Title: Thank Aloe and Massage
Summary: Something must be said for the relationship between May and December. A consideration of a lady clown and a Professor Genius. Little Nemo one-shot…Lime-Lemon hybrid.
Disclaimer: I don't make any money off of this and do not own the franchise of movie or comic and have no hand in the making or ownership of characters.
Warning: I rarely do May-December romances and, I'm sure this is one of the few Little Nemo fics rated so high. Fly away if you don't like.
Dedication: To Mikitsu Silverquick, a regular scholar of the craft when it comes to an underappreciated movie. Really, it's a little disheartening that there is only one author that is a grand and could make something as pretty and surprising as 'A Motley Fool', but not a shame. I make this as homage to that. Do NOT lose heart, Mikitsu!

-:-
Another day, a different dream perhaps.

-Alice: Madness Returns.

There is love in the action of lending a soothing hand to a scarred and scorching hot back to apply aloe and other such remedies. There it's hard to believe it can be, because, frankly, most residents of the palace staff have had such a notion bred out of them through time so that only loyalty and subservience can take hold at any given time. But, sometimes, in the night and in secret and when the other party of a clandestine relationship is asleep, there can be something on the borderline of a higher feeling.

Compassion.

That emotion, when one serves the king and princess of Slumberland, is a rare jewel. A sort of diamond with fifty-eight facets to stare at and admire on the inside.

Professor Genius remained in his clean, damnably soft bed with his face stuffed to the middle of his pillow, shirt and jackets taken off to assist his favorite clown—his lady friend in the very best way, since they had been together in one form or another for the last twenty-something years he'd been working at the palace (with her topping the length of employment by seven years since Princess Camille needed a nanny and playmate before needing any sort of teacher)—Bon Bon in spreading a special cream to help soothe the aches and pains that came to all old men like him.

The glasses he'd worn for a long enough time to leave a pair of permanent lines on his nose were sitting plainly on the rim of his top hot that kept its position on his coat rack with his shirts and jackets, the glass of the specs having a little glare with the low-lit oil lamp alight on his bedside table; almost sinister, but not enough to bother Bon Bon as she continued soothing the pock and scar marks along the Professor's back he'd gotten after Morpheus had been captured by Nightmare and the grey haired man had assisted—kind of—in the rescue.

Goblin injuries were notoriously difficult to help heal, let alone soothe, so doing this helped Bon Bon take her mind off of that little niggle in the back of her mind that happened every time she had to entertain the court and—out of the corner of her eye—always found the older being leaning against the wall with a strange continence to his face.

Bon Bon's own clown cap sat on a peg of the Professor's coat rack so it wouldn't fall off as she sat atop the Professor's rump, legs lined up backwards with his own—no tights that night, or any night they had a day off to spend together—with her torso, both upper and lower, swayed back and forth within an inch of touching the skin she applied the lotion to.

One must keep in mind, however, that while her hands were busy easing his pain, his hands were doing their best in their somewhat odd position to give her mild delight. When her fingers drummed his pock marks like buttons on an accordion, his fingers reached to her bare feet and grooved his thumbs along her toes and heels (almost making her laugh since it was just the ghost of a touch and deliciously ticklish).

In that hour—the first one yet, as they always spent twelve in his private room for a reason—Bon Bon hummed a little excerpt from the song Princess Camille had become famous for when Nemo had come to meet her for the first time in her penthouse. It made the Professor raise his head a little, just enough so that when Bon Bon's hands came back up along his neckline the dainty things grazed the little ducktail at the back of his head and he chuckled when he spoke.

"It has occurred to me," the man began, sighing delightfully as the green haired beauty located a particularly annoying scar he'd gotten when he'd been snatched up by a goblin soldier, "That you can find something better to sing than that which Camille sings so much it has begun to border on mundane."

Bon Bon grinned, leaning into the Professor's shoulder blades just enough so her breath ghosted his spine and he gave a delightful shiver that echoed into herself as he made it, "Like what? It's the only song I know."

Thin, wiry fingers found the clown's hips and squeezed, "Oh, you're an intelligent creature."

"Girl."

"Woman," he continued, voice not giving anything away as he found the band of her breeches and started wiggling them downward, "I'm sure you could just make something up."

"That's poetry, not music," Bon Bon sighed, lifting her own hindquarters just enough to help the man's hands remove her lower clothing and wobbled her legs a bit like a crab so he could plainly remove them entirely and expertly toss them onto the clothes chest sitting at the end of his bed, "It takes a melody to make music, as well as timing and rhythm and so on and so forth—oh!"

Still lying on his stomach, and still in his own lower clothing—the sneaky cheat!—the teacher of both Princess Camille and Prince Nemo of Slumberland managed to level his arms higher and locate the clasp to Bon Bon's undershirt and begin fiddling with the hooks as she had to cease her movements and rest her chin on the back of his neck to assist him. He seemed to be speaking again, but it took the first hook of her top coming undone and making a little 'click' to make her tune back into the words.

"This is true."

Honestly, years of doing this same order of things should have prepared her for when the man decided to leave his lethargy at the door and spin under her so fast she'd have thought him a flounder if kissing him face to face wasn't so nice.

But then, where would then fun in that be?

Being with neither upper nor lower clothing, Bon Bon couldn't help the appreciative sigh that escaped her as the Professor's chest meshed with her own and his slightly rougher skin caused wonderful tweaking when they began to get more physical in their usual day-off escapades. His larger hands found her shoulder and her middle back and she wantonly keened as she passed over the anatomy on his still clothed—the cheat!

The last thing she saw—the last thing she would until they were too tired to continue until three hours later when they would pause to call up a servant from the kitchens to please bring up some tea and a little tray of dream cakes—when her back touched the covers, was the delightful brilliance in his Ocean Rover eyes as her surveyed her like a map and made and small turn to smother the flame of his lantern with one hand, the other reaching down towards where her own hands were wandering to put them on more even terrain.

Not a bad sight to go blind to before other sensations took over.