live, laugh, o’knutzy

“If I go lay in the driveway, will you run me over?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Remus pulled a face, half-hidden by the refrigerator door. “That’s rude.”

“It would be more rude to run my fiancé over with a car less than three months before our wedding,” Sirius noted as he wound his arms around Remus’ waist, leaving a kiss on his shoulder. His hair was still damp and curling at the nape of his neck, caramel turned mousy brown from the shower. “We’ve already sent out the invitations. It would be a lot of work to cancel it all this late in the game.”

“I wouldn’t call off the engagement if you ran me over.”

“Well, you’d be dead, so I think it’s implied.”

Remus snorted, but went willingly when Sirius guided him back to rest against his chest. Sirius gently took the carton of heavy cream from him and set it on the counter; he smiled when Remus’ fingers laced with his own and gave a squeeze. “You are so cozy.”

“Sore?”

“Mhmm.”

Sirius kissed the freckle at the peak of Remus’ ear. “Want me to rub your back?”

More weight rested on his aching muscles when Remus leaned his head back, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to mind. The soft light of the kitchen shadowed his hooded eyes and dimmed the bright amber to true gold—it took his breath away, sometimes. Remus was just too handsome for his own good. “I need to finish dinner.”

“How much time do you have?”

“Five-ish minutes.”

Sirius cuddled him closer. His phone kept up a steady stream of music on the countertop, but the only rhythm he cared about was Remus’ steady pulse beneath his hand as they swayed in place, hardly moving more than an inch in their comfort. It was all too easy to rest his cheek in sandy curls and imagine a not-too-distant future where they would dance in a different context, one far more public than their kitchen. A future with their friends and family surrounding them and the weight of matching rings on their fingers, still cool from the newness…

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Sirius smiled to himself. “I want to dance with you like this at our wedding.”

“Just like this?” There was a smile in Remus’ voice as well, sweet like honey.

“Ouais. I’ll hold you like this, and then spin you like this…” Sirius guided him around until they were face to face, chest to chest, with Remus standing on his tiptoes. “And then I’ll kiss you just like this.”

The kiss was soft and chaste—butterflies tumbled through his abdomen and he cupped the side of Remus’ face in one hand, his fingertips sliding over his the short-cropped sides of his hair. “Sounds pretty good to me,” Remus murmured into his mouth. “What if I hold your hand like this, and put my arm around your waist like that?”

Sirius laughed as Remus slid his hand down from the small of his back to give one side of his rear a firm squeeze, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “You’d do that in front of Celeste?”

“She’s seen worse.”

“You’d do that in front of Jules?”

Remus hesitated, then sighed. “Buzzkill. Don’t think I won’t cop a feel at the first opportunity, though.”

“Technically, your arm belongs over my shoulder,” Sirius pointed out. “So there wouldn’t be anything to feel.”

“Biceps, back muscles, pretty hair…” Remus kissed him once again around his playful smile. “I can be creative. And why can’t I put my arm around you?”

“Because I’m leading.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, the better dancer,” he laughed with a kiss to Remus’ wrinkled nose. “I was forced into dance classes throughout my entire childhood. This is my chance to show off.”

“So it’s all about you, huh?” Remus teased, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m the captain,” he whispered. “It’s always about me.”

Remus whacked him on the chest and pulled away with a roll of his eyes to grab the carton off the counter again. “Not that your ego needs any more boosting, of course.”

“That’s what I keep you around for.” Sirius snuck up behind him as Remus began pouring the cream and gathered him up in another hug, nearly sloshing the cream over their stove.

“Hey!”

“Dance with me, mon loup.”

“But dinner—”

“But practice.” He pressed close to Remus’ back, rocking them back and forth to the rhythm. “I hear it makes perfect.”

“We already had practice today, and I have the sore muscles to prove it,” Remus grumbled, though he set his spoon aside and turned to drape an arm over Sirius’ shoulders. “Is that good enough for you to show off, captain mine?”

“All yours,” Sirius said into his lips as they stepped away from the stove. It was easy to dance with Remus—there were a few stepped-on toes and laughing stumbles, but he was as graceful on land as on the ice. Oh, and Sirius loved him on the ice, all long legs and perfect footwork. Remus may not have been stuffed into suits for an unfortunate number of ballroom dance classes, but he could hold his own in their kitchen on a Tuesday night.

“We still haven’t picked a song,” Remus said quietly.

Grace was a wonder.

“Careful,” Leo chided, holding the spoon out with a steady hand. She glanced up at him, then leaned forward and blew gently; the steam billowed for a moment before disappearing into her mouth.

Her little face lit up with a kind of joy Logan wasn’t sure his heart could handle.

Leo grinned, and Logan was definitely sure his heart was going to throw itself bodily at their feet. “It’s good?”

“C’est bon!” Grace announced. “Is it time?”

“Not yet, peaches, we still have to do the green beans.” Leo set her down on her stepstool, brushing a hand absently over the top of her head as he turned back to the counter. “The soup’s got another half hour, too.”

“Why?”

“So some of the water can boil off.”

“Why?”

“Because that makes it taste better.”

“Why?”

Leo looked into the living room, his smile barely hidden, and Logan set his newest pile of bookmarks down to crack his knuckles. God bless your goalie patience. “Because all the tasty things you put in get to mix when the water goes away, mon chou,” he said as he padded into the kitchen. Grace stood on her toes and tilted her head his way—he pressed a kiss just above the small scar by her brow and she bumped his chin in response. “It smells great in here.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Leo teased, his lips brushing the corner of Logan’s mouth. Fucking hell, Logan was far too old to be blushing that hard from a single kiss, but when had he ever been able to hide his feelings from his boys?

“Never surprised,” he murmured back. It was Leo’s turn to go pink as he stirred the soup once more. 13 years together, and he was still as goddamn adorable as the day Logan first set eyes on him. “Finn?”

Leo snorted. “Still fighting the garden.”

“That thing is going to drive him crazy,” Grace said in an uncanny imitation of her tallest parent. She leaned against Logan’s front—even with both arms wrapped around his waist, her hands didn’t touch. “Papa, you should help him.”

“Should I?”

“Ouais. I can help with the green beans.”

“I think…” Logan trailed off, lowering his voice conspiratorially as Grace perked up and shuffled closer. “I think you should go help in the garden so I can keep an eye on this one and make sure he doesn’t eat all the beans before dinner.”

“Would he do that?” she whispered in horror.

It took everything in Logan’s power to maintain his poker face. “One hundred percent. And you’re big and strong enough to get those weeds out with no problem, eh?”

Bingo. Grace was gone in a whirlwind of polka dots and denim, pausing for only a moment to slide her shoes on (no socks, a heinous habit she picked up from Logan-didn’t-want-to-know-where) before barreling into the backyard with a cry of “I’m here to help!” that made a small bird flee from their magnolia tree.

Logan didn’t waste a second—Leo’s lips were salty from the chicken broth when they found his own, his shirt soft and well-worn where it twisted in Logan’s hands. He heard the sound of a wooden spoon on the counter before a hand found his lower back. “She called you ‘papa’,” Leo said into his mouth.

“She did.” It was hardly more than an exhale. The feelings were too big, too deep for words. Logan had never been able to feel the easy way.

“That’s, what, ten for you?” Leo nudged their noses together and kissed him again. “Always the MVP.”

A burst of shrieking laughter from the yard silenced any excuse Logan would have mumbled out. Finn’s voice followed, incoherent save for his audible happiness. After eight months, the four of them had finally started edging out of the adjustment phase and into the slow understanding that they could be a family—an odd one, no doubt, one that would draw more attention than Logan preferred, but a family nonetheless.

Grace had started asking for things, like sneakers or stick-on earrings. She didn’t flinch when a car started down the block anymore (Logan hoped the well-healed scar meant she didn’t remember the accident, but it wasn’t fair to ask) and took shameless advantage of the child seat on Finn’s bike. She was messy and confusing and Logan was positive he had never loved something so small so much.

Leaving hockey had been rough for each of them in its own way. Finn had been the first—one last close call with a concussion was where he drew the line, much to Logan’s surprise and delight—followed by Leo, who had never actually explained why.

It just seems right, he had said with a shrug when they were in bed one night. The summer heat had forced them to turn on every box fan they owned, but Logan could hear Leo’s relief even over the droning buzz. The team’s in good shape. 30’s a nice, even number. By the way, Harzy, your books came and I put them on the porch. And that had been the end of it.

Logan had his own reasons to call it a day, most of which he hadn’t been able to put a name to but never regretted. He could still play at a high level if he wanted to. He still loved hockey with every bit of his heart and soul. Much of his family was still connected to it in one way or another, not that Remus or Sirius would ever stray too far from the rink.

He had won enough Cups and broken enough fingers to have a new dream to chase.

The leaves were just starting to turn all shades of warm red-brown against the rain-soaked green of the grass. Finn and Grace had finally settled down next to each other in the dirt and dug into the massive network of mint that was trying to make a resurgence despite Logan’s best efforts and Leo’s best swear words. Sweat rucked Finn’s hair up in the back; Grace’s overalls were going to be absolutely ruined by the time they were done.

“That’s another load of laundry,” Leo mused.

Logan hummed, tucking his head beneath Leo’s chin. “I’m going to find the inventor of the washing machine and kiss them on the mouth.”

“Do the same for laundry detergent, would you? And say it’s from me.”

“Kids are so grimy.”

Leo smiled into his temple and Logan turned to meet him for another chaste peck. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. We’ll hose ‘em off before they come inside.”

“Beans?”

“Beans.”