Title: Dreams of a Dom VI: We All Need a Little Mischief In Our Lives

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Original/Xena

Pairing: Clive/Strife

Sequel/Series: Dreams of a Dom Series

Archive: The WWOMB and list archives. Otherwise, ask first.

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here (except Scribe, Clive, Trenton, and Havasnark--THEY are copyrighted), I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.

Summary: Clive isn't feeling well. He escapes into a dream of the Xenaverse, meets the God of Mischief, and feels MUCH better.

Warnings: Some bondage

Notes: For Jia, and my other list sibs who aren't feeling well lately, both for physical reasons, and just general Real Life BS. Hope this will cheer you up a little. Part of the Dreams of a Dom Series, wherein Clive, the Leather Hairdresser, lives out his fantasies with his various favorite characters.

Rating: NC17

Dreams of a Dom VI: We All Need a Little Mischief In Our Lives
(Clive visits the Xenaverse again)
by Scribe

*sniiiiiiiiiiif*

*honk*

"Been there. Done that. I'm Strife. I'm bad."

"You tell them, Lilywhite."

*achoo* "Oh, gahd." *raprap* "Come in, predcious. Ihd's open."

The door to Clive's apartment opened, and Trenton came in, frowning. "Clive, -I- know that you're a bad ass, but every crook on the street DOESN'T know that, and you ought to keep your door locked."

"Dohn'd teach your grahndmother to suck edds, ped."

Trenton had been dropping his textbooks on the table, now he turned around quickly. All that was visible on the couch was the top of a messy looking dark gold head. "What's wrong?"

*choo* *sniff* "I behlieve ihd's cahlled a cohld, ped."

Trenton hurried over. "Bettina said you were just taking an afternoon off, she didn't say anything about you being sick."

Clive was bundled up to his chin in an afghan, stretched out on the sofa. He looked pale, very tired, and, yes, sick. He was never less than gorgeous, but seeing him looking so strained gave Trenton an uncomfortable squeezing sensation around his heart. It bore a vague resemblence to the way he'd felt when he was sixteen and his mother was down with the flu for a week--certain people just weren't supposed to GET sick.

"Perhabs thahd's becaudse I dihn't -tell- her I was sick. Lohrd, ped, she's fluttery enough as id is,
dohn'd you think?"

Trenton sat on the edge of the sofa beside him and put his hand on Clive's forehead, pushing the heavy hair up. "You don't feel feverish, so I guess I can put back the panic for a little while."

"Noh, id only god up to aboud a hundred, and id wend down quickly." He sighed. "Move over, predcious. I love you, buhd you are NOD see-through."

"Oh, sorry." Trenton shifted, glancing at the television. A slender, maniacally grinning man dressed in black leather was doing something to annoy a very big, buff, pissed-off looking man in a vest. "Xena? When you're sick?"

"You cahn judst ged thad disapproving tone OUD of your voides, young man. Ahnd id's NOD Xena--id's Young Hercules. They're having a marathon ond the Family Channel."

"Family channel, huh? I guess they don't know the kind of thoughts the Hercules-Xena guys inspire in you." This didn't even get a chuckle or a leer. "Man, you ARE sick. You need to go see a doctor. I can drive you."

Clive's arms emerged from the cocoon. "Hahnd me a tissue, darling." Trenton did. *honk* "Now then. Firdst off, I have BEEN to the dohctor thids morningd. Secondly, whad makes you think I'd led you drive my car unless I was going into cardiac arrestd?" Trenton rolled his eyes. "As was suspected, I have a cohd--a 24 hour one ihnd his opiniond. I am to rest, drink plenty of lihdquids, and take some over the counder medicine. I am already much improved." He waved vaguely at the coffee table. It was littered with an empty soup bowl and spoon, a thermos, an insulated pitcher, two glasses (one of which had a citrusy smell to it), an open box of cold capsules, and a drift of crumpled tissues. "Lundch, medicine, wahder ahnd juice." He waved at the door, "Ahnd the reason the door was unlocked is because The Snark whads up ahnd down the stairs every fifdeen mihnuds--ihd was judst easier."

Trenton was about to make a comment, when he froze. The afghan over Clive's crotch had twitched. Clive noticed his stare and followed his gaze. The afghan twitched again. Trenton looked at Clive. Clive raised an eyebrow. "I thought you felt sick, and you're SOMETHING, Clive, but THAT?"

Clive pulled back the covers. A small orange tabby was curled up on his crotch, purring and kneading at his sweatpants. "Trend, love, please remove my liddle visidor. I'm sure she meands well, bud those claws are judst too damn closedo certain areas." Trenton gently lifted the little animal. She came willingly, perfectly capable of recognizing a soft touch when she saw one. "The Snark claims thad cats are very therapudic. Who am I to argue? Sed her outside--she can ged back into the apardment through the ped door."

Trenton did. When he returned, Clive had poured himself some water and was downing a cold capsule. He sighed, setting the glass back down. "Thandk goodness I didn ged a cough. I HADE cough syrup." He made a face. "Nadsty stuff. Id must be around five or sidx if you're here, predcious." He frowned. "Thad means The Snark hadsn't charged up ond a mission of merdcy for over four hours. I hope nodthing's happend to her."

"Uh... no. No, she's fine."

"Good. She said someding aboud going dowd to visid at Attitudes. I thoughd she'd tell you aboud this mess." He waved at the coffee table.

"Ye-eh, she came in, all right."

Trenton's eyes and tone was troubled. Clive squinted at him suspiciously. "Trehdon, ped, what happened?"

Trenton pointed brightly. "Look, it's Strife again! Man, wouldn't you like to get your hands on HIS wardrobe?"

"Ooo, midsdiredtion--NOD a good signd. I'll askd again--whad happend?" Trenton fidgeted. "Whaddid that old pepperpod finagle thids time?"

"Well..." Trenton got up and began pacing nervously. "She came in, and she wanted a new coloring."

"Yeds?" Clive's tone was ominous.

"She said she was bored with what she'd had lately, and she wanted to try something, uh, fresh and dramatic."

Clive closed his eyes. "Oh, gahd. I've bed trying to ged her to try someding less cartoonish for ages. I gave strigged orders to everyone ad the shop nod to led her talk them indo..." He trailed off. Opening his eyes, he looked at a fidgeting Trenton. Trenton had recently been allowed to start practising his skills on willing customers, but there were some places he KNEW he wasn't ready to go. Clive's voice was soft. "Trehdon? Darling, ped, sweedhard... Tell me you didn."

Trenton was backing toward the door, giving him a strained smile. "You're all clogged. You know what's good for that?"

"Trehdon..."

"Ginger and lemon tea, with honey. Mom gives it to me when my sinuses go bad, but we don't have any ginger or lemon, and we used the last of the honey I think when we were playing slave boy at a Roman orgy..." He was fumbling behind him at the doorknob while he babbled.

"Trehdon!"

"SoI'llgogetsomeandI'llberightback." *slam* *thump* One of Clive's pillows thudded against the shut door, and he swore quietly as he listened to Trenton scramble down the stairs. The outside door slammed.

"Sod of a bidge," Clive sighed. He lay back tiredly, eyes turning back to the screen. Strife was capering happily over some bit of confusion he'd just sown. "Gahd, predcious, I thing I know how Ares mudst feel aboud you somedimes. Well," he settled back. "He'll be back evedually, then we'll see." His eyes drifted shut. "Yeds, we'll see..."

*****

*I do not BELIEVE this. I'm waking up on a cold marble floor AGAIN. Hm, well, at least my voice isn't all clogged up anymore. Oh, wait--I'm thinking, not talking.*

Clive sat up and took a deep breath. The fact that he was ABLE to take a deep breath made him think that the cold was probably gone. *And I should hope so. I damn sure don't want to DREAM about being sick. Now, what sort of little scenario has my subconscious cooked up for me this time?*

Clive got up, looking around. He seemed to be in some sort of closet sized alcove, one wall of which was made up of a curtain. The only object in the room was a chair, facing the curtain. Clive moved up to the curtain and listened carefully. Even in dreams it wasn't good idea to just go waltzing into unfamiliar situations.

The room outside must be pretty big--it had that sort of echoing accoustics. And there were a fair number of people out there. There wasn't a lot of milling around, but there was a constant murmur of voices. *Hushed voices. Have I gotten myself into some sort of a church? Heavens, I hope I'm not having an audience with the pope.* He looked down at his sweatpants and Tee-shirt. *I'm simply NOT dressed for it. I'd put on the best suede for the old dear. Hm, so, if this is a dream...*

He remembered how he'd changed his clothing in his dream where he'd visited ancient Greece and met, and made, Joxer the Mighty. He concentrated fiercely. In a moment he was in head-to-toe butter-soft black suede. *Much better. I feel like myself again. Now, let's check this out.*

He eased one side of the curtain back a half inch and peeked through. "Oh, my. Well, deja fucking vu."

It was the same temple he'd awakened in before--Ares' temple, but from a different angle, and it was a LOT more populated than it had been. Before there'd been no one but him and the wanna-be warrior--now there were several dozen people wandering about the main chamber.

The ones in black and scarlet robes, looking so solemn that their spit was probably sour were most likely the priests, he thought. The others all wore some sort of armor or caried nastily lethal looking weapons, so these would be warlords and warriors. Clive wrinkled his nose. Apparently washing wasn't high up on the list of 'Things to Do When You're Bent On Conquest'. *Drat. Where the hell is the ceremonial incense when you need it?*

The priests seemed to be occupied up at the altar, chanting and genuflecting and such. The worshippers would usually go up and lay some offering on the table, then kneel to pray--that was the constant muttering. Clive stood on tiptoes and tried to see what was laid out on the altar. *Hm. Heavily into edged weapons, I see. Must get a bit tedious. You'd think someone would bring a nice bottle of wine. If they MUST stick to instruments of pain, there's such a LOVELY selection of crops and whips out there.* He frowned. *Or is there now? Perhaps they're still into functional, rather than creative.*

He noticed something a bit peculiar. There was one person other than the priests who seemed to be roaming about the outer room at will. He was a tall, slender young man, dreassed in skin tight black leather. Something about his lean body and the smooth way he moved reminded Clive warmly of Trenton. And though his eyes were pale blue instead of bright green, there was a certain devilish sparkle in them very reminiscent of Clive's own beloved submissive when he was bent on teasing his Dom into a punishment.

The funny thing was that no one seemed to be paying any attention to the young man. He'd pass inches in front of a kneeling man, one of the decorative chains *Oo, nice touch, that* barely missing the man's nose, and the other one wouldn't even blink. When one of the departing warriors suddenly veered around the lounging man at the last moment, bumping into someone larger than him and earning a growl, Clive got a little suspicious. His suspicions were confirmed when the man slouched up to the altar and goosed one of the priests.

The dignified man whirled, glaring around angrily. His tormentor was standing right in front of him, arms crossed, grinning, but the man kept looking from side to side. The pale young man stuck out his tongue, crossing his eyes, then giggled when there was no reaction. The priest rolled his eyes heavenward *or I suppose that would be Olympusward here* and muttered, "Strife!" The Mischief God saluted, smirking, as the other man went back to his supplications.

"Oooh, yessss," Clive breathed. Now he remembered. How had he possibly forgotten? That bad boy smirk, those leathers, that hair... His fingers twitched. Inky dark, messy spikes that he could just imagine rummaging in, disarranging and rearranging.

Clive was distracted for a moment when a hulking warlord came up and knelt before the curtain that hid him. He jerked back quickly as the man said, "Oh favored priest of Ares, I seek advice."

*Well, I seem to be in some sort of confessional. Now what the fuck do I do?* Theorizing that it probably wouldn't be in his best interests to make himself known quite yet, Clive grunted.

"As Lord Ares knows, I have had a truce with my neighbor, Clymentis, for the past three seasons. It has worked well, to both our advantages. But..." he sighed deeply. "At the last feast we shared, there was a misunderstanding. He thought I disrespected him, and he left in anger. Since then things have grown tense between us. I do not want to lose this alliance, sir. How can I mend this rift?"

Clive stared at the curtains, then shrugged. "Flowers are always good."

The man's voice was hesitant. "Flowers?"

"Or candy. Maybe a bottle of wine, a nice meal served by firelight. A sensual massage..."

"This IS a man I'm talking about."

"Yes?" Silence. "You asked for advice--you got it."

"I... thank you, sir." As he walked away he was muttering. "Flowers. Candy." His voice gave an interested lift. "Massage?" When he was sure the area was clear, Clive resumed his vigil.

Strife continued doing what he did best--causing mischief. He stood close behind one fiercely dignified looking warlord, stepping carefully on the cape that swirled on tht floor behind him. When the man went to stand up, it ripped--but not before he'd been jerked unceremoniously back on his ass.

Next Strife chose a very large, rugged warrior wearing a lot of close fitting armor. Clive could hear him humming to himself as he studied the man, who was praying that he acquit himself with dignity in some upcoming contest of skills. Seems he had a rep he wanted to protect. Whistling softly, Strife held out his hand, palm up. A tiny grey mouse with bright, beady eyes appeared on his palm. He picked the rodent up by its naked pink tail, kissed it on the tip of its twitching nose, and whispered, "There's a cookie in there, Mousie. If ya find it, ya can have it." Then he slipped the eagerly squirming rodent down the neck of the warrior's armor.

The resulting screaming and thrashing cleared the temple pretty effectively. Everyone seemed to think that he'd gone into some sort of premature battle frenzy. The warrior himself finally fainted, and a couple of his braver comrades came back and carried him out, whispering about possession. They ignored the Mischief God, who was rolling on the floor, breathless with laughter.

Clive didn't blame him too much, since he'd bitten his lips bruised, trying not to make any noise. It HAD been pretty funny, though rather mean spirited. Strife was now lying on his belly, face to the floor, pounding the marble weakly with one fist. "Oh, we ARE pleased with ourself," Clive murmurred. He used lucid dreaming to think up an item he needed, then silently crept out of the alcove.

Strife heard the footsteps, but ignored them. If it was a mortal, they wouldn't see him. If it was a divinity they could either laugh with him, or bugger off. Fuck 'em if they couldn't take a joke. He sobered marginally, the last laugh turning into a snort. Of course, if it was Uncle Ares or his Mom--THAT could be dangerous. He prepared to get up and act either contrite or defiant, depending on the circumstances. He didn't get the chance.

In very rapid succession, knees thudded down on either side of him, and a heavy body sat on the small of his back, pinning him very efficiently. Cold metal snapped around his outstretched right hand, and it was jerked up behind his back. At the same time a hard, warm hand grabbed his LEFT wrist, jerking it back and similarly trapping it. In about two seconds, Strife found himself with his hands shackled behind his back.

Angry, he bucked, and at the same time exerted his will to snap the cuffs open. It didn't work. He remained chained, and got an arm passed around his neck, a hard forarm pressing against his throat and forcing his head back. "Naughty, naughty, precious. Mustn't fight with Daddy."

Strife shivered at the rough purr that tickled his ear. He twisted, directing a stab of energy at the restraints, and had no more luck than he'd had the first time. "Ah, shit. All right, who tha Tartarus have I pissed off now, an' how much blood am I gonna hafta lose ta get ya off my case?"

"Oo, you're used to rough trade, aren't you, sweetums?" Whoever it was mapped the curve of Strife's ear with a warm, wet tongue, then tugged gently with his teeth at one of the earrings.

Strife froze, eyes narrowed, and reached out with his divine senses to try to figure out exactly who it was on top of him. He wasn't used to anyone being both this rough and this... playful. He didn't recognize any divine power signature, so it had to be a mortal, but if that was so...

"How tha fuck didya get ahold of Hephastian chains, mortal? I know that Heph don't hand 'em out ta you earth crawlers, so ya musta stole 'em. If ya let me up, maybe I won't tell whoever it is ya lifted 'em from."

"Nice try. I didn't steal them--I made them myself--after a fashion."

"That's impossible. Metal forged by mortals can't hold a god. And ya DO realize who yer messin' with, huh?"

"I know. We haven't been formally introduced, but I HAVE seen you before." Clive reached back and squeezed the leather-clad butt voluptuously. "I've been hoping I'd get back here sometime or other. Joxer was a lot of fun, but YOU... Darling, you look like a whole damn amusement park."

"There's somethin familiar about ya aftah all." Strife tilted his head, barely managing to look back at Clive. Clive bent and kissed the tip of his nose, winking at him. Strife stared in astonishment. Even Cupid seldom thought to be THIS playful with him. He did another scan of the mortal who had him trapped so effectively. "Yah, I've felt yer energy trace around here before--right aftah Unc found Joxer on his altar, all tied up like a Soltice present."

"I do hope he enjoyed the little token."

"Are you kiddin'? Him an' Joxie are an item now. I expect him ta make tha Mighty One wunna my in-laws any day now."

"Oh, that's so sweet! I just love match-making."

Another big warlord, a very puzzled looking one, came into the temple. When he spied the two men on the floor he hesitated, but whatever was on his mind over-rode common sense, and he approached.

He was carrying a huge bouquet of flowers, all the shades of the rainbow. Strife said, "If that's an offerin', I give ya points fah originality. I don't think anyone's eveh given Unca Ares wunna those."

The man paled when he realized who had spoke--Strife, God of Mischief, someone you DEFINITELY did not want to get on the bad side of. And that handsome blond man, the one sitting on Strife and nuzzling his hair, had to be some sort of god, too, right? Someone from the House of War, or the House of Death, judging from his all black attire. Better not to upset either of them, but he HAD to get some advice--quickly.

He lowered his eyes. "Your lordships, I beg pardon for disturbing you, but I must ask your opinions. I... In all my years as a warlord, I've never been confronted with a situation like this, and I fear to make the wrong move would destroy an alliance, and a friendship."

Clive stretched out on top of Strife, making himself comfortable, ignoring the godling's mutters. "Speak away, precious."

The man took a breath. "Lately there has come a rift between my friend and ally--Hermonicus. I don't even remember what caused it--some foolishly spoken phrase. I've wanted to heal the rift, but my pride and care for my image has held me back. Today he came to my hold and... and gave me..." He lifted the flowers, "These."

"Nice," said Strife. "So?"

The man cleared his throat. "He also gave me a large box of sugared nuts." He blushed slightly. "I once confessed a weakness for them, and it seems he remembered. Then he invited me to his own hold tonight for a quiet supper with wine, to talk about our problem, and... and..."

"And?" prompted Clive.

"He... he said that perhaps a massage would help. Perhaps as the tensions in our bodies eased, so would the tensions in our friendship."

"Sounds good ta me," commented Strife. "What's yer problem?"

"We're both men."

Clive and Strife chorussed, "Yes?"

"That's just what he said." The man looked hopeful. "So it wouldn't be unmanly to accept this... this overture of peace?"

"Darling," drawled Clive, "A REAL man doesn't give a flying fuck for what the rest of society thinks about what he does with his personal life. If you want it, go for it." Clive had his hand in Strife's hair--now he shook his head gently. "Right, Funbuns?"

"Like I said before, sounds good ta me. Scram." The man hurried out with a glad smile. Strife started giggling. "I'm gonna guess that you were hidin in tha private audience alcove when his friend came in for advice."

"Got it in one."

"Whooo, it should be interestin' when Unc finds out about this. Are you sure you ain't wunna my followers? That was pretty neat mischief makin'."

"Thank you. It isn't my usual territory, but I like to do my part. Tell me, cutie, can you lock those outer doors from here?"

"Yah, sure."

"Do that little thing for me, would you?"

"Why should I?"

Strife squeaked as his hands were drawn up between his shoulder blades. "Because it would make me EVER so pleased."

"Good enough fah me." There was the sound of heavy doors clanging shut, and heavy bars thudding into place. "Say, exactly who are ya, anyways? Joxer just blushes when I try ta ask 'im about ya. I figure ya must be from some othah Pantheon, since ya can come an' go at will, an' ya have access..." he wiggled his fingers, "ta power negatin' restraints."

"No divinity, precious--just Clive. And as to how I managed to put a damper on your special little
talents, this is a dream."

Strife sounded interested. "Yah? Ya mean I got Morpheus ta thank fah this?" He chuckled. "Cool."

Clive smiled. "I think we're going to get along just fine."

Part B

"Now that we're alone," Clive lifted up enough to turn Strife over onto his back, then settled back on his knees till he was straddling the godling's hips. He ran his hands lightly over Strife's chest, flicking at various ornamental bits of silver. "Have I mentioned how much I LOVE your ensemble? I want one just like it."

"No ya don't."

Eyebrows up. "And why don't I?"

Strife stuck out his tongue. "No fastinins. I get in an' out by mental powah." He giggled. "Pretty much no one gets inta my pants unless I want 'em to."

"Oh, REALLY?" Strife's eyes unfocused a little as Clive put one big hand over the leather-covered mound of his genitals and gave a squeezing stroke.

"Yah, but I could easily be persuaded ta do the open sesame bit."

"I don't do much coaxing with my submissives, pet--not unless they've earned it." His hands were moving, groping over Strife's torso. "Besides," he pulled a knife from a sheath that had been hidden under Strife's left arm. "You come complete with handy-dandy clothes shredder.

"Hey!" Strife started to struggle again.

Clive put his free hand on Strife's forehead and pinned his head to the floor, saying sternly, "Stop that!" Strife felt a kiss of cold metal against his belly and froze immediately, blue eyes growing huge. "You don't want me to slip, do you?"

"Uh-uh."

Strife realized that what he was feeling was the blunt side of the blade, but that didn't make him relax. Clive lifted and pushed, and the blade sliced through the leather of Strife's jacket, gaping slightly as the tension on the material eased. Clive released Strife's head and said, "Lift your chin, dear." Strife did, and Clive gave the knife a small jerk, splitting the collar.

He slowly ran the very tip of the knife down the center of the exposed strip of skin. "Amd I thought Joxer was pale. All the lovely, sunny beaches in Greece, and you don't take the opportunity to sunbathe a little?"

"I burn."

Clive made a sympathetic face. "Oo, say no more. My darling Trenton fell asleep at the pool once." He clicked his tongue. "Poor baby was so miserable that I didn't have the heart to punish him for being negligent of his own well-being. All I could do was slather him in aloe vera and bring him soothing drinks all weekend. He couldn't bear to wear anything but his underwear." Clive smiled. "Of course, a near-naked Trenton Vittelli is a GOOD thing. But it would have been SO much better if he'd been completely naked, and I'd been able to touch him without having the poor child scream in pain."

"Sorta got the impression that pain was a bit of a turn on fah you."

"I'm a Dom, not a sadist, and spankies are one thing--sunburn is an entirely different matter." He used the knife to flip the split leather farther apart, baring Strife's chest. His eyes widened. "Well, now. Your clothes aren't the only thing with shiny decorations." He used the very tip of the blade to lift one nipple ring. "Very nice. I've had a few clients at Attitudes urging me to go into body piercings, but I don't think so. We do one thing, and do it very well. Besides, I think anything as invasive as poking new holes in one's body should be left to carefully educated professionals in the proper environment."

"Know whatcha mean. I had Aesclepius do mine. Mom volunteered, but she enjoys it to damn much, an' I was worried she'd get carried away."

Clive's eyebrows quirked. "Your family affairs must be very interesting."

"Ya got no idea. Couldya give that another lil' tug?"

"Say 'please'."

Strife frowned. "Yer kiddin, right?" Clive stared at him. "Yer not kiddin. Do ya have any idea what it would do ta my rep it it evah got out that I said 'please' ta a mortal?"

"Fine." Clive stood up, slid his hands under Strife's arms, and hauled him to his feet. "I'm sure I can find plenty of material for a gag around here. Now, let's see... what would be a good place to store you? Nowhere too obvious--I want you to spend a little time trussed up somewhere close and dark, contemplating how beneficial good manners can be." He was staring around the temple thoughtfully. "But I don't want to leave you somewhere where you WON'T be found." He made a face. "That can be messy, though I suppose you don't have a regular police force to explain these things to. Tell me, how long can a god go without food and water?"

Strife's eyes were getting progressively wider as Clive spoke. "Uh, please don't do that. I pissed off Phonos once--he wrapped me in Hephastian chains an' crammed me in a sarcophagus. I'd still be there if Greagus hadn't sniffed me out when Unc Ares finally got pissed enough ta look fah me."

"Your family is sounding less appealing as we go along."

Strife, still hanging from his hands, shrugged. "Eh, families--ya know? Some of 'em are pretty cool. Auntie Aphrodite is a hoot. Of course ya don't wanna get on her bad side, 'less ya ENJOY bein' celibate, an' not by yer own choice. Then there's Cupid." He grinned lasciviously. "Oh, yeah."

Clive cocked his head. "Cupid is Aphrodite's son?" Strife nodded. "And she's your aunt." Another nod. "So that would make him your cousin." Strife wiggled his eyebrows. "Precious, are you SURE you're from Greece, and not Texas? Scribe tells me that's legal in Texas."

Strife gave him an indignant look. "I'm a god--like I'm gonna worry about that shit."

"Right. Consenting adults--none of my business."

"So, wouldya PLEASE give tha ring another teeny lil' tug?"

Clive set him on his feet and tugged gently. At the same time he used the thumb of his other hand to rub the other nipple. Strife's eyes almost rolled back in his skull. Clive's voice was firm, but there was still a faintly coaxing tone. "What do we say?"

"Do it again."

Clive sighed. "Wrong answer." He pinched.

"Yowch! I was KIDDIN, okay? Thank you."

"Good boy. I really shouldn't do this, since you had to be prompted, but..." He bent over.

Strife groaned as a warm, wet tongue curled over one erect bud, wiggling through the ring. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou."

"Mm, a quick learner. Now, then... You seem familiar with this area. What's your opinion on the best place to have sex?"

Strife's answer was prompt. "Unc's bedroom."

"He wouldn't mind?"

"Ya didn't specify a place where tha ownah wouldn't considah it a misuse, an' possibly splatter ya on tha walls."

Clive drew his head back a fraction. "I didn't think I'd have to."

Strife shrugged. "Ya, well, I can see why ya wouldn't want that. Even I try ta avoid it. Disembowelin smarts like Tartarus, an' it takes WEEKS ta heal up right. Okay, not Unc's bedroom. Mmm... I don't think he'd mind someone makin whoopie in tha bathin chambah."

"Ah, bathroom sex--that sounds promising. Point the way."

"Uh..." Strife shifted, showing his back to Clive and wiggling his bound hands.

"It's called a 'metaphore'."

"Zeus! Fah fuck's sake, don't start throwin literary terms at me! I'll get a mental image of Xena's blonde bitch, an' that's tha greatest known lust killer I can think of--unless it's Jerkules." He nodded. "There's a door behind that tapestry ovah there." There was indeed. It led to a long marble corridor, which had occasional doors set on either side. "Third ta yer left." When they stepped into the bathing chamber, Clive came to a sudden stop, staring around. "Ya look impressed. I get tha feelin that don't happen often."

"It's just that I thought that MY bathroom was lush."

"Nice, ha? Unc's job is pretty rigorous, so he don't believe in skimpin on somethin as theraputic as a good bath. Still, this is nothin. Ya oughta see 'Dite's place. She's got tha super deluxe Major Orgy sized bathin pool."

"Let me guess--pink marble?"

"Of course."

"Pass. Is that steam rising off the pool?"

"He keeps it set nice an' hot, so it can get right ta soakin out that kinks when he gets back from work."

Clive's voice was arch. "Surely not. From what I saw of him my last time here, all his kinks are firmly in place. Right, now let's get you ready."

Clive made short work of Strife's outfit, slicing across the shoulders to get read of the top part. When Strife grumbled about having one of his favorite ensembles ruined, Clive tapped him smartly on the nose, saying not to be such a baby--it wasn't as if he couldn't blink it right back up again later. Then he took off the bottom portion of the outfit. When he was done he said, "The last time I peeled anything and had it look this white I was twelve, and it was a willow branch." He patted one pale buttock. "But thank heavens you don't have that green undertone."

Clive quickly removed his own garments while Strife watched with marked interest. When both were in their natural state, Clive took Strife's arm again and led him down into the bathing pool. The water lapped up around their waists, and it was just shy of 'hiss-lemme-pause-a-minute-here-before-I-immerse-my-privates' hot. In other words--perfect.

"Hold your breath," said Clive.

"Wh--?" *splutter* Strife bobbed back to the surface after his ducking, spraying water (though it should be noted that he somehow managed to avoid spraying Clive). "Hey!"

"I warned you, precious. Take what I say seriously." He held out his hand. "Soap."

"On tha shelf ovah there." *splutter* "DAMMIT!"

"I'm not blind, you know, nor stupid. If you can will yourself into that vacuum-sealed outfit, you can jolly well conjure up some soap. Do so." Strife pouted. "Do I really need to warn you that that particular expression says 'please fuck me senseless'? Don't sulk. This way you can have any scent you like, yes?" Clive held out his hand expectantly, palm up. A creamy white bar of soap (the first Clive had ever seen that wasn't embossed with a company logo) appeared in his palm. He sniffed it. "Mm. Vanilla and a hint of cinnamon."

"That's what Cupe has been smellin like lately, an' I think it's sexy as all get out."

"Come to think of it, Trenton DID smell a bit like this the last time he visited Mrs. Havasnark, and I DID feel compelled to jump his bones immediately. But then, I almost ALWAYS feel like that." Clive released Strife's arm. "Unless you enjoy ducking, I'd suggest that you brace yourself against the side." He started to work up a good lather. "I just wish I had my shampoos and conditioners with me."

Strife leaned against the side of the pool, placing his feet a little apart for maximum balance. "Just tell me what ya want."

Clive shook his head. "No. I'm very particular about what I use, and there's no way you could reproduce it without a detailed lab analysis, so we won't even go there." He ran his eyes down Strife's body. "There's enough here to keep me occupied."

Clive placed the bar on tile beside the pool, rubbed his hands together to distribute the lather, and began working on Strife's shoulders. He massaged firmly and, once he had the flesh slicked, used his nails to scratch just enough to stimulate. Strife was already fighting the urge to squirm by the time Clive had made his way down to his chest. As Clive swirled the foam around Strife's nipples, he murmured, "You're going to want to move, pet. Don't do it. With the water and the soap things are just too slippery. You don't want your feet sliding out from under you while I have a finger hooked in a ring, do you?"

Strife shuddered, and whined, "It's gonna be fuckin HARD ta stay still."

"I knooow," crooned Clive.

"Sadist."

"Tell me, how do you have that term, since de Sade won't be born for another dozen or so centuries?" Strife just stared at him. "Never mind. Anyway," he grasped an erect nipple. "Am not." *tweak*

*squeak* "Okay, I believe ya!"

Clive spent a leisurely few moments exploring Strife's chest, experimenting with various types of manipulations, and the sound effects they elicited.

Finally Strife, a little breathless, said, "If I ain't bein too presumptuous, are you plannin on goin anywhere near my cock--hopefully before I explode?" Clive stared sternly. "Please?"

"Better, but I'm afraid you'd take more time to fully train than I have to expend, so we'll just have to go ahead." He let his hand slide down Strife's belly, then fastened tightly around Strife's very emphatic erection. He stroked slowly. "Lord, precious, don't go cross-eyed so early in the proceedings." Clive replenished the lather, then applied it to his own hard-on. "Legs open just a TEENY bit more." Strife obeyed promptly, and without comment, peering down with a squint as he tried for a better look at Clive's equipment.

The Dom moved up into the space provided and took a tight grip on Strife's hips, then began to move against him--slowly. He sighed happily. "You know, I've always been fond of aquatic sex, but since I've been involved with my little swimmer, well..."

"Yah, them water spirits can be a hell of a lot of fun, as long as yer a god an' don't hafta worry about bein drowned." They continued for a little longer, then Strife said, "It's pretty fuckin frustratin ta not be able ta grab yer butt, Dude."

"Well, I'll just put the temptation out of the way." Clive took a step back and turned Strife around,
gathering another large handful of lather. He let his hand slide down into the crease of Strife's ass.

"Nevah have I been so happy ta be denied somethin."

Strife moaned happily as Clive's fingertips first skimmed over his anus, then returned and began to
massage. "I suppose this is a silly question, but you aren't a virgin, are you?" Strife giggled so hard
that Clive's hand slipped, and a finger slipped shallowly into Clive's asshole. The Mischief god
immediately thrust back, sheathing it fully. "Yes, I thought so." He pumped his hand slowly. Strife
shoved back at him. "Just be patient, greedy." He slid in a second finger, scissoring them apart
gradually.

Strife wiggled just a little. "G'wan."

"I told you, pet--I'm not a sadist."

"Nah, I mean it--it's all right. Ya got smaller hands than Cupe."

"Well, if you insist." Clive quickly slicked lather on his own straining erection and moved up close
behind Strife.

Strife bit his lip as he felt Clive's thick, hot cock slowly sink in. "Hoo, damn, I feel sorry fah straight people."

"You're sweet."

"Zeus, don't SAY that!"

Conversation died as the activity got more, er, active. As far as Clive could tell Strife wasn't any hotter, tighter, or wetter than the mortals Clive had been with, but since Clive had always considered this sort of thing fairly divine anyway, it hardly mattered.

Clive pulled back, dragging Strife's feet back a little, and getting him to bend slightly. This changed the angle of his penetration, and Strife yelled in approval as his lover rammed firmly against his prostat on his next thrust. "I was going to inquire about whether or not godly anatomy included a joy button, but I think that answered THAT question."

"Look," panted Strife, "wouldya please save ya energy fah fuckin? An' no need ta keep treatin me like spun glass--I'm tougher'n I look, an' if I can't heal it with a thought, Ace can take care of it with a potion, so wouldya MOVE?!"

"Ask," Clive murmured, "and ye shall recieve." Clive slammed his hips against Strife. Water flew. The fucking was fast and furious. Strife howled like a cat in heat (one of his favorite inventions--destined to destroy a lot of sleep), and Clive growled like Doberman who had been deprived of its heart's desire.

Suddenly Clive went still. "Precious, are you SQUEEZING?"

*pantpant* "Yah."

"Congratulations on your remarkable presence of mind." Clive shoved HARD, and Strife howled as he climaxed. The additional rippling, milking effect did it for Clive, and he emptied himself into the clenching heat.

There were still for a moment, then Strife sighed voluptuously. "An ta think I was bored earliah." Clive kissed him at the base of the neck, gently tugging at a damp spike of hair with his teeth. "Ya welcome."

"Normally I'd punish you for vanity, but in this case it's deserved. Is there some sort of oath you gods take that binds you?"

"Um, well... There are different thoughts on that mattah, but... I'd say swearin on tha Fates would be tha most effective. Nexta me, they're tha ones ya REALLY don't wanna piss off." He shuddered. "I set a mongoose an' a garter snake loose in their cave once, an' they slipped a knot inta my thread. That was tha worst month of my life. They came up with shit that gave me enough ideas ta last a mortal generation."

"Very well. I will unbind you if you swear by the Fates that you won't do anything unpleasant to me."

"Ya got it. I'm in too good a mood right now, anyway. G'wan and untie."

"Yes, right. Swear first."

"Distrustful much?"

"I find it safer."

"Smart man. I, Strife, God of Mischief, swear by tha Fates that this magnificent sex machine will not be harmed, nor inconvenienced in any way if he'll FUCKIN UNTIE ME! So help me Zeus, may I hafta spend an eternity cleanin up aftah Hera's peacocks if I do."

Clive started to untie him. "Sorry I had to insist, but you wouldn't BELIEVE the types and amounts of insurance I have squirreled away."

"Lots?"

Clive unwound the last loop. "Let's just say it's a good thing I trust Trenton." He frowned lightly."Pooh. That reminds me of what was happening just before I came here."

Strife stretched luxuriously. "What was that? Yer more interestin than tha run of the mill mortal."

"Nothing very spectacular. In fact, I was suffering from a nasty cold." Clive sighed. "And I'll have to go back to it soon, I suppose."

"Just a sec."

Clive blinked as Strife disappeared in a burst of blue sparkles. He didn't even have time to worry about electrocution before Strife appeared again. This time he was standing at the edge of the pool, fully dressed. He squatted, offering Clive a tiny stoppered bottle of orangish liquid. "Here ya go."

"And this is?"

"Give tha paranoia a rest, bub. I swore--remembah? I just zapped by Ace an' picked up a lil' tonic fah you. He has a limited numbah of doo-dads that work on mortals, includin a 'common cold' remedy." He grinned madly. "I got a certain scryin mirrah of him in congress with Xena's bard when he was blind-ass drunk at wunna our rowdier festivals. Blondie was so sloshed that she completely fahgot it. Unless he wants it made public, he's nevah gonna give this one ta mankind."

Clive took the bottle, uncorking it. "Well, that would explain a lot." He lifted the bottle in a toast. "The future pharmaceuticals industry salutes you." He drained it, then smacked his lips. His eyes widened. "It tastes like sperm."

"That was my idea," said Strife proudly. "I keep tellin Ace that if he'd just work on the flavorins he could get people ta take his brews a lot easier..."

Clive blinked. Things seemed to be fading out, and Strife's voice was fading. Just before all went black he heard, "Hey, hand on! I wanna introduce ya ta Cupid. I just remembahed that aftah that incident with Joxer he wanted ta meet ya. Somethin about settin ya up with a spectacular life-long love in thanks..."

*****

*creak* *tiptiptiptiptiptip* *clunk* *shhhhhh* *pfft*

"Now that you have the water on to boil, Trenton, get in here."

Trenton, dismayed, looked up from the kettle he'd just set on the burner. "I thought you were asleep."

"For heaven's sake, darling, every final feline that Havasnark owns greeted you as you came into the downstairs hall. Stop stalling and come here."

"You sound a lot better," he said desperately.

"Quit trying to change the subject."

Trenton drooped a little, but went to the livingroom. Clive was sitting up, stuffing crumpled tissues into the sack that he'd used to bring home his medicine. "Sit." Trenton sat beside his lover, folding his hands in his lap, resigned to await his punishment. "Trenton, exactly what shade did Mrs. Havasnark talk you into?"

Trenton winced. "Um, well you know that shade that's labelled 'Passion's Sunset'?"

Clive paused in his tidying. "That bad?"

"It get's worse."

"Good GOD, prcious, how CAN it?"

"She talked me into throwing in some blueing."

Clive closed his eyes in near pain. "You mean...?"

"Purple." Clive moaned as if in pain. "She really seemed to like it. I remembered that the last time she was here Scribe told me about this program called Are You Being Served? where one of the characters had hair that was, at different times yellow, blue, green, lavener, maroon..."

"Pet, that's a COMEDY--and a broad one at that."

Trenton hung his head. "Yes sir."

"What am I going to do with you?" As Clive spoke, his hand bumped the glass sitting on the table. The quarter inch of orange juice sloshed, catching Clive's eye. He grew thoughtful. "Orange..."

"No, purple." Clive smiled slowly. Trenton watched with not a little surprise. That wasn't his 'someone's-going-to-get-it' smile. "Sir, is something wrong?"

Clive looked over at his own, personal little mischief-maker. He patted Trenton's knee. "No, darling, everything is fine." He sqeezed a little, and the smile was pointed. "Trenton, is Snarky truly happy with her new shading?"

"Yes, actually, she is."

"I'm in a very, very good mood right now, so you've dodged the bullet on this." He quickly took Trenton's chin in a solid grip. "Do you in any way find that soft?"

"No SIR!"

He patted Trenton's cheek. "Good boy. Bring me the pad and pencil from the desk, then go fix the tea."

Trenton, relieved, jumped up and started toward the desk. As he brought back the requested items he asked, "What do you need these for?"

Clive took them. "I just want to do a little figuring. I'm curious as to whether or not there's enough room at the back of my space to make an extension on my private station."

"What kind of extension?" asked Trenton as he headed for the kitchen.

Clive started figuring. "I was thinking of a nice little alcove with a sunken hot tub."

end part B