sunpuppy madness

“God, your dick is so pretty,” Sirius moans.

He’s sitting in Remus’s lap, their pants shucked off and abandoned in the backseat, so their bare thighs press together, the edge of the steering wheel digging into Sirius’s lower back.

James watches as his boyfriend stares down at their best friend’s hard, pink cock, wrapping his hand, slick with lube, around it just to enjoy the feel. James’s own dick is straining against his boxers, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the sight before him to set it free. He doesn’t want to miss a single second of this.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen a dick this big,” Sirius sighs in awe as his hand moves up and down the shaft.

“Poor baby,” says Remus, stroking a hand through Sirius’s hair, and James nearly whimpers as he watches Sirius lean into the touch. “Your boyfriend’s not taking good enough care of you, huh?”

Sirius shakes his head, eyes not leaving Remus’s dick, not even bothering to glance in James’s direction.

It’s part of what gets James so hard, them acting like he isn’t even there.

“He’s just a hole for me to use,” says Sirius, and James feels his dick twitch longingly at the words. God, how he loves to be used. “His dick is just there for decoration. Completely useless. It could never satisfy me like this,” he gives Remus’s dick a squeeze, and Remus’s head falls back against the headrest in pleasure. “Even if he tried to use it, he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Could never compete.”

And it’s true. The few times James had tried topping—a few girls back in college—had been an absolute disaster. Sirius helping him realize his talents as a bottom had been life-changing when it came to improving his sex life.

But even though he’s confident in his sexual preferences, it still strikes a match of humiliation in him, the thought that his dick could never be enough to satisfy his boyfriend. And those flames of humiliation curl low in his stomach, occupying the same space as his arousal, causing his cock to throb in his pants. But still he doesn’t reach out to touch it, frozen in his seat with pleasure.

Sirius shifts his hips forward, his own hard cock bumping against Remus’s erection, and they both moan as they slide together, Sirius’s hips shifting, a rhythm building up with each movement.

“Shit” Remus breathes. “You really love riding, don’t you?”

A moan escapes Sirius’s lips as he nods.

“Shame your boyfriend never lets you.”

“He couldn’t take it,” Sirius bites out around shaky breaths as his own arousal builds. “Probably would start crying like the pathetic little man he is.”

James whines in the back of his throat, and suddenly both Remus and Sirius’s eyes are on him, heads turning.

“Look at him,” Sirius laughs. “So pathetic. Look at his useless cock straining in his pants.”

“Eyes on me,” says Remus, fingers brushing Sirus’s jaw as he tilts his chin towards him. “He doesn’t matter.”

James whines again, and this time he has to touch himself, so aroused he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t. His hand cups his hard on, and he moans, a humiliating, desperate little noise that has Sirius turning towards him again, and this time both men laugh.

“Look at him, touching himself,” says Sirius.

“You get off on this?” Remus taunts. “Like seeing your boyfriend get hard from another man? It’s not like you could do it yourself.”

And Sirius shakes his head, turning back to face Remus.

“Never,” he says, gasping as he moves his hips again, continuing to rub their dicks together. “Not like this.”

“Want to ride my dick?” Remus asks. “Put those hips to use?”

Sirius nods, lips parting, mouth falling open as he cries out in a loud gasping moan.

James’s hand squeezes against his erection, and he whines again. He knows if he wants to touch himself properly, nows the time, but it’s still torture to tear himself away from Sirus’s rutting hips and panting lips to look down at himself, hand fumbling with his zipper at his eagerness to get his dick out.

“You call that a real cock?” Sirius laughs, and James wraps his hand around his dick as he looks up at his boyfriend’s mocking face. “Come on, Remus, show him how it’s really done.”

Sirius sits up a little, leaning forward, his cheek brushing against Remus’s, his tongue flicking out to taste Remus’s earlobe as his ass presses against the steering wheel.

James can see how turned on Sirius is, his hard cock and flushed cheeks and beautiful sighs the only evidence he needs, and his own hand starts to move against his dick as Remus grabs his boyfriend by the hips, tilting them up further so he can reach around and pull the butt plug from his boyfriend’s ass.

James moans again, a whimpering cry that sounds far too loud in the confined space of the car.

“Jesus, be quiet,” Sirius groans. “We can’t get off with you making all that noise.”

“Here,” says Remus, passing the plug to James, and James’s hand stills against his dick so he can focus on taking it. “Something to shut you up.”

James stares down at the plug in awe, shiny with lube in the dim light of the car, and he raises it towards his face, inhaling deeply so he can take in the scent of his boyfriend.

“Such a fucking loser,” Sirius mutters before he starts kissing Remus, his tongue slipping eagerly into his mouth, Remus’s hands grabbing greedily at his ass.

James has to slip the plug into his mouth to keep from moaning, but he still groans at the taste on his tongue as he sucks eagerly against the silicone.

“So much better,” Sirius sighs against Remus’s mouth before kissing him again, his hands tangling into Remus’s curls.

“If only we could plug up his ass, too,” Remus pants when their lips separate. “Make him completely useless. No holes left.”

Remus’s hands spread across Sirius’s ass, his fingers drifting between Sirius’s cheeks.

It’s the one downside of doing it in the car. From this angle, James can’t see Remus’s long fingers playing with his boyfriend’s gaping hole. But the scenario had been too tantalizing to pass up.

James’s feet press against the floor of the car, his hips pushing up into his hand as it moves desperately against his own dick, moaning around the anal plug in his mouth. His tongue rubs against it as he watches Sirius lean back.

“Ready to feel completely satisfied?” Remus asks, and Sirius moans eagerly as he cries out.

“Yes, god, yes. I need your big dick inside me. I need to feel full.”

Remus kisses him again, and as he does Sirius sinks down onto his cock, Sirius gasping into his mouth as he’s penetrated completely by Remus’s girth. James watches his best friend lick inside his boyfriend’s mouth, and the sight of his dick entering Sirius’s hole is enough to have James’s hand jerking, his cock spurting thick, hot come across his fist with a high pitched whimper.

But Sirius and Remus are too busy to even make fun of him for coming so quickly, too caught up in their own pleasure. It’s like James isn’t even there, Sirius’s back arching, thighs working, hips grinding as he loses himself completely. And Remus is just as far gone, low voice moaning, muttering out praises of “good boy” and “so pretty” as Sirius bounces on his cock.

His own pleasure spent, James relaxes back against the passenger seat to enjoy the show, his cock softening in his hand as Sirius throws his head back, his long hair brushing against his shoulders, crying out in ecstasy.

“That’s it, baby,” says Remus. “Make yourself feel good like James never could.”

Sirius whimpers again and leans forward, capturing Remus’s mouth in his own. When their lips part, they finally glance over at James.

“You already came?” Remus teases.

“Like I said—“ Sirius gasps as he keeps fucking himself on Remus’s dick “—such a pathetic loser. Can’t even stay h-h-haard.” He cries out again, and Remus sticks his finger into Sirius’s mouth. If James hadn’t just come, he would’ve gotten hard again just watching Sirus’s tongue loll out against them.

Sirius sucks on Remus’s fingers before pulling back.

“What are you waiting for?” Sirius asks, and he leans over the center console—Remus groaning and clutching against Sirus’s hips at the movement—to pull the butt plug out of James’s mouth. “Clean yourself up.”

James glances down at his hand, at the come splattered across his knuckles, clinging to his stilled palm.

He raises his own fingers to his lips, tongue flicking tentatively out against them. He’s never eaten his own come before, but it’s something they’d discussed before the scene. As his tongue laps up his own sperm, tasting himself, he can’t help but compare the taste to Sirius’s, a flavor he’s all too familiar with. It’s not long before he’s pressing his fingers into his mouth, letting them rest across his tongue the way the butt plug had so he can suck against them while he watches Remus and Sirius continue to fuck.

Remus’s hips begin to buck up into his boyfriend, taking his pleasure from him instead of just passively letting him ride him, and it’s so hot—the combined taste of his own come in his mouth and Remus’s greedy hips—James can feel his vision blurring. He has to lean his head back against the headrest again to ground himself.

They fuck for so long that his fingers start to prune a little in his mouth. Remus’s stamina is no joke—it’s not an insignificant part of why they’d picked him to be their bull—and when James pulls his fingers out he remembers the come still coating his palm, his tongue licking it up lazily as he watches Remus finally come with a groan inside his boyfriend, Sirius coming not long after, long streaks of semen spurting out across Remus’s t-shirt.

Sirius’s thighs still, and he takes a second to just breathe, before he’s opening the driver’s side door and climbing out of Remus’s lap. James opens his own door and joins Sirius in the backseat, crawling into his arms as they lay out across the seat.

James buries his face into Sirius’s chest, and Sirius strokes his hand lovingly through his hair.

“Was that good for you?” His voice is gentle and affectionate, nothing like the mocking tone he’d taken during their scene.

In the front seat, Remus starts fiddling with the radio, keeping the volume low as he flips through stations.

“So good,” says James lifting his head so he can press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. “You were so hot. Looked like you had so much fun.”

Sirius smiles dopily at him.

“I did,” he says. “And the best part was seeing how turned on it made you feel. How horny you were.”

“I was,” says James with a grin. “I really was. I loved that so much.”

He tucks his face back against his boyfriend’s neck, and Sirius wraps his arms around his back, holding him close as James nuzzles into his embrace.

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James has a whole kit, because of course he does. When he pulls out the wax warmer that looks strangely like a crockpot and starts pouring in beads, Sirius can’t help but comment on it.

“Jesus, Jamie, how much ass hair do you have?”

“Oh, I figured you could do my chest, too, while you’re at it,” says James over his shoulder, cranking up the knob on the warmer until it’s reached its limit before turning around.

“And you can’t do your own chest because…”

“Come on, man, you always have a fuckton of laundry,” he says, pulling out a little wooden spatula and poking at the pot. “It’s only fair.”

“For the last time,” Sirius sighs. “I change my underwear a normal amount. You’re the weird one.”

“Whatever, dude, just do me a solid? You’re seriously a lifesaver. I swear this girl is, like, my dream girl.”

“Right,” says Sirius. He sits at James’s desk while they wait for the wax to melt and tries not to think about how badly he wants to be James’s dream girl.

When James starts stripping off his clothes, Sirius’s composure doesn’t even flicker. He’s had years of James looking hot and naked in his presence at this point, but his eyes still travel down, assessing exactly what he’s working with in terms of the body hair.

James usually keeps his grooming to a fucking tee, and it’s rare for him to be as hairy as he is now. The dark hairs trailing up his torso are a good look, bringing out the rugged masculine physique of his athletic body. His best friend is fucking hot, okay, we’ve been over this already.

“Should be good,” says James, swirling the spatula through the wax again to stir it. Sirius ignores the fact that his dick is out.

“Should I wear, like, gloves or something?” Sirius asks, standing up and glancing suspiciously at the warmer.

“Nah, this is fine. Chest first or ass?”

“Chest,” says Sirius immediately. Hopefully by the time he has to face James ass on, there’ll have been, I don’t know, a meteor strike or something to put them all out of their misery.

James leans his bare ass against his desk, and Sirius scoops up some of the wax before glancing uncertainly at James’s pecs.

“Do I just—“

“Start anywhere, it doesn’t matter. Small patches, otherwise it hurts like a motherfucker. Oh, and smooth the hair down with the wax, not up,” James instructs.

“Right,” says Sirius, picking a spot at random and smearing the purple wax across James’s skin. “I still don’t see why you can’t do this part.”

James’s eyes are on him, and it’s a bit concerning how close they are. The intimacy of being this far from James’s face is so much worse than being around his naked body. At least he’s used to tuning out his best friend’s dick and ass in locker rooms by now. But when James’s tongue flicks out and licks the chapped, pink flesh of his lips, the few inches of distance between them is enough to make Sirius feel like he’s trapped in actual purgatory.

He looks away to stick the spatula back in the wax pot, and when he turns back, James is still looking at him.

“Ready?” Sirius asks, poking at the wax with his index finger to make sure it’s solidified.

When James nods at him, Sirius picks a bit at the end of the strip so he can get a decent grip on it.

“Goodbye, sweet angels,” he mutters under his breath to the hairs. “Until we meet again.”

“What was that?”

“I said, damn, Jamie, you’re turning into a wooly mammoth,” Sirius says, audibly this time.

“See, bro, this is why I need you,” James grins, and Sirius chooses that moment to rip the wax from his skin.

Sirius can’t lie, it is incredibly satisfying watching the hairs rip from James’s flesh, even if he’ll miss them now that they’re gone. When James groans in pain, Sirius snickers at him.

“Sure this is worth it for a girl?” Sirius asks teasingly, but James just bites his lip and nods.

Whatever. Fucking straight people.

He roles his eyes, and picks up the spatula again. James picks up his phone and puts on some music while Sirius gets to work.

When the last patches of hair are gone and there still hasn’t been any apocalyptic events to save Sirius from his fate, James turns around and fucking bends over the desk, spreading his legs and baring his bare ass at Sirius.

Sirius freezes, just for a second, his brain doing summersault on a hamster wheel. The position is all too familiar to him, having a man bent over in front of him, only this time it’s the one person in the world he absolutely can not fuck.

Sirius curses heterosexuality again in his mind.

Once he’s gotten over himself, he does the cheeks easily enough. He’s very proud of himself when he doesn’t even get turned on watching James’s ass flush with red as the strips of wax are removed. It still doesn’t stop him from choking on his own spit when James’s hands sink into his cheeks and spread.

He looks quickly away to scoop up more wax, but when he turns back, there’s no avoiding it. James’s pink hole is staring at him like the second circle of hell. And this time it’s his literal job not to look away. Still he hesitates. Because how the fuck can he not.

“Dude,” says Sirius, watching the flesh in front of him move beneath his gaze, “quit, fucking, gaping at me.”

“Sorry, bro,” says James, visibly relaxing in front of him. “Muscle memory.”

Yo, what the fuck, Sirius thinks, and he nearly stops the whole thing right there, drop the spatula back into the crockpot and demand that Peter or the fucking RA or literally anyone else do this shit. But also he’s made it this far now, and only a coward or a pining loser or a cowardly pining loser would turn back down.

Sirius steels himself, takes a deep breath and spreads the wax over the hair between James’s cheeks, before it can begin to solidify on the fucking popsicle stick.

When James moans, Sirius nearly stabs him right in the asshole with hot wax.

“Dude, I swear to god.”

“Sorry,” says James, relaxing again. “Sorry, man.”

“Bro, just shut the fuck up,” Sirius mutters.

“You really are a lifesaver—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” says Sirius quickly before James can start composing sonnets about his goddamn dream girl again. “Literally don’t mention it ever again.”

He finishes up as quickly as he can, and when James drops his cheeks back into place and turns around to grin at him, Sirius rolls his eyes.

He turns to flop onto his own bed before James can even pull his clothes back on and slips on his headphones to get lost in his phone. He doesn’t even bother to look up until James has disappeared from the dorm to do god knows what with the rest of his evening.

The next day, James gets back from his date before Sirius has even finished his order of depression wings.

“How was your date?” He asks, elbows deep in hot sauce and blue cheese. He wipes the back of his hand self-consciously at the sauce smeared across his cheek, but James doesn’t even seem to notice his disheveled state, collapsing face first onto his bed instead.

“She stood me up,” James groans into his pillow.

“Damn, sorry, man.”

Inside he cheers.

“Yeah,” James lifts his head from the pillow to frown sadly at him. “I was really looking forward to getting my ass eaten.”

Sirius nearly chokes on his chicken.

“Um, sorry, what?” The hot sauce burns as he quickly swallows.

“She said she’d eat my ass and peg me after,” James sighs wistfully, flopping onto his back instead.

“You’re…” Sirius swallows again. “You’re into pegging.”

“It’s like I always say,” James stares up at the ceiling as he speaks, “a strap for my gap makes James a happy boy.”

“Who the hell have you been saying that to?”

“Anyways, it’s fine,” James’s voice goes sad again. “I’ll just stick a dildo up my own ass in the shower to get off.”

Sirius really needs to start setting some boundaries with James.

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“Shit, that looks good,” his tattoo artist says, pulling out his phone so he can snap a picture of the healed raven wings unfurled across Sirius’s collarbones for the shop’s instagram.

“There’s a reason I keep coming back,” Sirius grins, because that’s just what James needs right now. Nipples and a perfect smile. He distracts himself flipping through the artist’s binder until Sirius’s glorious torso is covered up by his shirt again. If he catches one final glimpse of abs out of the corner of his eye, that’s neither here nor there. Really he doesn’t look for long. It’s not like he’s trying to pop a semi in the middle of the tattoo parlor.

James used to be normal around Sirius. They’ve been friends for ages, he never would’ve made it this far if he hadn’t been. But especially recently, there’s just been something all consumingly intoxicating about every look Sirius sends James’s way, every little flash of skin. Like the wing tattoo, for example. Ever since Sirius got it, it’s been peeking out the top of his shirts, drawing James’s eye down the column of his pale throat to his broad chest and suddenly James is having thoughts about tongues and skin that are anything but platonic.

“Still leaning towards the thigh piece today?” The artist asks.

“Yeah we’ll save the tramp stamp for another time.”

Jesus fucking christ.

Sirius changes into shorts in the bathroom while James twiddles his thumbs on his perch next to the tattoo chair, watching Sirius’s artist get things set up.

“Thinking about getting some?” The tattoo artist asks.

“What??”

“Tattoos?” He clarifies. “You were looking through our book?”

“Oh,” says James, laughing nervously. “Right, uh, that, no.” He laughs again. “I mean maybe, I’m not like against them obviously,” he gestures vaguely to the artist who’s more tattoo than skin at this point. “I’ve just never felt the need to get one.”

“Smart,” says Sirius, dropping his hand on James’s shoulder as he slips past him, and James tries not to startle again. “Once you start, you’ll never want to stop.” His eyes flash at James, something devilish in his smile, and James swallows down whatever could possibly be hidden in that innuendo to laugh. Normal. Like a normal friend. Laughing at his bro’s sex jokes. Was that even a sex joke? Or does Sirius just have his thighs out and suddenly James’s mind is not a safe place.

They’re the same soccer shorts he’s seen Sirius wear a million times, this time without socks and shin guards, sure, but that’s still no excuse for the way James’s mouth waters at the way Sirius sits back against the chair and spreads his legs.

He starts to roll up his shorts even higher, and James has to avert his gaze again, watching the tattoo artist get the razor ready to prep the skin.

“This parts easy,” Sirius says, and when James looks back at him he’s winking at James. “Prep’s always the best part.”

Right. That one was definitely a sex joke.

Sirius hands James his pants to hold on to, and James tries not to think about the fact that they’re still warm from those same bare thighs he’s currently trying and failing not to stare at as the tattoo artist glides the razor up Sirius’s inner thigh. 

Sirius hops off the chair for a second, and the artist takes his time lining up the stencil against Sirius’s skin, which is probably good. What he’s supposed to do. Meticulous, thorough. But it gives Sirius time to watch James watching him, while James tries really, really hard to look as chill as humanly possible about some random man’s hands being so close to Sirius’s dick.

James isn’t a jealous person. He really isn’t. That’s so not the problem. In fact it’s the exact opposite of the problem. The poor man’s just trying to do his job, and here comes James, objectifying him or whatever the fuck. The stool James is sitting on might as well be a cuck chair the way his brain is lighting up at the sight of his head bent towards Sirius’s dick while gloved hands press the tracing paper against Sirius’s skin before carefully peeling it back.

“Check from different angles?” The artist prompts.

Sirius turns to check out the placement in the mirror, and James is absolutely not watching close enough to notice Sirius’s asscheeks clenching as he rotates his leg in the mirror.

“What do you think, James?” Sirius turns so James can assess the placement too.

The art is probably gorgeous, James has always liked Sirius’s taste in tattoos, but unfortunately it’s completely drowned out by the muscles of Sirius’s thigh under the bright shop lighting, Sirius’s hand holding the leg of his shorts up to expose his skin.

He’s having tongue thoughts again.

“Looks great,” he says quickly, eyes flying back up to Sirius’s face before those thoughts can fully take root. But Sirius is staring right back at James, and James is just delusional enough to think that there’s a heat in his gaze as he watches James. James tightens his grip on Sirius’s pants.

Sirius takes his position back on the chair, spreading his thighs again so the artist can access the space between his legs, and when he leans over Sirius’s groin, James has to avert his gaze.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles,” Sirius smirks at him, and James tries to laugh it off again.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Better be,” he teases. “I’m gonna need you to hold my hand through it.”

James chuckles. Because obviously Sirius is just joking.

Obviously. 

He’s not going to stick his hand out in James’s direction, sharp teeth biting into the tender flesh of his bottom lip as needle touches skin, head tipping back as he looks at James with so much pleading. 

Except that’s exactly what he does.

“Jamie, please?” He asks, and that’s all James needs to decide that if Sirius is dead serious, then so is he.

He leans forward on the stool, hand grasping Sirius’s, holding the pants against his lap so they don’t slide off as he shifts. Sirius’s eyes meet his, and it’s like all of James’s thoughts vanish at the sight of those fluttering eyelashes. His lip is still caught between his teeth as his eyes close. The sigh he makes as he tries to relax back against the chair is barely audible over the hum of the tattoo gun. 

James glances down, and the tattoo artist’s hand holding Sirius’s shorts out of the way while the needle passes over his skin would already be a lot for his pervert brain to take in, but then Sirius starts whimpering. It’s just a soft groan at first, easy enough to miss if James wasn’t so laser focused on every fucking thing Sirius does, but then the sound comes again, a bit higher, fingers tightening in James’s grasp, and when James glances up at Sirius’s face his eyes are open, staring at James like he’s Sirius’s one tether to solid ground.

He whines again, a pathetic little sound, but it’s so beautiful. Sirius’s head is falling back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut again as he moans through the pain. All James can do is hold the fuck on. Squeeze Sirius’s hand right back.

Sirius is a pretty crier. James already knows this. He’s already seen his face wet with tears after a particularly hard loss, emotions and endorphins high from the crushing arc of hard play and bitter defeat. So when Sirius’s eyes open again, this time shining brilliant with glossy tears, James wills whatever god in heaven or hell that those tears don’t fall.

“It’s okay,” he breathes, thumb stroking over the back of Sirius’s hand, and Sirius nods, bites his lip again as he stares at James. Looking so beautiful, James could start crying.

But then his back is arching, lips parting, mouth falling open to let out a loud moan that goes straight to James’s dick. He’s grateful he’s holding Sirius pants as he adjusts a bit in his seat, making sure his lap is covered.

Cause things are heating up. Fast. 

He glances back at Sirius’s parted thighs, at the miles of exposed pale skin, but the tattoo artist is just getting started, only a bit of the purple outline traced over in dark ink, and as his hands move across Sirius’s skin, wiping away ink just to press in again, Sirius lets out the breathiest moan yet, hand tightening in James’s until his gaze is back on Sirius’s face.

The eye contact is almost as unrelenting as the sounds, but James can’t bring himself to look away. He’s going to be good for Sirius. So good. Whatever he needs. Even if that means holding his hand and watching fat tears well up against dark eyelashes and fighting off every urge in his body that’s telling him to simultaneously dive right in and run. 

James isn’t sure how he’s going to last. They’ve barely even started and already he’s halfway to hard. But what’s a little blue ball if it means being there for Sirius. Sirius needs him. Needs him as a friend. And he’s not going to ruin that just because he can’t stop perving out over a little handholding or—oh god, whimpering, there he is whimpering again. His head falls forward, dark hair brushing against his cheekbones as he grits his teeth in pain, and James would reach forward, tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, stroke against his cheek soothingly, if it weren’t for the fact that his hands are already full trying to simultaneously protect his dignity and comfort Sirius.

“It’s okay, bro,” he says again. “You’ve got this.”

“I know,” says Sirius, eyes meeting James’s again. “I know.”

There’s really no safe place to look. The exposed skin between Sirius’s legs. The rise and fall of his panting chest. The pale shine of his tearstained eyes. All equally dangerous, but when one of those fat tears finally leaks from the corner of his eye, dancing against Sirius’s carved cheekbones, tracing against skin and shimmering iridescent as angel dust along his face, it’s all James can do not to finally give in. To lean forward. To lick. Press his tongue to Sirius’s glistening cheek, his lips to the corner of his eye. Gather up those tears like precious offerings and worship at the altar that is Sirius’s weeping face.

He’s so beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

James isn’t sure how he’s going to last, but somehow he does. A combination of focusing on Sirius, trying to be strong for Sirius, and distracting himself with the dad rock that’s blaring over the tattoo parlor’s speakers. 

Eventually they do take a break. Sirius gulping down a water bottle that does unfair things to his throat and even more unfair things to James’s begging dick, but then Sirius disappears into the bathroom, and James finally gets a chance to breathe, leaning back against the stool and clutching Sirius’s jeans like a lifeline.

The tattoo artist is doing something, god knows what, something extremely professional James is sure. And once again he tries to come across as normal and friendly and not horny for his best friend.

He chuckles nervously and decides that did not help his case. 

“Tattoos seem, like, really intense,” James says, hoping a little small talk will save it.

“Yeah, I don’t know why he’s doing all that,” the tattoo artist says, turning away from his cart. “He usually sits really well for tattoos.”

James frowns in confusion.

“Hey,” Sirius returns, already back from the bathroom. “Thanks again for holding my hand, bro. Literally couldn’t do it without you. So fucking painful.”

James looks back and forth between the tattoo artist and his best friend, brow still furrowed, but the tattoo artist is shaking his head, chuckling silently, even as Sirius slides back into the chair and grasps James’s hand in earnest.

“Ready to go again?”

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James and Sirius had been near inseparable since their days on the suburban soccer field. James definitely would’ve noticed if Sirius had looked like that the whole time. But it had been a while since they’d seen each other. They’d both taken the summer to work internships in different states, so when they met up at the university’s gym just before the semester started, James couldn’t help but notice some…improvements.

“Damn bro, your titties look huge,” he said appreciatively, gaze locked onto the stretch of Sirius’s tank top. “What’s your pec routine these days?”

After their workout, James was going down on Sirius in the gym’s showers, like usual, hands gripping into his new, bulging titties, of course, and, I don’t know, maybe some signals got crossed? It had been a while since he’d felt up a boob while going down on someone—not since Lily, if he’s being honest—and maybe that’s why when Sirius came down his throat, James pulled off and gasped, “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Sirius had panted. And then he was gripping James by the bicep and hauling him up and…kissing him.

The blowjobs? Typical. Easy way to release the pent up gym energy. 

The harmless flirting and feeling up each other’s muscles during a workout? Also normal for them. 

But the kissing?

For a second James was so surprised, he hadn’t even reacted, his muscle memory taking over his tongue while his brain was still processing the whole “I love you” thing.

When his brain finally caught up enough to pull back, Sirius had just stared at him, still panting out of breath, and the rise and fall of his pecs must’ve caught James’s eye for a bit too long, because Sirius had laughed, breathy at first, then stronger as it went on, until James joined in, laughing too. Because why the hell not? Apparently this is also something they do now. Kissing and laughing about it afterwards. Sure.

“Chipotle?” Sirius had asked, and James had nodded, clapping him on the shoulder as they turned to leave the showers to go get dressed. 

And that was that. Everything went back to normal.

The problem is the kissing thing kept happening. And happening and happening. 

Which brings us to right now:

James Potter, lying in his bed, dick out, just finished masturbating, not to some rancid internet porn or a memory of fantastic sex, but to the thought of Sirius’s lips. His hair. Those cheekbones. And the soft words leaving his panting mouth. 

“I love you, too.”

Not “love you, bro” or something equally flippant. A full throated, unquestioned, unrestrained, “I love you, too.”

And James has just busted a nut simply from the memory of it.

Sirius’s titties hadn’t even featured in it.

“Shit,” he breathes, sitting up and reaching to his nightstand to grab some tissues. “Shit, I might be gay.”

He wakes up the next morning, his vintage 80’s bodybuilding posters staring tauntingly down at him. But it’s normal for men to have nearly naked, oiled-up muscle bros on their walls, right? All gym bros do. Hell, his dad had been the one to give him the posters. Wait. Is James’s dad gay? Are all gym bros gay?

He brings it up when they’re making out in Sirius’s bed after another one of Sirius’s fucking fantastic blowjobs, one hand gripping into his hair, the other on his chest, while Sirius’s poster of Neymar stares at James from behind Sirius’s head.

“Are all athletes gay?” James asks, taking his hand off of Sirius’s pec so he can think.

But instead of taking him seriously, Sirius just lets out a barking laugh before leaning in to kiss him again.

“I mean it,” he says, dodging Sirius’s kiss.

“Yeah, maybe?” Sirius humors him. “Probably not all of them, but I’m guessing a lot more than most people would think, you know?”

“Are you gay?” James questions.

Sirius smiles fondly at him, a little shake of his head as he huffs out a small laugh, “Yeah, James, I’m pretty gay.”

“When were you going to tell me?” James asks in exasperation, sitting up.

Sirius pulls back to make more space between them so they can both sit up comfortably.

“I don’t know, I figured the first time I put your cock in my mouth it would’ve been pretty obvious.”

“But that was ages ago!” Groans James, and Sirius laughs again.

“James,” he says, resting his hands on James’s chest, tracing along his neck and into his hair as he pulls him closer so he can rest their foreheads together, “I love you. Of course, I’m gay.”

Sirius’s eyes are closed, that fond smile still on his lips, but James just stares at him in a bit of shock. It’s the second time he’s said it now, and this time it feels…purposeful. Loaded with meaning that can’t be brushed off as a slip of the tongue in a post-jizz haze.

“I love you, too,” James says tentatively, and Sirius’s smile grows before pressing their lips together.

This time, when his eyes slide shut and his lips part to kiss Sirius back, the cogs all click into place, the gears of his brain finally shifting into motion.

“Sirius,” he says, breaking apart, “do you want to be my boyfriend?”

“Yeah, James,” Sirius chuckles, pressing another kiss to James’s lips. “I’d love to be your boyfriend.”

“We’d still be, like, friends and gym buddies too though, right?”

Sirius laughs again, this time kissing James’s cheek as his hand cups his jaw affectionately.

“Of course, James.”

“Did you—you didn’t seem surprised. When I said it the first time.”

“What? That you love me?” Sirius asks, and James nods. “I mean, you sent me Missing U by Robyn like every day this past summer.” He shrugs. “It made sense that when we saw each other again, you wanted to take the next step in our relationship.”

James cringes. How could he be so stupid, so fucking oblivious to even his own feelings? 

“It’s a good song?” He tries, and Sirius laughs again.

“James, when did you realize you were gay?”

“We don’t need to focus on that.”

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