It’saAsh

“What happens when it’s done?”

Logan’s throat closed immediately. His back teeth worked against each other in tiny pulses of pressure that ground away the shivers fighting to reach the rest of him. His stomach, unsettled since breakfast, sat like a rock. He wanted to itch the edges of his incision—they were driving him insane—but he put his hands under himself, instead. Rolled the sheets between his fingers. He wished they were clammy. Temporary panic would be so much better than this bottomless, hours-old void.

That hit hurt. And he’d gone down.

He’d left his breath on Vegas’ bench, along with most of his vision. So much weight behind him. He faintly remembered the impact forcing spit from his mouth; a glimmering spray before roughness caught him by the collar, and then it was ice, and then it was pain.

Logan had fought bigger people and won. Lost, too, but less in the last few seasons. Big guys, tall guys, enforcers, dirty players. Guys who treated hooking penalties like arcade points, and guys who always toed the line between a check and sending someone to the IR. Some people called Logan a dirty player, but he knew he kept his hits clean. Cap would have torn him a new one if he didn’t.

Fenrir Greyback liked pain far more than he liked hockey. The usual lines didn’t exist for him. Logan knew that. It pissed him off, but he knew it and he was prepared. He thought.

Stupid, maybe—the idea that anyone who did what he had done to Remus would play with any dignity at all, any honor. Logan played a rough game, and he met rough players with two skates down and both fists up, but he would never in a thousand years seek to hurt beyond repair.

Greyback wanted him hurt. Done. Finished.

He’d been cold on that table. Cold and sick. It had been a slow, painful decline into blackness.

Logan thought of locker rooms. He thought of Remus.

There had been no blood for him, soaking Julian or his mother when the dark took him. Maybe inside, draining into the spaces torn into his nineteen-year-old body by clawing, vicious, jubilant hands. Logan didn’t know. He’d never asked.

Greyback’s foot was a gunshot. He’d felt it all the way in his spine, and the whole long way down the tunnel. Getting his pads off came with a wave of relief from the pressure on his pulsing skin. It didn’t last long.

Logan turned his head on the pillow, toward where Leo was still looking at their joined hands.

“We’ll go to New York.”

Logan blinked. Beside them, Finn breathed softly, one arm low over his hips.

Leo nodded, almost to himself. His fingers danced across Logan’s knuckles. “You’ll be back in Gryffindor by then, with us.”

So sure. So solid.

“We’ll get Fish to find somewhere special for dinner. Somewhere nice, with something sweet for you at the end. One of his Christmas spots. We’ll get lunch with Saint and Luke the next day if we want, but we’ll have dinner just the three of us. Get you all dressed up in your greens. Then we’ll go home.” Leo’s eyes were moonstone blue in the dark. “I want to wake up with you the first morning after.”

I’m scared. I’m scaredI’mscared. “Then what?”

“Croissants. Coffee. You’re going to steal a sip of Finn’s and hate it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you always do,” Leo laughed quietly.

He did, he did, oh god, he did. “That’s it? Dinner and breakfast forever?”

“Yeah,” Leo said, eyes shining. “Isn’t it great?”

Yes. A thousand times over.

Leo twined their fingers together and brought them to his mouth. “We’re gonna be such hot dads, too.”

The first tear slid down Logan’s cheek.

“Can you imagine? That one over there is gonna cause an accident every time he does preschool pickup. Oh, and I call dibs on bake sales, but we can share swim lessons. You can do…what, little league? You’d be cute playing baseball. Are we going to be those hockey dads that throw their kid in skates at eighteen months?”

Logan sniffled. “Ouais.”

Leo sighed, tipping his head to the side. “Well, you’ll have to fight it out with Loops for cub coaching, then.”

“Okay,” he said thickly.

“I was thinking we’d stay in Gryffindor,” Leo said, as if he hadn’t noticed what every word from his mouth did to Logan. He would. God, of course he did. “We can move, if you really want. New York’s a little loud for me, sometimes. New Orleans is far, and too hot for you. And, you know, hockey’s tough. We could stay by your family.”

“Quebec is too cold,” Logan managed, smudging at his cheek with the sheets.

“I could make it work.”

Logan shook his head. He’d never ask that. “It’s too cold.”

“Okay.” That made him happy. Logan could tell.

“We’ll stay,” Logan decided. “Gryffindor. Close to Dumo, and Cap. Probably Noelle.”

Leo’s mouth tilted playfully. “He might be carried off to the wilds of Wisconsin if we’re not careful.”

“Loops wouldn’t leave us.”

“Neither of them would.” Something sad buffeted his face, then, but Leo was still smiling. His thumb pressed to the dip of Logan’s chin. “You should’ve heard him, baby. He was right there for you.”

“Remus?”

“Yeah. We miss you.” Carefully, Leo leaned over and kissed his forehead. The mattress hardly moved beneath Logan. “Miss you so much. I’d wake Fish up to tell you, too, but he’d cry.”

“Non,” Logan said softly.

“I won’t,” Leo promised. His knuckles ran down Logan’s cheek. The sadness was still there; the pain, too, of a different kind than the ache and sting of Logan’s midsection. Then, like he could read Logan’s mind, “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Itchy.”

“Hurts?”

“Like a bad bruise.”

A bad, bad bruise. Deep enough to touch a couple organs. It stretched across his whole torso, blackest in the wonky specter of a skate toe. He was unbelievably lucky that the blade had been cushioned by his jersey, they said. Logan counted his luck in his sister, and the two bodies in his bed.

“Is she okay?” he asked, turning the collar of Leo’s pajama shirt between his fingertips.

“They made coffee a little while ago. Or tea, I couldn’t tell. Thomas likes the foldout.”

Two key pieces of information for one question. Logan liked those odds. “You’re not sleeping?”

Caught. Leo narrowed his eyes. “Neither are you. But I’m trying.”

“Let me—”

“Rest,” Leo insisted, cutting him off. He patted Logan’s chest with all the force of a dragonfly. “I’m fine. Just a little freaked, still.”

If only arguing would help. Logan pressed his lips together obediently, and Leo smiled, Leo kissed him soft, so maybe it was okay just for tonight.

They laid together in the silence of his apartment and Finn’s muffled exhales.

It wouldn’t leave him alone, gnawing at his stitches and the edges of his heart. Remus, frightened and alone. Sirius, driven to the point of collapse. Finn, panicked, broken on the ice, his careful eyes and the uncanny squareness of his shoulders during every followup appointment after his third concussion. Their battered bunch of Lions made quite the picture.

And Leo. He’d seen how the riptide of retirement swallowed people up more closely than most (except, perhaps, Sirius, though Logan had never asked him about that either and probably should one of these days). Leo, still dreaming of them and a life beyond this all-consuming game.

Dinner in the city, breakfast like their favorite mornings. Not a loop, but a throughline. A foundation for more.

“I don’t know how I’d be.” When it was over. When he was done. People grew angry.

People grew sad.

You’re out for the playoffs, Lo. And when it was more, and Logan was staring down the barrel of—nothing? He didn’t want it all to end with him fucking dying on the ice, but god, the sudden drop of aging out almost scared him more. He didn’t know himself without this game.

Leo sighed, and Logan could hear the sleepiness blur its edges. They were sharing a pillow. He hoped that stayed, through it all.

Finn wasn’t sure he’d ever been so sweaty.

“Thank you, yeah, that looks great.”

Or tired. Jesus, he was so fucking tired.

“The keys are—? Okay, perfect, sounds good.”

Thank god for Logan, because his brain could hardly string together a sentence in English, let alone attempt anything else.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t…oui, yeah, he’s—”

So when they pulled up to the front desk (tired, hot, admittedly grimy), Finn gave himself a little grace.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“Yes,” Finn said slowly. The front desk person flipped her hair over her shoulder and clicked her mouse a few more times. Her nametag read CAMILLE above the name of the hotel he was absolutely, 1000% sure they had a room in.

Though at this point, he’d believe just about anything.

“I don’t see,” Camille said with a bored shrug. “Sorry. Tremblay? With a T?”

“Oui,” Logan answered.

Finn could hear the edge in his voice. That I’m tired, and you are standing between me and my bed annoyance that felt like a spitting kitten when directed at himself but was never taken well by strangers. He pressed the pad of his thumb to the pulsing dent on his nose left by his glasses. “Um. Can we try a different name?”

Camille shrugged again. “Sure.”

“O’Hara. First name Finn.”

They’d booked this so long ago. Any of them could have called it in. God, Finn had never even thought about this part of polyamory. Maybe he should write a book. Two Lovers? No Problem: Solutions for Everyday Mix-Ups in the Modern World, by F.C. O’Hara. Edited by L. Knut and L. Tremblay. Hmm. Logan would be irked if he was listed last. Maybe it was time to get a joint last name. Two hyphens wouldn’t simplify things at all, though, and they’d never agree on one. Or would they?

Another chapter for the book.

“O’Hara…” Camille pursed her vivid red lips. “Multiple O’s?”

Finn stared. “No, just—just the one.”

“Okay.” Oh-kaye. Almost like Logan’s, but not quite. He’d always been put off at how different Logan sounded compared to the average Frenchman. Faint surprise darted over Camille’s face. “Ah! We have a room, yes. Finn?”

“Yes. F-i-n-n.”

“Large room, one king bed. Do you need us to bring a cot?”

It would be unbelievably funny to accept if it was literally any other day. “No.”

She remained impassive. He probably would have started crying if she was mean about it, at this point. “Parfait. Three keys, breakfast is in the room down the hall and to the left from seven o’clock until ten, you have a parking spot in the garage, please call the front desk if you have any needs, linens are changed every other day, you get a discount—ten percent—at the restaurant in the lobby, thank you joining us for your stay in Paris and bon nuit.”

“Merci.”

She winced. Finn took the keys from the desk and headed for the elevator, and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that his boys hadn’t fallen asleep in the nine thousand years that had passed since they dragged their carcasses through the revolving door.

The elevator door shut with a cheerful ping.

“O’Horo.”

“Ooooooo’Hara.”

Finn closed his eyes to the sound of manic giggling. “I can’t,” he groaned, and kicked petulantly at the wheels of his suitcase. “I can’t do it.”

Leo hummed. “Would it be Oooh’Hara or Ooooo’Hara?”

“Ooooo,” Logan decided. “Like a ghost. Ooo.”

“I confirmed with them yesterday!”

“I feel like there’s some merit to O’Horo, though,” Leo continued.

Logan tsked. “Non, I like the ghost.”

“They have my phone number!” The door slid open, with a much lower chime. Apparently, getting to their rooms was serious business. Finn didn’t care. He was in the hall before the stupid little noise was even done. He turned a plaintive look on Leo as they headed down the hall. “They have both our names on the reservation, Le. Both! I checked! Yesterday!”

Leo reached out and passed a hand through his hair. “You poor thing, you’re red all through your freckles.”

“I am,” Finn said hotly. The click of the room door was the trumpets of heaven. He made straight for the end of the bed and flopped down face first.

“Thank fuck,” Logan sighed. Finn turned his head to the side once breathing got too hard—just in time to watch Logan strip off his shirt and begin unbuttoning his pants in the same breath, leaving both haphazard on the floor in his wake. “I’m taking my shower, come bother me.”

“I…” Leo’s bemusement was not enough to stop him from visibly raking his eyes down Logan’s (delicious) back before it vanished behind the bathroom door. Nor did it stop him from catching Logan’s boxers when they were thrown out by a disembodied hand two seconds later.

He looked at Finn. Finn did his best Camille impression, and shrugged. “Hot.”

“Hotter than he can handle.”

“’S why he has us.” Finn put his face back in the sheets and let all the air out of his body through one long, warbling groan.

Leo laughed at him; plastic wheels creaked. The shower kicked on. Now that he had a millisecond to think about it, that didn’t sound so bad. A nice rinse, even though he probably needed to really suds up. Logan could wash his hair. He sort of did it like he was washing a large retriever, all big scrubs and heavy affection. It wasn’t how he washed his own. Finn sort of loved it. A lot.

Weight fell down beside him, all the way down to the end of the mattress. If a thousand bodies did the same, Finn thought, he’d be able to pick Leo out every time. There was that tiny noise—a stretch. He’d be flexing his feet up and down. In a few seconds, he’d probably—

Indeed. But when Leo finished cracking his knuckles, he didn’t move on to splaying all his limbs out. He didn’t even shuffle into Finn’s side. Instead, he slung his weight upright again, and a leg fell over Finn’s butt before the rest of him followed.

“Did you take your pants off?” Finn mumbled. He was too tired to turn and see.

“Yeah.”

Cool air hit his back in waves with each new inch of skin revealed. Leo pushed his shirt up the last couple inches, then spread his palms across Finn’s shoulder blades and pressed down with most of his weight.

“Good?”

“You’re amazing.” He hoped Leo could hear him through fabric and foam.

“Hmm.” He could. He was smiling. Good. “Thanks again for driving today.”

Finn managed something like no problem. His eyelids were heavy. Oh, no, they were closed. The sound of Logan splashing around was basically white noise. And Leo was heavy, all warm across his back and thighs, kneading the ache out of his back even though Finn was probably disgusting. Leo would like the balcony, here. He could be up by seven, pop down to the continental breakfast for coffee and pastries, and bring some back before the two of them woke so they could eat outside.

Or, even better—he could find a corner bakery. Enough charades and apologetic smiles could get him something good, times three. Not that people in Paris didn’t speak English, but Finn hated the thought of being rudely American.

A kiss brushed his ear. “You’re quiet.”

“Sleepy.”

“Long day.” A gentle pass of palms, up either side of his spine. Leo blew lightly across his back. “Still too hot?”

“Nah.”

“We’ll get you some sunscreen tomorrow. Oh, and sunglasses, mine broke in my bag.”

“Aw, really?’

“Yeah, forgot the case at home.” There was a sound like Leo had patted for his pockets, only to meet skin instead. Finn laughed into the bedspread and felt Leo squeeze his hips between his thighs. “Hey, you only get to laugh if you’ve got a pen hiding in there somewhere.”

“Sorry, not me.” One pale knee greeted him, and a thigh stretching up and out of sight beyond. Finn rubbed his cheek on the duvet cover and let his eyes close again. “You gonna go bother the wet beast?”

“Maybe, just to tell him you called him that.”

“It’s true. Say vray.”

Leo’s elbow worked at the knot beneath his shoulder blade. “Don’t go anywhere in this country without us, honey, your mouth was made for other things.”

It came around every December. November, really, for those closest; either way, it preyed on the dark trudge through the last dregs of autumn. The insurmountable task. The impossible question. What to give to Sirius Black, the man who had it all?

His birthday was a buffer for many. A birthday card from CVS was more than enough (more than he expected), but anything could double as a trial run for the real deal while leaving time for delivery. In the way of every other person on Earth, getting a gift triggered thoughts of oh, I needed that and what if I… that would inevitably lead to an offhand mention a week later. And, really, there was a point when getting gift cards for a man making nine million a year began to feel ridiculous.

James was impervious to this challenge, and everyone else despised him for it. The leather jacket for Sirius’ last birthday had not just raised the bar for the rest of them, but shot it off into the stratosphere. There was simply no hope at all.

(It was vitally important that Sirius knew nothing of this struggle. They would never live it down, and he would never accept a gift again.)

Monday evening found an odd flock gathered around Dumo’s living room coffee table. They had a candle going and everything, and evergreen boughs draped over the fireplace. The fire itself was safely contained by brick and a wide mantle, where photographs had been temporarily replaced by nine felt-covered stockings.

“I’m saying,” Alex pressed, covering Logan’s mouth blindly with one hand. “I don’t have the gift for him because I’m seeing him in two days at our fucking house.”

“You don’t love me,” Finn said loudly.

“Two days!”

“You didn’t get me anything!” Finn continued. “You forgot! You hate me and you want to ruin my Christmas!”

He jabbed a finger at Alex, who rolled his eyes. “Yes, Fish, I hate you and Christmas and I’ve never given you a present in your entire life.”

“He admits it,” Leo said, shaking his head. “Wow. Brutal.”

“I’m telling mom you said you hated me in front of our friends.”

Alex kicked at him under the table; Finn quickly pulled his legs into Percy’s lap. “I’m going next,” Logan declared, dodging Alex’s subsequent attempt to smother him. He set a paper-covered box on the table with a decisive thud, then held his hand out in a gimme motion. “Hit me.”

Alex punched him in the arm.

“With my presents,” Logan complained, elbowing him back.

“We have your birthday present in the car,” Remus informed him. “But I was also your secret Santa, so you’ll have to open this one first.”

In direct opposition to one Sirius Black, Logan was incredibly easy to shop for. The whimsy of receiving a gift overwhelmed any thoughts he had about the actual contents, and even the littlest, most sappy-sentimental tchotchkes would be treasured with the kind of sincerity inherent in people who just liked to be thought of. Though much like James, Logan never seemed to struggle with finding a gift for Sirius. Perhaps it was something in the honesty of it. Something in the seeing and the knowing.

His short shout of elation made Remus grin. “For me?” he asked, as if his name wasn’t scrawled on a sticker-tag across the top. Logan held the pan up for everyone to see, the nonstick surface glistening in the warm light of the living room. There were many oohs and aahs, and a smattering of applause when he held up the Ten-Step Meals for the Beginner Cook hardcover that had been set inside it.

“It’s not all sandwiches,” Remus added as Logan took his hand for a one-armed hug across the table. “I checked.”

“Merci, Loops, my egg budget thanks you.” He knocked the sides of their heads together before they parted again, then reached for the box he had brought. “You made this very easy, ‘cause I got your boy.”

Sirius perked up next to him, straightening from where he had leaned back to bask in the fire’s heat behind him. Logan slid the box across the table. He was pulling on the ribbon at the top before Logan’s hand even left it. “Nice wrapping.”

“Ta gueule.”

Logan’s eagerness was obvious in the quick flashes of his eyes between the gift and Sirius’ face. That, and the way he sat on his hands while Sirius peeled the paper away. Then tape, then cardboard, then bubble wrap, then—

“Jesus, Tremz, did you send this thing through a war?” Saint laughed.

“It was a long flight!”

“Oh!” Sirius closed the top of the box with a delighted smile. “Really?”

Logan nodded. A flush crept up his neck and onto his cheeks.

“For me?”

“The real deal.”

“Okay, show us plebians.” Leo was only half-awake, Finn’s hand in his hair and his ankles laid over the brick step in front of the fire. He managed to lift his head a whole inch to peer at Sirius’ box.

“Caribou.”

“He got you a fucking deer?”

“The drink,” several voices chorused. Sirius lifted the bottle out of the box; Leo raised his hands in surrender, relaxing back into the edge of the couch.

Sirius gave a low whistle when he looked at the front and tilted it toward Remus, who did a very passable impression of someone that knew what they were looking at. “It’s maple,” Sirius explained for the many, many others squinting to see. “Like, a whiskey or something. Or some sort of port wine?”

Logan shrugged, already opening the cover of his cookbook. “It’s caribou.”

“Dumo knows, ask him.” Sirius raised the bottle. “Merci, Tremz, joyeux noël.”

“Nah, she’s in the other room,” Thomas said, sending a ripple of laughter through their strange pride. They’d never had opponents in the Dumais home for Christmas. In fact, the closest they had come was nearly a decade ago—Sergei had been traded for a total of two months, one of those fire-lighting swaps that made everyone miserable and only sometimes led to success. He and Dumo had told the story nine times already tonight. After everything, it wasn’t hard to convince him to let a couple of the house-trained Rangers tag along for a gift exchange.

“Alright, I had Nat, but I think she’s watching a movie with the girls.” Sirius passed his gift to Kasey, who didn’t skip a beat before leaning over to drop his in front of Saint.

“You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little,” Kasey laughed.

Saint shook his head. “And these were random?”

“Goalie powers, Montague.”

Saint began removing the first piece of tissue paper, then paused. His eyes narrowed. “Is this a sabotage attempt?”

“I’m not doing bad enough for sabotage,” Leo complained.

“It’s alcohol and candy,” Kasey answered dryly.

“Oh, good.” Faux-suspicion gave way to something like a smile as he dug into the bag and emerged with his prizes, lining them up neatly in the crook of Luke’s leg that stretched out beside him. Luke gave a slow, sleepy blink. Saint pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger and cracked open the twist-top of the seltzer. “Za zhizn.”

Kuny stuck two fingers in his mouth to whistle, still decked out in the hat, scarf, and vivid purple sunglasses gifted to him by James despite being indoors. His sweater had long since been abandoned, leaving him in jeans and a plain undershirt with a hole in the neckline. His light-up Christmas socks (also from James) glowed faintly in his pantlegs.

Saint gifted Will a set of nice wineglasses, and Will passed Leo a boxed set of mystery novels with a bow taped to the top. Around they went, lazy in the way of familiar partygoers after a long day, with even more long days ahead. The gift exchange was purely for the novelty at this point—a party game to bring a laugh or affectionate cuff. Most of them had either already exchanged more formal gifts or decided to wait until after the holidays were done, when they’d all be back in the same place again without the stress of upcoming travel. NHL schedules were unforgiving, and coaches, even moreso.

These moments made it worth it. Cole snapped a photo of Sirius and Remus squeezing into the same armchair on his new disposable camera—one of five gifted to him by Thomas, each labeled with a different theme. Team. Gryff. Friends. Home. Your Girl. Saint split his seltzer with Kasey and Leo exclusively, thankyouverymuch. Luke’s pleading look earned him only a chocolate-covered caramel pressed to his mouth. They were from a tiny sweets shop in the depths of Manhattan; Finn had taped the address to the underside, along with a full punch card.

A sudden herd of children sent the room into chaos, scattering them to the movie room, basement, kitchen, and anywhere they could tuck away their gifts to not be forgotten at the end of the night. Harry, at two years old still the youngest and slowest of the group, didn’t go far. He crawled onto Sirius’ lap and promptly closed his eyes, not caring a whit for Dumo and Logan on either side of him or the three crystal glasses Dumo had brought along. All he knew was warmth, and snow falling gently outside.

They kept their toast to the French Court quiet for his sake. A clink clink clink and stifled laughter at Sirius’ careful reach. The smooth sweetness of maple syrup, with a bite of alcohol beneath. Logan had found a good one. Dumo would be pleased to find a bottle of his own hidden under the tree in a few days, this time to split with the beautiful journalist in the other room wearing the green sweater that made him feel nineteen and hopeless again.

Remus watched them from the doorway: three figures by the fire, turned toward the wide bay windows like little kids seeing their first white Christmas. Sirius had a pine needle in the back of his hair. Logan’s shirt had come untucked on one side. One pajama-covered foot dangled off the side of Sirius’ lap, content.

On the other side of the house, Lily had fallen asleep with her head in Natalie’s lap and her legs across James’. Her boots were still by the front door, leaving her festive, gingerbread-emblazoned stockings on display to be admired. She snored the same as her son. While she slept, Alex took full advantage of Natalie’s unwillingness to wake her best friend and stole several sips of her eggnog. It was Celeste’s special recipe. Who could blame him?

ok everyone. I'm equal parts nervous and excited for this one! I talked to @mollymarymarie about this ages ago and have been plugging away at it. I'm done 7/12 chapters now! I thiiiiink I'm going to start posting soon. So I made a 'lil (7 minute) trailer to hopefully catch the vibe, show off some of the music, and to ask:

Remus still had the shirt. He was pretty sure he was allowed—encouraged, even—to keep it. It sat in his dresser, neatly folded, the kind of gift that said I like you and come back. He worked so hard for every little thing, through every grueling hour. He hadn’t even worked for the shirt, not really, unless you counted…well. But he had done all that without the expectation of literally wearing Sirius’ clothes to work like he was broadcasting ‘I GOT LAID’ to all his closest friends and coworkers.

He didn’t know what to do with it. Any of it. He had meant to give the shirt back by now, and it wasn’t like he was lacking in opportunities (as Leo so delighted in reminding him). He hadn’t yet stooped to wearing it to bed, but if it didn’t end up back in Sirius’ safe possession soon, Remus feared it would just be his forever.

Somehow, that wasn’t so bad.

A bark of laughter across the garage made him bite the inside of his cheek. The corner was still chapped from Sirius’ visit last night; the collar of Remus’ hoodie still smelled like him. He didn’t really need to wear that shirt to bed when he could bring the real thing with him three nights a week, did he?

“This is why they only do gear day once a quarter.”

Remus chucked a gauze pad across the table. Leo caught it, laughing, and flicked it right back.

“Losing our top paramedic for four to six hours just can’t be a sustainable business model,” Leo continued with a dramatic tap of their alcohol wipes. “New notice: no shoulders allowed in the workplace.”

“I should’ve stayed home sick that day.”

“Yeah, I bet your throat hurt real bad.”

“Oh my god.”

Leo’s gaze slid away. His lips pursed in a low, appreciative whistle. “Oh, he is hot under that mask.”

“Knutty,” Remus hissed. He wanted to look. He wanted to look so bad. Sirius would be a little sweaty from training, hair curling at his nape. He liked to prop his helmet up and out of the way at the perfect angle to hold his hair out of his eyes. Remus preferred it when he raked a hand through the front, if only for the flex of a bicep he got as a treat.

Leo’s front teeth flashed as he bit his lip. “Mm. Fine as fuck, Loops, I’ll give you that.”

“I will end you,” Remus threatened. “They can’t afford to fire me.”

“He’s coming over.”

“No, he’s not.” Leo smiled, waving at something behind Remus with his free hand. Sudden onset desperation crept up Remus’ spine. “Leo. He’s not.”

“You two look busy.” A voice like the bite of a smooth whiskey. Wax paper crinkled in Remus’ palm.

“Yeah, real nice of you to come check on us,” Leo said, sweet as pie. “How’s the gear?”

“Smells like shit.” Sirius gave a sage nod as he lowered himself to the floor, impossibly long legs folding beneath him. He smelled good. Like a clean apartment, like home. Remus felt his jaw twitch with how tight his teeth were clenched. A smile and a kick to his knee found him at the same time. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Leo pushed himself off the ground in one fluid motion. “Heading to the bathroom, be right back.”

Sirius spared him only a glance as he went. His attention returned to Remus with palpable weight. He needed to find a cure for that, soon, or he was really truly fucked beyond belief. “How’s James?” he finally managed.

Bingo. Sirius lit right up for him. “He’s good! We’re getting dinner after shift, maybe playing some pool.”

“Jill’s?”

“Always,” Sirius scoffed. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees like Remus had earned all his focus. The lights played in his clear grey eyes and turned them to a smooth sea-blue. “You’re thinking hard.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” Remus laughed a little at himself. The heat was simmering up his neck again. Even the coolness of a pass of his hand did nothing. “Yeah, sorry, been a long morning.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I liked breakfast, though.” Omelets and bacon, flipped by Sirius’ practiced hands. “That was nice.”

Remus had gotten good at noticing the color in his cheeks since their whatever began. Tart-cherry right off the rig, then pretty in pink when Remus kissed him in the morning. It touched him now, stark in the lights and against his dark scruff. Sirius bumped the toe of his boot against Remus’ own. “There’s more where that came from.”

“I know.” Remus bumped him back. “There’s fresh bacon in my fridge.”

His smile (like everything else about him) was big this time. Unabashed and genuine, crinkling his nose and the corners of his eyes. It matched the laugh that filled the garage and had kept Remus company on their later, quieter nights. “Good,” Sirius said, nodding. “Okay, good.”

“Just saying, it’s there if you want it.”

Sirius laughed at him and his faux-casual offers for real that time. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I try.”

Sirius jerked his chin at the bathroom door. “Someone better check on Knut. Been in there for a while.”

“He’s a good rookie. Knows where he should be at all times to maximize efficiency.”

“Which is why he flagged me down, I’m sure. To keep you supervised during his medical crisis.”

Remus snorted, tossing a ball of KT tape between his hands. It had been a long five hours since he was sat on Sirius’ kitchen counter. He felt the tension bleed out of his shoulders with every passing minute spent knee-to-knee with his sorta-kinda-maybe-boyfriend. He wondered if Sirius would let him take a couple of those qualifiers out, if he asked nicely. He caught the tape ball with one hand when Remus lobbed it at his chest. “I’ll give him two more minutes before I slide some Imodium under the door as a warning.”

Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “Two minutes? That’s all I get?”

“I was going to staple it to his bag for acting up this morning,” Remus informed him, stretching one leg out with a grimace at the ache in his hip. “But I like him a lot, and this was nice, even though he’s absolutely listening to every word we say and texting his boyfriend on company time.”

“Not my boyfriend!”

“Sorry, his booty call,” Remus corrected, stifling a grin as Sirius hid his laughter in his shoulder. Proximity still thrilled him like a first date. He was so warm it made Remus’ chest throb around his pounding heart.

“Not that, either!” the muffled voice called again.

He landed one kiss behind Sirius’ ear before lifting his head again. “I still have that Imodium and a really nice stapler,” he warned. “One minute left, or I’m gonna do it and leave your bag next to the trucks.”

He could picture Leo’s frustrated scrunch-face so vividly in his head. It was almost as satisfying as Sirius’ knuckle tilting his chin over for a kiss, gentle and close-lipped and chaste enough for a nun—or, more importantly, Dumo’s sensibilities. “Thirty seconds,” Sirius whispered against his mouth. “You’re coming for dinner?”

“Nah, you have fun with James. He misses you.” Remus kissed him again. “But I’ll come for pool. If I’m still awake.”

“Jill’s,” Sirius repeated. “Eight-thirty.”

“Breakfast at mine. Seven o’clock sharp.”

“I’ll be there.”