The door of the cafe swung open, and Sirius straightened in his chair, dropping the ankle that was crossed over his knee onto the floor as James Potter walked through, ball cap over his messy, dark hair, and sunglasses over his eyes. He was covered, head to toe. Oversized sweatshirt, jeans, socks, and sneakers. Sirius tugged down his pant leg, though it didn’t budge. In addition to his lack of socks, he regretted wearing trousers that were too short-- it’s the style of the summer, Mr. Black-- skimming the top of his ankle bone. All of it coming together in a perfect catastrophe as James Potter, famous Quidditch player and the object of all of Sirius’s messy, naughty daydreams since he was sixteen, walked toward his table in the cafe, taking off his sunglasses. 

Too much skin already. James’s hazel eyes and broad smile were the most obscene of anything Sirius had seen in his life.

Sirius stood up, side-stepping his chair, hoping his pant leg fell the tiniest bit as he did so, and he didn’t miss  James give him a once over. Maybe the exposed ankle was just fine. 

“Hey,” James said casually, setting his ballcap down on the table with a grin, “Have you been here long?”

“Not particularly,” Sirius responded evenly. He had been there for a full thirty minutes, but he wasn’t about to admit to James how much he had been obsessing over this meeting, and his wardrobe to the point where he had to just leave the house, or he would never make it out. James had only been a few minutes after their scheduled time. As far as James had to know, it wasn’t long at all. 

“Is that for me?” James asked, tilting his head toward the tea on the table across from Sirius’s cup of coffee.

“Assuming you still enjoy a London Fog,” Sirius said.

James grin widened, and he brought a hand up to pat Sirius on the side of the face, “I’m honored my tea order was archived in the one and only Sirius Black’s mind,” he started, and Sirius pushed his hand away shaking his head, and biting down on his cheeks to keep himself from smiling. From giving into James’s antics so early on. They hadn’t even sat down yet, and Sirius was already reeling, struggling to stay firmly planted on the ground with a simple joke and a touch to the side of his face. “But I’m not having caffeine at the moment.”

“Ah, I must’ve skipped over that article in Witch Weekly.”

This time, James rolled his eyes, “It’s only been about a week--”

“So next month's issue? I’ll look for it.” Sirius reached into the back pocket of his trousers to pull out his wallet before handing a muggle bank card to James.

“What’s this?”

“A card. Go buy yourself something nice,” Sirius said, reaching his hand up this time and patting James on the side of the face, returning the same gesture from seconds ago.

“I know what a card is, prick, I’m surprised you do. I can buy my own,” James told him, attempting to hand the card back, but Sirius put his hands behind his back, refusing to take no for an answer.

“You know better. Haven’t changed that much, Potter. Besides, they probably won’t charge much for your…what? Cup of hot water with lemon and taro root, or whatever health conscious morning beverage you’re consuming these days?”

James opened his mouth and then closed it, “I don’t…I drink normal things too.”

“Not before 10am, hm?”

“Piss off.” James turned over his shoulder to walk toward the register, and Sirius couldn’t help but smirk as he sat back down in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee. After Harry’s late night adventure across London to James’s home, and seeing James in the threshold of his home for the first time in over a decade, Sirius had thought it would be responsible, noble even, to write James and ask to talk. Because as much as Sirius would’ve liked to tie Harry to his four-poster bed until he was 40 and keep him from looking in a mirror and making comparisons between himself and James Potter, the best chaser of the century, did you hear how many points he got lost game, that wasn’t necessarily the most reasonable course of action.

But a meeting with James Potter wasn’t exactly reasonable either. Or simple. Or easy.

It has to be muggle, I’ll get recognized anywhere else

And even then, though Sirius had found a quiet muggle cafe, outside of London, James had still shown up trying to make sure no one knew who he was. Signature hair, glasses, and everything else covered. Now that he had made it though, James had no problem chatting it up with the barista, taking time to ask questions about the pastries in the display case, and specify his bizarre no tea, hot water, three lemons, do you have chia seeds? Order. 

Somehow equal parts charming and obnoxious.

James Potter.

Sirius inhaled deeply, using the time by himself to gather his thoughts, to recall the purpose of the conversation. Harry. That was the important part. Not James and his track pants that fit perfectly around his arse from behind; or the way his hair was longer than it was in school, messy dark curls skimming the neck of his sweatshirt. 

Definitely not important.

Not relevant. 

Neither was James’s self-assured walk back to the table, small plate and cup of Merlin knows what in hand, hazel eyes squinting slightly. It wasn’t until that moment that Sirius realized James wasn’t wearing his glasses, and he bit down another small laugh as James nearly knocked into another chair on his way to sit down. 

“I got us a banana nut loaf.”

“But a London Fog doesn’t make the cut? Your team nutritionist may be leading you astray…” Sirius commented, watching as James went into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out his glasses. 

James Potter plays in his glasses! He’s the only one in the league with special goggles! Isn’t that cool?

Sirius had cycled through several special goggles since Harry wanting nothing more than to emulate his favorite player.

“Excuse me, Claire would never,” James said, using his fork to cut off a piece of the loaf, settling into the chair across from Sirius. 

Sirius didn’t respond and willed himself not to pick at his cuticles, the weight of this meeting finally crashing down around him. It was so easy to fall back into old patterns of a much younger version of themselves back at Hogwarts, sneaking around in empty classrooms, and leaving respective Hogsmeade dates to find one another in bathrooms. Easy to joke, and poke fun; cat, mouse, chase, run. Before everything shifted and changed. Before James Potter was a household name, and Sirius had done some resorting of his own.

He cleared his throat, “Thanks for agreeing to meet with  me.”

“Sure,” James nodded.

And there they were. James staring at him, waiting, chewing bites of banana nut loaf. Sirius pulled down his pant leg once more, scrunching his toes against soft leather.

“Go ahead and say what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything.”

“One too many bludger hits?”

“I’ve only had two.”

“Hm.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You asked me here.”

“Might as well get it all out of the way…”

“Well, if you already know, then why don’t you--”

“For Merlin’s Sake, are you bloody twelve, Potter?” Sirius asked, rolling his eyes before sitting up and counting off his fingers, “No, I did not know he was your kid before I adopted him. No, I did not adopt him just to spite you. No, I did not use my piles of galleons to hack adoption records at the ministry at any point in the past fourteen years.”

“So it’s all by chance.”

“Lucky me.”

“The kid looks just like me, and you never thought once to investigate?”

“It’s a closed adoption, that means the records are--”

“I know what a closed adoption is, prick. I was the one who chose it. But that doesn’t mean--”

“I already told you no, I never looked into it.”

“But you knew.”

“I had my….suspicions,” Sirius clarified. The first few years, when Harry was younger, it was easier to pass off as a sort of likeness. If he squinted, six, seven, eight, nine-year-old Harry could look like James. It wasn’t until Harry hit puberty that everything started to shift. The likeness was unbearable some times. Coupled with Harry’s outgoing and talkative nature that Sirius knew wasn’t a learned behavior from his environment. He sounded like James too, Sirius somehow remembering hearing James’s voice answer questions in their Transfiguration course. Remembering the first time Harry greeted him, his voice having dropped an octave, his skin crawled, thinking James had appeared behind him. 

“Well, I can’t confirm anything.”

“....But he’s yours.”

“I have my suspicions,” James teased with a cheeky grin around another bite of banana bread. Sirius shifted in his chair, again, pretending like it was to take a sip of coffee. But really, anything, to not fling himself into the sun at the sight of James’s smile. He had known it so well. “Is that what this is about? Do you want me to open the records? Prove it?”

“This is about my fourteen year old showing up on your doorstep, and me having to intercept post over the past few weeks that he was determined to send to you.”

James reclined in his chair, using a hand to ruffle the back of his dark hair, smirking slightly. The fucking ego. Sirius wanted to simultaneously knock him backward off his chair to concuss him and fuck him into the floor.

“He’s a fan. Of course he wants to write me. Well, I get fan mail all the time, it’s sweet. I don’t mind if he--”

“Sweet? How many fans do you have asking if you’re their father?”

“You know, more than you would think.”

“Of course! Silly me! Superstar James Potter and his dozens--”

“Millions.”

“Fuck you.”

“I just meant it wouldn’t be the most absurd piece of post I’ve ever gotten…you didn’t need to stop the kid from writing me.”

“Dear James, I don’t know if you’re my Dad or not, but it would be cool to see you again sometime. My birthday is the end of July, I don’t know if you remember. Would you like to come to my birthday party?” Sirius recited from memory the latest letter Harry had attempted to send, before the morning had ended in an argument, and Harry retreated to his room for the remainder of the day. Scowling and surly, and miserable at the cruelties of the world. 

It’s just a bloody letter! 

“Oh.”

“I’m still trying to make sense of what…exactly he wants out of all of this,” Sirius continued honestly, looking up at the ceiling of the cafe, watching a fan spin around, blades chopping the sunlight streaming through the windows, “and where exactly he first dreamed up the idea that…you might be related or…anything else running through a teenagers mind. Haven’t figured that bit out yet, but I…do know he really wanted to meet you, and took matters into his own hands.”

“Could’ve done that at a Quidditch game…price of a meet and greet is no object for you, I’m sure.”

“Thank you. That is precisely what I told him.”

“Pretentious arse,” he muttered around the rim of his mug. Sirius didn’t miss the laughter in his voice though. 

“Yes, and it typically works in my favor,” Sirius shrugged, “Point being…I don’t think Harry is going to stop anytime soon.” Sirius paused, clasping his hands together, doing his best to string together his next sentence as carefully as possible, “I’m not asking you to confess to…being or not being his father. I’m not asking you to step-in or step-up in any capacity. We’ve gotten on just fine, and I’m not keen on sharing--”

“I remember.” James gestured to the loaf between them, “You haven’t had a single bite, and I saved this last one for you.”

“Generous.”

“Go on then.”

“There’s one fork.”

“It’s just me, Sirius.”

Me.

“And your disgusting Quidditch player mouth, no. I don’t believe you still have all your teeth.”

“That’s good. You shouldn’t,” James said with a laugh, but pushed the plate closer to Sirius anyway, “Are you asking me for parenting advice?”

“I’m asking if my kid keeps writing you, are you going to alert the ministry? If my kid shows up at your doorstep again, will there be wards he’s fighting off? Is his mother still in the picture, and one day is she going to make an appearance as well?” Sirius could tell by the way James slowly picked up his cup of hot water, eyebrows drawn together, lips pressed into line, that he hadn’t thought of the answer to any of those questions. “I’m asking if you want me to put wards in place to keep Harry from contacting you. Or, go to the ministry with him kicking and screaming…though I’m afraid going that route may give everything away more than it already has, because in his words, why is it such a bloody big deal if he’s not my Dad?” 

“So you are asking me for parenting advice.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, opening his arms wide as he sat back in his chair, “Sure, if that’s what you’re taking from this, go ahead. Please tell me, wise one, what the fuck I am supposed to do.”

James laughed, “Damn if I know.”

“Brilliant.”

“My mother would’ve homeschooled me and given me extra chores for the rest of my life if I had snuck out and kept sending post to a stranger asking if they were my Dad. And swearing? I dunno, maybe you should try that. The homeschooling, or locking him in his bedroom.”

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes again and conceding to the last bite of bread on the plate, all too aware that James was watching as he did so. Hazel eyes tracking every movement, captivated by the simplest performance in the world. Sirius took his time opening his mouth. 

“Here, I was worried about all the time spent — what is it you do? Sit in rooms with other rich prats and talk about your egos and piles of money?”

“Funny, our jobs sound quite similar.”

“We don’t talk about our egos or our money.”

“Of course not, you just suck each other off in the changing rooms and call it even.”

James laughed again, and Sirius couldn’t help but smile as well, “I thought time around politicians had made you boring. I read about you in the prophet. All your donations and philanthropy and revising the wizangamot. No Witch Weekly, but that's okay.”

“I didn’t think your head could get any bigger.”

“That was foolish of you. Thought I was done growing at nineteen?” he asked. 

“Not quite,” Sirius said, borrowing James’s napkin to wipe his hands with before taking a sip of his drink. Noticed that James had abandoned whatever was in his mug to take a drink of the London Fog. A familiar, comforting, pulsing, silence enveloping them. 

It was James.

In no time at all, Sirius was inhaling and exhaling in synch with this man. Fourteen years might as well have been fourteen seconds. 

“You don’t need to make wards,” James said finally. “Or stop the post.”

“Then what?” Sirius asked. “What happens when he writes you?

“For now, nothing. It sits in a pile of fan mail and…I might answer,” James paused, “I will answer. Eventually. I always do, or try to, anyway.”

James would.

James had a heart about the same size of his ego, big enough to fit a whole ocean into. 

“I won’t contact the ministry,” James added, “It was a closed adoption for a reason, and that won’t change until I…well, it’s a little bit more complicated, but for now, he can write me…and…how about I just let you know when it's out of hand?”

“This is…irresponsible, at best.” and a fucking time bomb at worst.

“From what I recall…you always liked being a little careless. Did the politicians change that bit?” 

Sirius was an expert at careless, where James was concerned. Not caring if they were caught. Not caring who saw or what they saw them doing. No silencing charms. Doors unlocked, sometimes open. And they would take turns begging the other for more, both turned on by the idea of anybody finding out, catching them in the act. 

I saw James Potter and Sirius Black shagging in the prefects bath. A mixture of Gryffindor and Slytherin robes on the floor to corroborate the story. 

It was no different now. It should have been, given the circumstances. But James’s foot under the table was slotted between both of Sirius’s, and he had slouched far enough down so their knees could touch.

Sirius’s coffee was empty, but he pretended to take another drink, in lieu of responding to James’s question. 

James Potter of the Tunstill Tornados and Sirius Black seen snogging in muggle coffee shop.

A completely different type of scandal this time around. The stakes higher.

Sirius knew it the moment James turned up at his doorstep with Harry. Sirius knew it the second he held his breath and wrote James to meet him.

James knew it. 

“So was that all?”

“It seems so,” Sirius said shortly, running his tongue along his lower lip, mouth suddenly dry. “I’ll let you get on with the rest of your day. Thanks for meet--”

“No.”

“No?”

James shrugged, adjusting his chair so it was closer to the table, and his knee could move further in between Sirius’s legs. “No,” he repeated. 

“James.”

“You don’t find it funny? Out of all the people, after all these years…Harry’s yours, and he finds me…and we’re here.”

“Funny isn’t the word I would use.”

“Fortunate,” James offered with a grin, moving his leg that was between Sirius’s thighs back and forth. As if checking to see if Sirius had moved at all, grin widening when he realized he didn’t. And wouldn’t. He stretched his arms above his head, leaning backward so the hem of his sweatshirt would ride up, revealing a strip of tanned, toned skin above the waistband of his sweats. James knew what he was doing. Sirius’s exposed ankle couldn’t hold a candle. 

“James…” Sirius tried to start, closing his eyes.

“You don’t think it's fortunate? After all these years…and we still end up here.”

“And where’s that?”

James laughed, shifting in his chair again so he could lean across the table, voice dropping low, “I think we both know how this ends. I think we both know that you didn’t write me for the sole purpose of discussing paternity. I think we both know that was an excuse…but you should know better…I don’t need one to see you.”

Caught.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Sirius asked.

“Does that matter?”

“No.”

“I’m not.”

“Me neither.”

“That’s a shame…”

“Why’s that?” Sirius asked, tilting his head to the side, watching as James traced the strand of hair that fell across his eyes. James was caught too.

It’s more fun that way, was what Sirius expected.

“Someone who looks as good as you should have someone in their bed every night,” is what James said. “When was the last time?”

“James.” A non-answer in a single word. Sirius was the first to break eye contact, pushing back from his chair and standing up. He pulled at his shirt sleeves, adjusting the knees of his trousers, trying to wrestle back some control that James had taken from him. James followed Sirius’s cue, grabbing the mug with the remainder of his London Fog off the table. 

“I’m going to get this to go,” James told him. “Don’t go--”

“I think they have a bathroom, five--”

“Sirius, we’re adults,” James cut him off, “Is that what you thought?”

Sirius’s heart stopped. Embarrassment washing over his entire body as he replayed the last ten minutes of conversation in his head. Had he read that wrong? “We both know how this ends, did you--”

“Yeah, we’re bloody adults,” he said, stepping closer to Sirius to say into his ear, “My place or yours?”

--

James’s impulse control was hanging on by a thread, his entire body threatening to burst into the flames the moment he stepped foot in the muggle cafe and saw Sirius waiting for him at a table. The message he received in the post, Can we meet sometime soon to discuss Harry, provided enough ammunition to max out on his reps in the weight room before practice. Enough to get him running circles around his teammates as he counted the days until their agreed upon date. 

He didn’t even need to see Sirius to get lost in pure fantasy of what could happen, but the cheekbones and grey eyes in real time set everything on fire. 

His mother often accused him of tunnel vision, never letting anything go or dropping a subject. If James wanted something, he was going to get something, and while he wasn’t sure if Sirius had a secret agenda for their meeting, James sure did. And he wasn’t going to leave it be.

My place or yours?

Considering there’s a teenager at mine, I don’t think it would be appropriate to fuck in the foyer.

They left the cafe together, James leading the way toward his car, trying to contain his sudden sense of urgency. Even though he was now wishing he had taken Sirius up on his suggestion to fuck in the bathroom of the cafe. Also wishing he had thought to bring a portkey for this occasion instead of driving, because the waiting he was never good at where Sirius was involved. 

“I’ll meet you--” Sirius started

“I’m taking you home."

“My bike is here.”

“So? I’m taking you home.”

“And leave my bike here?”

“I’m certain it’ll be here later…”

“In 10 minutes?” Sirius quipped, corner of his mouth tilting upward, but kept in step with James passing no longer interested in his motorcycle.. James didn’t say anything in response, grasping his car keys in the pocket of his track pants and taking a breath in. Oh, Merlin, had he missed that wicked mouth. He unlocked his car, Sirius walking to the passengers side with raised eyebrows as he looked at the red luxury car. “Is this what the ministry gave you?”

“No more ministry-issued than your motorcycle, I would imagine” James replied, getting into the drivers seat, for once thankful he spent the extra money to have his interior cleaned every week, or else Sirius would’ve walked in to sit on dirty workout shirts and extra Quidditch equipment. Instead, it was pristine, beige interior fit to impress the only person whose opinion he cared about. 

“This is nice.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t be greedy now,” Sirius said, sitting back in his seat and James watched as navy trousers pulled along his thighs.

Fuck.

They were behind tinted windows, James’s hat and sunglasses on to avoid anyone recognizing him. Out of the public. Everything closed. All bets were off.

“Take off your pants.”

“What?” Sirius asked, turning his head to look at James and he watched his adams apple slowly move along the lines of his throat. James didn’t even have to ask to know it had been years since Sirius had played any sort of game, with any sort of lover. He would imagine having a teenager took some fun out of interactions had with strangers-- if there had been any over the years-- and James had been doing nothing but watching Sirius all throughout their conversation at the cafe. The imperceptible fidgets, the anxious throat clears; the way Sirius sat up straight in his chair nearly their entire conversation, dropping his legs firmly to the ground practically asking James to start the game. 

James leaned across the center console, finally making contact with the other man, hand on the back of his neck his fingers sifting up into dark curls. He watched Sirius’s eyes flutter closed, long dark eyelashes ontop of olive skin, lips parted.

“You’re just so…pretty,” James told him, pressing his lips into Sirius’s, biting back his own moan. If James was being honest with himself, he was just as desperate. Long lines of men and women rotating in his bed, it was an occupational hazard that came with being a Quidditch player, but nothing could measure up to his once upon a time with Sirius Black. 

His tongue slipped inside Sirius’s mouth easily. 

Effortless.

It always was.

“Take off your pants,” he said again, lips skimming against Sirius’s as he spoke before pulling away, and placing both hands on the wheel of the car. 

“We’re in the car.”

“Yes. Should I roll the windows down? Want everyone to see you, is that it?” James asked, watching as Sirius exhaled, searching for something to say. It was still his favorite hobby after all these years--rendering Sirius speechless. “I could do that. Or you can take off your pants, so I can see how hard you got sitting in that cafe and having tea with me. I know you did.”

Sirius reclined his head against the car seat, closing his eyes once more as he undid his belt buckle and the fly of his trousers, pushing them just past his thighs so they bunched around his knees. James couldn’t help but smile at the sight of black briefs, tented in the middle with a half-hard cock. It mirrored James’s own, outline visible underneath his thin track pants.

“Windows up or down?” James asked casually as he started the car.

“You’re such an arse…” Sirius told him, voice slightly strained, and James didn’t miss the slight roll of his hips against the leather interior. 

“No cheating now…are you even going to make it to my foyer, Black? Or are you going to cum in the car? I don’t think I have a preference either way…it’d be quite fun for me to watch you make a mess of yourself, and all I did was kiss you…How long has it been?”

“I’m a parent,” Sirius offered, as means of an explanation, hands resting ontop of his thighs and gripping his pant leg. He still wore jewelry, nearly every one of his fingers adorned with a ring, metals mixing together. He still wore the same watch on his wrist-- the one that somehow always came off when they were together, Sirius not wanting to damage it, and always ended up in James’s possession. A convenient excuse to see each other again.

I have your watch, Black.

 “I don’t…it doesn’t come up often.”

“It’s sure coming up now.”

“Piss off,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “Is this thing not charmed?”

“The car?”

“Yes. Are we actually taking the roads and stopping at every bloody light there is?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking shit,” Sirius said through his teeth, moving his hips on the seat again and tensing his fingers.

“Stop moving, or I will stop the car.”

“James.”

“When was the last time someone told you what to do?”

“They don’t.”

James hummed in response, watching out of the corner of his eyes as he continued to make the drive back to his flat. It was barely a ten-minute drive, James knew that. Sirius didn’t have to, and James’s own desire continued to grow as Sirius barely contained moans, eyes closed as he sat with his pants down in the passenger's seat. 

Waiting.

Desperately wanting. 

By the time they pulled in through James’s garage, waiting until the door was completely closed, even though his car windows were tinted and he knew no one could see in, everything in James’s vision was blurry. It didn’t take long for them to climb out of the car, Sirius instantly stepping out of his trousers entirely and pressing James into the wall of his garage with a bruising kiss. 

A mess of limbs, and clothing as they made their way through the back door and into James’s flat. 

“You’re so fucking fit,” Sirius breathed between kisses, hands sliding up James’s bare chest and pinching his nipples. “Such a fucking tease.”

“You still like it.”

“Fuck, James, please.”

“Still like someone telling you what to do?”

“No.”

James shook his head, hand palming the bulge in Sirius’s briefs, already slightly damp. “I don’t believe you.”

“I like you telling me what to do,” Sirius responded, thrusting into James hand. 

That was all it took.

James couldn’t wait another second, biting down on Sirius’s lower lip and pulling his mouth into his once more. 

They didn’t make it to the bedroom, not even to the couch in the sitting room, dissolving into one another on the hallway floor.

A picture frame crashing to the ground.

Remind me what your mouth can do, Black.

The remainder of the clothing, sweatshirts, socks, shoes, forming a trail straight to them.

Get on all fours.

Sirius pressed between the cool tile floor and James’s body, arse up in the air, hand fisted into dark curls.

James, James, James, James, James.

Sirius was loud.

James loved it, tempted to open his windows so his neighbors would hear. Look who I found to fuck again, Sirius Black. 

“Did we break anything important?” Sirius asked voice hoarse, as they lay breathing on the floor together, staring up at James’s hallway ceiling, completely naked. Sirius had tattoos along his hipbones now, and if James thought about it too long, he would definitely get hard again. 

“I don’t keep my fine cutlery in the hallway…”

“Ancient heirlooms?”

James laughed softly, “It’s a flat, not a museum.”

“Good….that’s…good.” 

James turned his head to the side, caught off guard to see Sirius already looking at him, slow blinking grey eyes and dark curls fanned out behind his head. He reached forward to brush his finger along Sirius’s cheekbone softly, chest rising and falling as he came back to Earth. 

To the reality where he had just fucked his son’s adopted father.

And reunited with his ex-lover. 

In the same day.

“Irresponsible at best,” Sirius said, softly, seemingly reading James’s mind.

“At worst?”

"I suppose I'll make you a cake anyway," Lily said.

Sirius grinned. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

The truth was, he knew baking for people made Lily happy. Even on his own birthday, his first instinct was to think about what everyone else wanted.

It simply never occurred to him that he might deserve to want something too.

Lily and James were, quite simply, the best people Sirius had ever known.

Loyal. Brilliant. Ridiculously kind.

Marriage hadn't changed that.

If anything, it had only made him feel more certain that he'd somehow stumbled into the greatest friendship imaginable. They had never once made him feel like a third wheel or an obligation. There had never been a moment where he'd thought, I'm intruding.

He belonged.

He loved watching them together.

The quiet conversations spoken with only a glance. The effortless way James reached for Lily's hand without thinking. The way Lily instinctively leaned into James whenever they sat beside each other. They fit together with the sort of ease that made the rest of the world feel slightly out of focus.

Sirius wasn't jealous.

Not exactly.

He simply found himself wondering, sometimes, what it might feel like to be wrapped up in something so complete.

It was the sort of thought he never intended to say aloud.

Perhaps it was the firewhisky.

Perhaps it was the warmth of the sitting room, Lily curled against his side on the sofa while James sprawled in the armchair opposite.

Or perhaps it was the way James asked, with complete sincerity, "So what do you actually want for your birthday?"

Lily's hand rested lightly between his shoulders, absentmindedly tracing lazy circles through the fabric of his shirt.

The whisky had left him pleasantly warm and far braver than usual.

Before common sense could intervene, Sirius smiled dreamily and answered,

"I'd like the two of you to take me upstairs."

Silence.

Then James laughed.

And no one said no.

Sirius woke late the following morning with a pounding headache and sunlight spilling through unfamiliar curtains.

It took him several long seconds to realize where he was.

James's arm was draped heavily across his chest.

Lily slept on his other side, her dark red hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink.

All three of them were tangled beneath the blankets.

Sirius stared at the ceiling.

Fragments drifted back to him.

Laughter.

Someone knocking over a lamp. James laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Lily kissing his forehead and calling him ridiculous.

Another round of firewhisky. 

Laughter that refused to end. Warm hands and warmer mouths. James's lips and tongue leaving him gasping out, "Merlin," while Lily's deft touch around his length drew helpless sounds from him, her delighted laughter in his ear so bright and beautiful it might have belonged to a celestial choir. 

Soft pillows.

Cool starlight spilling across bare skin. 

James's grin. 

Lily's smile

For perhaps the first time in his life, Sirius couldn't remember feeling lonely.

He had absolutely no idea what they were supposed to do now.

As it turned out...

Something rather unexpected.

A few weeks later, Lily found Sirius alone in the kitchen.

"So," she said casually, "how would you feel about moving in with us?"

Sirius looked up from his tea.

"...What?"

"You spend most of your time here anyway."

"Bit unconventional, isn't it?" he said. "Married couple having a permanent roommate?"

Lily shrugged.

"I just thought it'd be easier."

"Easier?"

"You'll want to be involved when the baby arrives."

Sirius froze.

"...The baby?"

She looked at him.

"...James didn't tell you?"

"There is a baby?"

Lily smiled, one hand unconsciously settling over her stomach.

"I think so."

"S-since when?"

"If I've counted correctly..." she said thoughtfully, "...since your birthday."

Sirius opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

"...Since my birthday."

"Mmm."

He stared.

Lily's smile grew impossibly fond.