Aaaand now for something completely different. I'm doing the Cliche_Bingo Challenge on LJ, and I'm counting the Sandman/Firefly sequence as one square ("Fusion with another fandom"). This is my entry for "Kidfic":

ROLE MODEL

cliché bingo #2: Kidfic

“Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a nanny!”

Jim's smile is ingratiating, and he's wrapped McCoy around his little finger enough times before now – but apparently the good doctor is still kind of pissy about that business with Nurse Chapel in the transporter room last week, because his glower doesn't let up one jot, even when Jim breaks out the dimples and the puppydog eyes.

“Aw, c'mon, Bones,” he says, keeping his voice low and glancing over at the slumbering little lump on the bed behind them. “What do I know about kids?”

McCoy looks completely unsympathetic. “Then you shouldn't have offered. Don't look at me like that – this job is all yours, Captain. You made the offer, you get to do the deed.”

Jim's shoulders slump. “But – it's shore leave,” he says, miserably, not quite believing that this is how his evening is going to pan out. They're in orbit around a pleasure planet, for crying out loud. Clubs and bars and pickup joints and race courses and casinos and underwater hovercoasters and all kinds of theme parks – and museums and galleries and concerts and libraries and swanky restaurants and blah blah blah boring things, and did he mention the clubs and bars and pickup joints? And the jacuzzis and steam rooms and masseuses with four sets of hands? Nubile lovelies of every conceivable species and gender are flexing their muscles and thrusting their hips down there on glittering dance floors and in luxuriously appointed suites right now, and Jim had pretty much assumed that he was going to get to do some flexing and thrusting of his own, damn it.

McCoy's brow arches up towards his hairline. “Precisely,” he hisses, when Jim doesn't seem capable of joining the dots. “It's my shore leave too, a shore leave I have well and truly earned, might I add, but you're still expecting me to sacrifice it just so you can go off and get some tail?” He snorts so loudly that Jim glances back into the darkened room, breathing a sigh of relief when the sleeper shows no sign of stirring. “I don't think so, Jim.”

“But it's a good deed!”

“Yeah.” McCoy grins, and pats Jim on the shoulder. “You can feel real good about yourself. I'll raise a glass to you while I'm winning at Betazoid poker. Bye now.” And with that, Jim finds himself looking at McCoy's back, and then at the doors hissing softly shut.

“Aaaw, nuts,” he mutters, and looks around to find Amanda sitting up in bed and looking at him with Uhura's eyes, her expression far too penetrating for a five-year-old. He blinks, feeling for all the world like his momma has just caught him about to steal his stepfather's second best car. “Um,” he says. “Sorry, kiddo. Didn't mean to wake you up, there.”

“I take it that you do not welcome this duty, Captain?” she says, her grave little voice echoing Spock's intonations almost perfectly. Jim swallows. Crap. Busted. He hits her with his most disarming smile, the one that no female aged two to two hundred can resist. She just looks back at him, solemn and wide-eyed and unimpressed.

Jim swallows. “No, honey, you've got that all wrong. It's just that I'm not sure I'm the most, ah, experienced crewmember for this particular mission, you know?”

“Father said that you offered to stay here while he took Mama out for dinner. It is their wedding anniversary, Captain Kirk; I believe that you were in attendance at the ceremony, in the capacity of best man, so you must be familiar with the date. He always takes her out to mark the occasion, and it is my grandfather's custom to watch over me in their absence. Grandfather is not aboard The Enterprise, but Father trusts you implicitly in his place.” She sounds like she isn't too sure about Spock's judgment on that one, but is too polite to say anything disrespectful about her father.

Jim stares at (continued...)

( continues...) her. “Amanda, do they feed you computer chips and pages of dictionaries for breakfast?”

She doesn't crack a smile. “This is an example of your levity, isn't it?” Amanda nods, and squeezes her teddybear. “Mama says you lack the gravitas appropriate to your station.”

“She says I – she – well, isn't that nice?” Jim takes a deep breath. “So, you going to go back to sleep, kiddo? You want some, ah, some hot milk, or something?”

“I do not require a beverage, Captain. But thank you for offering. It was most thoughtful.” Her voice cracks very slightly, and it's only that tiny hitch of breath that makes Jim's shoulders loosen up and lets him see that, poise and vocabulary notwithstanding, this is still a very small person who is not actually quite as cool about being left alone on a big, cold, unfamiliar spaceship with some big, cold, unfamiliar starship captain as she might be trying to appear. She's definitely not the kind of girl he'd been hoping to spend his evening with, but, unexpectedly, he still finds himself feeling a little spark of warmth towards her.

“This your first time off of New Vulcan?” he asks, perching at the foot of the bed. He knows it is. She nods, and pulls the bear a little closer. “But I bet you've seen lots of vids, and heard loads of stories about the adventures your mom and pop had before they settled down and got all domesticated, right?”

She bites her lip, and looks down at her bear and then up at Jim's face. “Mama and Father prefer to concentrate upon the present and the future. They rarely discuss their time in Starfleet,” she says. But what she means - and Jim's starting to learn Uhura's daughter's language now – is “Tell me tell me tell me tell me please!”

He grins. “Let me tell you about the time we were stuck in the middle of a jungle on Antillax 3 and Spock saved me from being devoured by maneating plants,” he says, and watches her eyes grow wide as saucers.

* * *

“Oh, for the love of – we've been searching for you all over, Captain! Spock's been worried sick!”

Jim halts guiltily on the threshold of the room, and looks around at the ring of disapproving faces. Amanda leans down from her lofty position on his shoulders, her little fingers tightening in his hair, and whispers: “Nuts.” He gives her ankles a reassuring squeeze, but, privately, she thinks she's hit the nail on the head. Excellent vocabulary, this kid has.

“Doctor McCoy is exaggerating, of course. I had perfect confidence in you as a guardian,” says Spock, calmly, rising to his feet. He's holding Amanda's discarded teddy bear. “I was merely curious as to the whereabouts of my only child.”

“Yes,” says Uhura, icily. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and the air is positively bristling with her unspoken words. “We were both extremely curious, Captain. Would you care to explain where, exactly, Amanda has been all this time?”

Jim's charming smile hasn't done him a bit of good against McCoy or Amanda, but he digs it out and tries it on Uhura anyway, even though he knows better. “Just showing our youngest guest around the ship,” he says cheerfully.

“She was asleep,” says Uhura, after a long pause in which Jim rather suspects she has considered a whole range of more colourful responses. “She was fast asleep when we left.”

“I woke up, Mama,” says Amanda quickly. “I had bad dreams, and they frightened me. When I woke up, I wanted you and Father, but you weren't here.” Jim's mouth does not fall open at this calm little sequence of lies, but his admiration for his goddaughter increases by the moment. “Captain Kirk offered me hot milk and told me traditional children's folk tales of his people, but I was still sad. And I wanted to be sure that this vessel was completely safe, so the Captain agreed to show me around, to put my mind at ease.”

There is a thoughtful pause, while Jim tries to look like a virtuous man whose honour has been impuned, and not a reprobate godfather who has just taught a sweet, five-year-old genius (who is arguably the most (continued...)

( continues...) famous member of the Vulcan aristocracy) to swear and play poker. And, apparently, lie like a champion.

“I see,” says Uhura, looking narrowly at her daughter. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Mama,” Amanda says sweetly. Jim wants to hug her.

“Perhaps you can explain to us, then, why it was that we could not find any trace of your coms signal aboard the Enterprise?” asks Spock, in a deceptively level voice, his gaze fixed upon the Captain.

Jim's smile broadens. “See, Amanda wanted to see what the ship looked like from the outside too. So we just took a quick little scoot out in one of the shuttlecrafts. The Archimedes – it's new. State of the art. Goes at...um. Goes pretty fast. Not that we did, obviously. Because we were just taking a quiet look at the ship from the outside.” He beams at Spock with all the innocence he can muster. He doesn't quite dare look at Uhura. “I guess you were only searching for my signal on board the ship?”

“That is so,” agrees Spock, looking up at his daughter with an unreadable expression.

“I see,” says Uhura, and it's amazing how much threat she can pack into two short syllables. Jim really hopes she doesn't figure out that he let Amanda drive. It was only for a couple of minutes, after all – and he hadn't had the heart to refuse her, seeing how her little eyes lit up when they went full throttle.

“Right,” says Jim, and he reaches up and lifts Amanda up over his head and pretends to toss her into the air before pulling her into a hug that makes her shriek with glee, and then setting her down on the ground. He hunkers down to talk to her face to face. “Well, thanks for keeping me company, squirt," he says, and ruffles her curls. "Remember – when you join Starfleet, your first posting is with me, deal?”

“Okay, Uncle Jim,” says Amanda, still giggling. “Deal.”

McCoy's mouth falls open just a little, and Jim feels suddenly self-conscious. “You got something you want to say, Doctor?” he asks, with dignity.

“Nope,” says McCoy, but Jim has a suspicion that he's biting his cheek. “Not a thing, Jim. Not a thing.”

Can you see my grin from there?

dying of laughter

I feel like it's my birthday and that was written just for me!! Hee.

Amanda leans down from her lofty position on his shoulders, her little fingers tightening in his hair, and whispers: “Nuts."

I LOLed.

::beams::

Yay! And, yes, still writing like crazy - here's another one:

Cliche #3 - First Times

THE REAL THING

Remus knows it's a bad idea, as his back hits the wall and Sirius's mouth closes over his. He knows that it's going to hurt later, and not just physically - but he doesn't care. Even though Sirius is just playing. Even though Sirius is only doing this because Kathleen Beesom just turned him down and made him look like a fool in front of James, and now he's got something to prove to himself. But there's always good old Remus ready to be dragged off into a dark corner or pulled out into the alley behind the Three Broomsticks and shoved up against a wall. It doesn't mean anything. Remus knows all this, knows that Sirius is the poster boy for no strings sex, and he knows that Sirius hasn't a clue how much each touch, each kiss, each hasty fumble or messy blowjob means to him. And he knows too that, if Sirius ever guessed, he wouldn't lay another finger on him. Wouldn't want to go leading him on and breaking his heart. Because Sirius Black may have a lot of flaws, but once he's your friend, it's for life. No take backs. He might not be in love with Remus, but Sirius does love him quite sincerely, in his way, and he would never intentionally hurt him.

Which makes it all that much more painful, of course.

Remus knows a lot of things. Sirius? Sirius isn't much for reflection. Sirius is more of a man of action, for good or ill. If Remus too often thinks without acting, Sirius too often acts without thinking. It balances out, Remus tells himself, breathlessly, as the bricks dig into his back. Or, if not – he doesn't care. He knows that Sirius isn't always good or kind, knows that Sirius has a Slytherin streak as wide as the Thames, knows that he can be spiteful for the sake of it. But Remus doesn't care. He's ashamed of himself, because he knows better, even if Sirius doesn't, but – he doesn't care. Because he's head over heels in love with Sirius Black, and there's no folly, no compromise, no crazy, reckless gesture that Sirius couldn't talk him into committing. Public sex is the least of it. Remus would out himself as a werewolf is Sirius asked him. He'd follow Sirius anywhere. It frightens him, at times, how he seems to have no system of brakes in place, no lines in the sand. He can't imagine what it would take to make him say no to Sirius Black. He doesn't think he has it in him.

Sirius's mouth is hot and wet on his throat, biting, licking, sucking at his collarbone. It's late autumn, and there's a definite chill in the air, but Remus's body is warm where Sirius is jammed up against him, and where Sirius's hot breath puffs onto his bare skin. His hips are stuttering already, and he's painfully hard - has been hard ever since Sirius gave him that look, over the remains of their butterbeer, and he knew this was the way the evening was heading.

“Lick it.” Sirius presses his palm over Remus's mouth like he's stifling a scream, and his voice is pitched low - filthy and familiar and intense. Remus is shivering as he obeys, and his mouth waters so much that saliva slides down his chin as Sirius snatches his slick hand away and plunges it down between them. Remus bites his bottom lip when Sirius closes wet fingers around his erection. “Come for me, Moonie,” Sirius says, watching his face. And, damn, damn, he knows all of Remus's buttons. “Let me see how much you love it.”

Remus lets his head fall back against the wall, and his lashes flutter shut. He never lasts long with Sirius's hand on him. Sirius laughs about it, takes the piss out of him for having no stamina, but the simple fact of the matter is that it's Sirius that wrecks him. He has been with other people once or twice, and he's enjoyed himself well enough, but it was nothing like this. It feels like Sirius has somehow got his warm, knowing fingers wrapped around Remus's heart, not just his cock. Like he could kill Remus if he wasn't careful. And he's rarely careful, (continued...)

( continues...) but Remus still can't help wanting this.

Sirius leans closer, and Remus can feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek, can smell the familiar mix of butterbeer and illicit cigarettes. “Come for me,” breathes Sirius again, all dark and husky, and then he licks a wet stripe down the exposed line of Remus's neck and Remus makes a strangled, desperate sound that's pure, urgent submission. Both of them understand some nuances of body language that are lost on the other Marauders, and when he feels Sirius's teeth close over his throat, nipping gently, and then less gently, Remus gives a stifled moan and comes in hot, urgent spurts over Sirius's hand.

His eyes are still closed, and Sirius kisses his eyelids and his cheek, laughing softly, and then claims his mouth again for a quick, wet kiss before bringing his sticky hand back up to Remus's mouth and watching as Remus obediently licks it clean.

“Good lad,” says Sirius. His voice is shaking, just a little. He's studying Remus with a hot, hungry intensity, and Remus knows that he's going to demand a blowjob. He always does, with an air of having got away with something – like Remus would have been able to object if he hadn't just been treated to another mind-destroying orgasm. Like he's got to do it because now he owes Sirius. And maybe it's a good thing that he doesn't know that all he'd have to do is ask, any time, anywhere, and Remus would gladly sink to his knees and take Sirius in his mouth. “You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you, mate?” says Sirius, his tone wheedling, and Remus pauses. He knows that voice all too well, and he isn't sure what it means this time, but he knows that Sirius thinks he's going to have to do some fast talking to get whatever it is he wants. Remus has enough of a sense of self preservation to be aware that what he should do, right now, is be a little bit cagey in his answer – but he hasn't the heart for prevarication.

“Yes,” he says simply. Sirius's face lights up, and he grabs Remus by the collar and yanks him forward into a kiss that's more fervent than it is well-co-ordinated.

“Yeah. Yeah, I thought so. You're brilliant, Remus Lupin, d'you know that? Pure dead brilliant.” He kisses Remus again, his hand tangled in Remus's hair, pulling it a little without even seeming to realise what he's doing. And it hurts, but Remus doesn't mind. He lets Sirius pull his hand down to massage his erection through the thick fabric of his trousers.

“What is it that you want, Sirius?” he asks, carefully. Although he thinks perhaps he knows.

Sirius looks at him almost bashfully, through lowered lashes. “Let me fuck you?” he says too fast, and Remus knows he's expected to protest. “Go on, Remus. Please. I really want to. Please? Let me stick it in you? I'll make it good, honest!”

Remus closes his eyes and draws a deep breath, his hand still pulling almost idly on his friend's erection. They haven't done this before. Oh, Remus has thought about it – he's wanked himself silly thinking about it, to be honest – but he hasn't really thought that Sirius would go ahead and take that step. He's pretty sure that Sirius sees what they do as 'messing around' rather than actual sex. Sirius Black doesn't think of himself as a poof. He likes cock, but he doesn't like to think of himself as a poof.

Remus has no such illusions.

“Yes, he says – like there was ever any question. Not that he'd have picked a cold, smelly back alley behind a bar for the first place he let Sirius fuck him; Remus had harboured fond, wistful daydreams of getting to have sex with Sirius in an actual bed, with pillows and blankets and clean white sheets, and acres of naked skin...but beggars can't be choosers. “Yes, okay.”

Sirius's face lights up like Remus has just agreed to do all his Arithmancy homework for a year. Like Remus is letting him get away with something. “God, you're a real mate, Moonie,” says Sirius, reaching down to fumble with his clothes. “You're the best.”

And Remus has been dreaming about this for months, so it's just plain (continued...)

( continues...) stupid that he's on the verge of tears now. He blinks hard and furrows his brow and tells himself to get it together. Stupid. He knew what he was getting into the first time, and he's only got himself to blame if he's been dumb enough to hope that Sirius might eventually start to want him for himself. Might love him back. He knows what Sirius wants, and it's not the same thing that he wants.

“I'm the best,” he agrees softly, blinking at the stars overhead, and he hopes – oh, God, he really really hopes – that this won't be one of those times that Sirius gasps out James's name as he comes.

::speechless::

::loves on Fay madly::