“The entire dorm reeks,” Remus offers, closing the door and sitting next to James along the cabinet, limbs overlapping.
James moves closer, presses his forehead to Remus’s neck and feels his pulse at his skin. He smells like parchment and the library and something like dog, something like wolf, it reminds James of the loamy smell of the forest at dawn, rebirth into flesh and the sun begging at the sky for its new day.
When he emerges from the warm cocoon of Remus’s neck, Sirius is watching, one knee propped up and his foot still on James. Remus smokes the joint and James looks to him, poking at his sternum until Remus grasps his wrist and holds it in his lap just as James was wanting all along.
“Prefect!” James chides.
Remus scoffs and knocks his shoulder under James’s chin and James is grinning and Remus is grinning even as he reminds, “Head boy.”
Sirius performs retching and they all collapse into lazy, weed-dry laughter. Remus’s arm is pressed against James’s torso and Sirius’s leg has nudged over his calf and it’s two points of contact that ground him to here, here, these two are all he needs.
the way we look like animals by dykesiriusblack (@dykefever)