warm. The eyes looking anxiously into his own were Jade green. The hair he had his hands buried in was a riot of red-brown curls. "Trent!"

"Clive! Please let go of my hair. You're making my eyes water."

"Oh, I'm SORRY, pet!" Clive let go, then petted Trent soothingly. "What on earth happened?"

Trent gave him a puzzled look. "You dozed off after we made it, right on the floor. You've been sleeping for maybe twenty minutes. I love laying on top of you, but I'm starting to get cramps. Can I get up now? I need to call Mom and tell her I'm staying over." Clive stared at him. "Clive? You're looking at me like I'm speaking in tongues, or something."

"Just a deja vu moment, darling. It's almost..." he consulted his watch, then blinked. "Oh, it's not
quite nine-thirty."

"Well, yeah. Buffy was over at nine. Then we had our fun, and YOU had your nap."

"Go ahead and call Lynette, dear." As the boy dialed, Clive said, "Trent, didn't you tell me that you'd gotten a sort of Buffy Companion book."

"Yeah, The Watcher's Guide."

Clive walked into his bedroom, and called back, "Bring it over next time, would you?"

"Sure. Why?"

Clive had reached the bathroom. He braced himself, then looked in the mirror. He sighed with relief when he was confronted by his mirror image, and not a blank plate of glass. He looked closer, fingering the bruise on the side of his neck. Definitely your garden variety hickey. He smiled. Well, it was a little special, since it was Trenton administered. "I'm just curious as to exactly WHEN Spike received that chip."

=====
END