Book Club (ft One Very Distracted Boyfriend) - evan/james/remus - wc: 489
Thursday nights were sacred. Not for sports, not for dinner parties, not even for pub trivia (though Remus had grumbled every time about missing literature questions due to “those cursed Thursday book clubs”). No, Thursday nights were for the club.
Which was, ostensibly, a book club.
In practice? It was three men sitting in Evan’s aggressively curated living room, drinking overpriced wine, pretending to discuss literature while James Potter completely forgot what book they were on because he was too busy being in love with both of his boyfriends.
Remus had a copy of A Little Life on his knee, glasses sliding down his nose. Evan, stretched across the corner of the sofa in a silk shirt and about four rings too many, was flipping languidly through another translation of The Iliad, because he “didn’t trust Fagles with the nuance.”
James, in a sweatshirt that didn’t belong to him (Remus’, actually), was leaning on the table between them, chin in his hand, grinning.
“Merlin’s tits, you two are hot.”
Evan didn’t look up. “That’s the fourth time you’ve said that in the past twenty minutes.”
Remus, sighing, didn’t bother to glance over. “We’re literally in the middle of discussing trauma metaphors.”
“I know, but like—” James gestured vaguely at both of them. “Look at you. One of you is talking about Greek tragedy like it’s foreplay, and the other has librarian sex appeal off the charts.”
“James.” Remus extended a hand toward him without looking. “Shut up.”
James took the offered hand, kissed the back of it, and cradled it to his chest with the softest grin imaginable.
Remus groaned but didn’t pull away.
Evan, without shifting from his lounging pose, kicked James lightly under the table. “Focus.”
James let out an exaggerated whimper. “Oww, Rosier, you're so cruel. All I want is to admire my boyfriends during literature hour.”
Evan’s mouth opened to retort—but then James tilted his head and gave him the look. Wide brown eyes, pouty lips, that earnest “you’re the best thing I’ve ever seen” face that made Evan forget how to breathe, much less form insults.
Evan’s breath caught.
James grinned wider.
“Not fair,” Evan muttered, hiding behind his wine glass. “You weaponized your face.”
“You kicked me,” James said smugly. “I retaliated with charm.”
“Stop flirting,” Remus said, attempting to yank his hand back. James wouldn’t let go.
“Impossible,” James replied, now nuzzling Remus’ knuckles. “You’re too pretty not to flirt with.”
Evan made a strangled noise. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’re blushing,” James pointed out, eyes flicking toward Evan’s ears. “And I love that for me.”
Remus dropped his book on James’ head. “Focus, Potter.”
James grunted. “Alright, alright! Trauma metaphors. Tragedy. Pain. Sadness. Lovers doomed by fate. I get it.” He paused. Then added, “Wait, is that just you two trying to have a conversation without me talking?”
Remus groaned louder this time, and Evan—unfortunately for him—laughed.
