( 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::

I'll have your babies, Fay, if you can promise that they all will write like you do.

::nods at what Anne said. And what Sail said::

Aw, thanks, people! Glad you like them!

Ceding my monopoly, and yet, not.

"I had an interesting call today."

"You know you scare me when you get cute, Ari. What?" Lisa Cuddy replied.

"How would you like to be Nancy Snyderman with tits?"

"Dr. Snyderman has breasts, Ari. At least it seems like she does on television."

"Not like yours, and why won't you say 'tits' for me?"

"Haven't you talked to House yet? I'm sure you could get together and agree that I do everything because I'm bitchy and annoying. But I think you both finally understand that we can cross sexually frustrated off the list."

"Ouch, Lisa. I think I felt your scalpel in my scrotum that time."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be...I'm also incredibly aroused right now."

"Okay...well, if you're looking for Vince and Eric, I have no idea where they are."

"Get used to that...for whatever reason Vinny and the President of the Lollipop Guild are still like the fucking double helix...my friends and I would have torn each other apart by now, but..."

"Ari, you've been reading.I'm proud of you...not enough to cheat with you, but I'm proud of you."

"Well, yes, that's why I'm taking this moment to pitch you Medical Minute...it's kind of a crappy gig, as written, but it won't be by the time I'm finished with it, and you won't have to go back to the land of celibacy and snow tires. Unless you're bored with my boy already...I'll talk to him, tell him everything I know."

"That ought to be fascinating for him. But, Ari, I have a very full-time job in New Jersey. And I'm not cut out for television."

"The president of operations at the Discovery Channel thinks otherwise.He dug you on The View."

"Oh, God, don't remind me. My pathology rotation felt shorter than that interview...minus the morgue smell of course."

"Lisa, I'd get you a good deal. And you've seen the fuckin' tropical flowers as big as your hand, right? And, for the sake of my own vanity, I won't go into some of the other reasons why someone like you might want to hang around a guy like Vince. Because it's not very good for me when I hate my clients, even though I make them richer than ever(cough) Seth McFarlane...my kid could draw those fuckin' pictures, Lisa. And every time I see that funny-voiced motherfucker it's all I can do not to yell out "Pop tarts and Nick at Nite shouldn't add up to a career, even with all the weed in New England!' But I don't. Because I'm not a stupid person and that little pisher and his crayons are holding a major studio in his sticky little hands. But it would kill me if I got like that with Vince. Just like I don't want Jonah thinking I'm fat and pathetic and I don't get it in ten years."

"If it happened, it wouldn't last."Cuddy said, wondering why he was telling her all this."They both think the world of you. Despite all my best efforts, I might add."

"Oh, bullshit, Cuddy. You haven't said dick...your ethics get in the way. But all the same think about my shallow easy money, would you? Dana Gordon won't let me curse at her on the phone anymore and I miss my Pretend Other Woman. But if Defamer asks, you just can't stay away."

"But won't that put Vince in a difficult position?"

"Not any more than you already do, baby. Besides, all that yoga is supposed to help with that."

LOVE. IT.

More! More! (God, Ari Gold! How are you so awesome? Oh, that's right - because Erika's giving you all your good lines!)

...honestly, Ari and Cuddy is the best idea ever.

Thanks, I thought so, but you know, in crossovers you have to be super-careful that the 'verses work. But I kind of like thinking of him as her Duckie, in high school. I don't know why; the contrast between that and his public image of always being "The Man", that really doesn't fit with his home life. Or the fact that he *so* wants to sit at Vince Chase's cool table that he ate mushrooms with them. But he'd die if he thought Vince knew he put a mix tape in Cuddy's locker once.

Writing a 'Fusion Fic' (a term I had to have explained to me, le sigh) and would be grateful for your thoughts on the story so far.

A CHANGE IN THE WIND

“You're late,” says Badger, and there's a malicious note in his voice that Mal doesn't particularly care for. He heaves a sigh.

“We're not late,” Mal says, calmly, shifting just a little in his rickety chair so that the handle of his pistol glints in the firelight. Badger's eyes dart down to the gun for a moment, and he leans back and studies Mal with a grin.

“You're later than I'd like,” he amends.

“Can we skip the pissing contest and get to the part where he pays us?” mutters Jayne, glaring at the two large gentlemen looming behind Badger's fancy chair, and doing a little looming himself. Zoe doesn't say anything, but her expression speaks volumes.

“Master Cobb ain't the most diplomatic of men, but I find I can't argue with his sentiments,” says Mal, drumming blunt fingertips on the table's battered surface. “We did the job, Mister Brocklehurst. Now we get paid. Seems simple enough.”

Badger cocks his head. “You salvaged a shipment of silks and tea and silver plate and all manner of fancy things?”

“We did.” There's a platter of food on the table: fresh bread, half-melted butter, cheese, fresh fruit, cold meat. Badger has a lace-edged square of muslin tucked into the collar of his jacket and he is gnawing on a greasy chicken leg. He smacks his lips in exaggerated enjoyment, and pointedly does not offer Mal or his crewmen any share of the vittels.

“From the wreck of the 'Prudence', that ran aground on a certain reef not a week ago?”

“That's correct.” Mal reaches across and helps himself to an orange, and enjoys the way that Badger scowls.

“Which was carrying a whole heap of fancy things belonging to the Governor of this fair isle.” Badger pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “Fancy things he'd ordered all specific like, for his upcoming wedding. Very specific. Initials entwined in the designs on the china and worked into the silver candlesticks specific. Silks and satins and taffetas in the colours his fiance favours. Very – specific. Very traceable.”

“Hell's teeth,” mutters Zoe, darting a very eloquent look at her Captain.

“And, what's more, the dear Governor sent out his own little salvage expedition, seeing as how he loves his soon-to-be wife more than life itself.”

“Ah,” says Mal, his face falling slightly. He pauses in the middle of peeling his orange. Badger nods.

“Indeed. You've heard the story, perhaps? For word is that the Governor's brave little band of sailors bent on saving the silks and silver ran into a spot of trouble. Apparently they found – you'll never believe this, Commodore – they found a band of pirates busy a-helping themselves to the Governor's goods!”

“I'm not a pirate,” says Mal Reynolds, quietly, his eyes fixed on the bright ribbon of rind that is curling down onto the table as he works on the orange.

“Possibly not the time for engaging in philosophy or semantics, Captain,” murmurs Zoe, helping herself to a slice of the fruit.

“A band of pirates led by a great big tall chap wearing – can you credit the nerve of the fella – the stolen uniform of a Commodore in His Majesty's Imperial navy.” Badger stares pointedly at Mal's jacket, which has definitely seen better days but is still, quite unmistakably, part of his old uniform. Zoe sighs. “So you see, Commodore, it's going to be pretty hard shifting any of those goods that have been described so vividly by our beloved Governor. And if I were you, I wouldn't go walking around town in daylight dressed like a Wanted poster.”

“It's not Commodore,” says Mal, mildly, popping a chunk of orange into his mouth. “My friends call me Mal. You can call me Captain Reynolds, though. Or Sir. Sir would do just fine.”

“See, that's why I don't like you, Commodore,” says Badger, leaning forwards very suddenly, his expression almost a snarl. “That attitude of yours. You think you're (continued...)