Focus Lupin, pt.2
Pairing: Poly!Marauders (sans Peter) x Reader, smidge of Lily x Reader Synopsis: Time for a rager! How far are you willing to go for your pride? You are a marauder after all. [Part 2 of this] Word Count: 9k Warnings: well, smut of course! Exhibitionism, possessive Remus, the boys being pervs and kind of gay, hinted at bi!reader, drinking/drunk-ish sex, cucking 4 sure, oral (reader receiving), creampie, fingering, dry humping, sex in a closet?, penetration. A/N: Your house still isn't said, so feel free to choose whatever. Reader is a lynx animagus, leading to the nickname Tufts (on account of their ears). This was posted on my Patreon exactly one month ago, and now I'm bringing them here since I'm about to upload chapter 17 of And They'd Find Us in A Week over there. I haven't read through this since I wrote it, but my Harry Potter fanatic friend (who I wrote this for) said it's a work of art. I'll be adding more to this series later on, like how you met the boys and how you found out Remus was a werewolf and how you started dating yada yada but also stuff post-Hogwarts. Maybe some war angst. Let me know if you guys are pro making Lily a part of the polycule. Tags: @yvy1s @innercreationflower, @bopeep663 [let me know if I missed you and if you want to be added, go to my tag masterlists!] My KO-Fi if you wanna leave me a tip and My PATREON if you want to be a monthly supporter and reap the benefits; you get stuff like this weeks/months in advance! My Discord if you want to ask me questions and stuff; I'm not guaranteed to answer every inbox I get on here, and I answer faster over there!!
(not meant to be a representation of your body at all, only of how gross you and Remus are)
You and Remus run a bit later than promised, so you don't even get a chance to freshen up. Neither of you runs, really, but to say it wasn't the fastest you've ever walked would be a lie.
As you bound up the stairs and go to turn the corner, Remus stops you with a hand on your hip.
“Hold on,” he twists you around, and you huff. “Aren't we forgetting something?”
You groan, “Rem—”
“None of that. I seem to remember the winner gets a prize. Seeing as you've got no chocolate frogs for me,” he holds out his hand. “I want my reward. Here and now.”
“Are you mad?” You hiss. “Anyone could see us. Can't you just wait ‘til after the party?”
“No, they won’t, and no, I can't. Only ones that'll see you do it are me and the paintings. And I know you, I know you'll try to weasel your way out of it.” You gasp in offense at him accusing you of what you most certainly intended to do. “You lost, dearest. Pay up.”
You only just hold back from stomping your foot, more so irritated at the reminder that you lost than anything else. After you came so hard that you nearly went blind, you only meant to lay your head down for a short moment. Next thing you know, you're brought back to the land of the living by Remus chasing his release, leaving you gasping and moaning into his finished paper.
“You need me to take them off for you?” He asks half joking, half hoping.
“Shove off, thank you.” Your pride won't allow such a thing, even if the idea leaves you throbbing.
You reach under your skirt, glancing around before shimmying your knickers off. The gusset's been darkened by his spend, and you shiver as it leaves a trail of slick down your thighs. A nice red pair you wore just for this occasion. They're his favorite on you, and you, rather bootlessly, planned on using any advantage over him you could think of.
You slap them into his waiting palm, watching as they find a new home in Remus's back pocket.
“Cheers,” he smirks.
Once Remus caught a glance of them on you, any other form of payment wouldn't do. He was struck with an idea so brilliant that losing wasn't an option. After using them as an aid to wank off into, he'll leave them out on his bed for Sirius and James to agonize over.
You storm off with something close to a growl, charging forward and ignoring his laughter. Remus is sure that if he hadn't rushed out the password, you'd have bulldozed straight through the Fat Lady.
Sirius, the tyrant, puts you two to work immediately. You don’t say it, but those Black event planning genes come in handy.
A few members of the Quidditch team are bringing in more barrels of Firewhisky; you know James had them hidden under the Cloak up until now, but you still aren't sure how they sneak so many in. You’d put a sickle on a professor or two being bribed with a cup or two.
Wand in hand, Remus starts the spell work, transfiguring it into a Muggle-style hybrid.
You had helped craft the concoction back in its early experimentation days. But having no experience with Muggle alcohol, you made the yield a wee bit too high. The five of you were in a real bad way the next day, left with matching hangovers, the pain of which was only rivaled by the morning after a Full Moon. After that, you left the brewing to Remus.
The boys labeled that specific batch Lynx’s Venom. Just because it’s no good for parties doesn’t mean there isn’t fun to be had with it. And if a particularly repugnant snake or two ends up in Madam Pomfrey’s wing with a nasty, unknown stomach bug—well, there’s a reason your nickname is on that map alongside theirs.
James charms some of the armchairs and sofas into a giant pyramid against the wall, creating space in front of the fireplace. You knew they’d be after your modified Lumos, and so you spend a bit charming a dozen or so glass baubles to change colors. Next thing you know, you’re about to climb up a ladder Peter and Sirius are keeping steady because someone insists they need to be anchored to the high curtain rods so they don't drift away.
“If I so much as feel a quiver, you two will be in for it,” you warn as you begin to scale the steps. “And if I fall—”
“Yes, yes. You’ll cut off our stones and feed them to us.” Sirius cuts you off, and you wish you had stepped on his fingers on the way up. “You know I’d catch you, Tufts.”
You pause, snorting as you look over your shoulder, his grin only growing bigger as you laugh in his face. “Sirius, darling, I’d crush you.”
“Promise?”
You shake your head, rolling your eyes as you climb. When you make it to the top, what must be centuries of dust nearly makes you sneeze. You stifle it, scared the power behind it might’ve sent you flying. You hear James approach as you work, the three of them whispering about something. You’re prepared for him to shout up at you, attempting to frighten you or something.
What you aren’t prepared for is getting intimately familiar with a draft. Maybe it’s because of how high you are, but the breeze seemingly targets you. You don’t even notice at first, really, as focused as you are on your charm, until you look down at three stunned faces—one of them holding his wand suspiciously in your direction.
It’s then that you remember just how bare you really are and gasp. You’re in a precarious situation that leaves you with one less hand than you need. Gripping the ladder with your wand hand, you’re left having to choose to either preserve your dignity in the front or the back. In the end, you scurry down so fast you’d give a thunderbird a run for its money. Arse out, all the while.
When you finally get to the bottom, face the warmest it’s ever been, you punch James in the arm. And Sirius for good measure.
“Ow,” James yelps, glasses sliding down his nose, bringing attention to the blush he’s sporting. “S-sorry, sorry! My, uh—my hand slipped?” he claims, though it sounds too much like a question for you to believe that load of bollocks.
“Oh, ‘slipped’ my arse,” you scoff, and almost like you have them trained, three pairs of eyes lock onto your skirt. You press your thighs together, shifting on your feet. “Well? Out with it already.”
“Do you always walk around like that, Tufts? So… free?” Sirius laughs, his hands shooting up in surrender when you turn that glare on him. “Just curious!”
“No, dog breath,” you sneer, getting that cute crease between your brows that only a few manage to cause. “I lost a bet.”
They follow your gaze over to where Remus stands against a wall, sampling his brew. Sirius spots it then: pink jersey with a bit of lace peeking out of his back pocket. Remus meets his eyes and winks, raising his cup in a silent toast. Sirius has been the source of envy for many, and he’s starting to understand how they must’ve felt.
You storm off before they can get a word in, though Sirius knows you're more embarrassed than you are upset. You don’t handle getting pranked well, which makes it all the more appealing to pick on you. You make it so easy to pull your tail—in and out of your animagous forms.
“Do you hear that, Prongs? Prongs?” Sirius turns to find James staring after you with a goofy grin, which is just as likely to be from your punch as it is the phantom image of your bare skin. And poor Peter just stands frozen, nearly the reddest thing in the room.
After that, it’s all they can do to try and get another glimpse of heaven, finding ways to get you to bend over. But for however smart they think they are, you’re smarter. They ask you to crawl under a table to retrieve some crates? You delegate it to Peter, and he, suck up that he is, practically jumps to do it. One of the color-changing baubles needs to be adjusted? You tell them it'll be fine, it is your spell after all. You foil every scheme.
Finally finished transfiguring the barrels, Remus stands by as an unhelpful spectator. Watching their antics crash and burn is more amusing than any Quidditch match he’s been forced to attend. He expected as much to happen when he purposefully left a sliver of your knickers peeking out, but he thought it’d take them far longer to realize. The gag with the ladder played out before him like poetry in motion; couldn’t have staged it better himself.
He didn't think this level of desperation would rear its head prior to any drinking, but he’s chuffed nonetheless. Though he reckons he’d be in their shoes too if it wasn’t his lap you’d end up on at the end of the night.
As people begin to file in, James gets a look about him that seems far too close to defeat for Sirius’s liking.
“If we want any shot at this,” James mumbles, “we’ll have to turn to the master.”
Sprawled across the arms of a chair, he gives it a moment of thought. “No.”
James throws his arms up. “We’ve tried everything!”
Sirius wishes he had a good argument against asking Remus for help. But they’re playing right into his hand, and it’s his pride, plain and simple, staying his tongue. “He’s waiting for us to give in, the prick.”
“Oh, come off it, Pads,” James groans, rubbing his arm where you’d boxed him. “I’m bruised, I’m desperate, and the love of my life is currently wearing absolutely nothing under that skirt. I am swallowing my pride. Merlin, I'll swallow yours.” He nearly growls, and if Sirius didn't know better, he would be hard-pressed to say who between the two of them could turn into a dog.
Not entirely sure what that threat might entail, but entirely certain that James means it, Sirius stands. “Fine. But if he makes us beg, I’m telling Lily it was his idea to spike the pumpkin juice last term.”
The two of them saunter over, trying to look far more nonchalant than they actually are.
They find Remus leaning against the stone archway leading into the more secluded section of the party, where the music is more of a thumping beat than an overwhelming wall of sound. He’s watching you, of course. You’ve been cornered by Hestia Jones and Marlene McKinnon, a drink in your hand as you listen to whatever story they’re telling. Your head is thrown back in a laugh, and you look so alive, so bright, that you rival the enchanted lights above you.
James follows Remus’s gaze, and something ugly, something possessive, curls in his gut. He’s almost convinced Remus has put you under some kind of spell that makes everything you do five times more alluring than it would be normally. The way you shift your weight, how you bring the cup to your lips, the slight furrow of your brow as you listen intently—it all has Remus’s complete and undivided attention. He understands. He understands the burning need to have those eyes on him, that laughter in his ear, your body pressed against his. But Remus has the one thing they don't: he actually had the bullocks to ask. He's put a claim on you, and you on him, and the rest of them are left to circle like starving sharks for scraps.
When he does notice their approach, Remus doesn't even blink. He merely lifts his chin, his eyes dancing with a quiet, infuriating amusement.
“Moony,” James starts, clearing his throat and offering a tight, performative grin. “Congratulations are in order.”
Remus tilts his head, the picture of innocent confusion. “Oh?”
“Yes,” Sirius chimes in, crossing his arms and leaning against the table beside him. “A, uh, little birdie told us about your bet.”
Remus’s mouth twitches, a slow, wolfish smirk spreading across his face. He looks over the rim of his cup, completely unbothered. “Did she, now?”
“She did,” James says, stepping a bit closer and lowering his voice so it doesn't carry across the room. “Look, mate. We’re at our wits’ end here. She’s onto every single one of our plays. Peter nearly took his own head off trying to dive under the table for those crates, and she didn't even blink. You’ve got to throw us a bone.”
“I really don't think I do,” Remus replies smoothly, his voice dripping with enough smug satisfaction that Sirius is close to snarling. “In fact, watching you two run around like headless chickens has been the highlight of my evening. Or rather, the second highlight.”
He looks pointedly at Sirius.
At that, Sirius's mind flashes back to the library and the position they found you and Remus. It had taken far more restraint than he thought himself capable of not to look under the table and take a peek. The only thing that held him back was knowing that's exactly what Remus wanted. The memory of what a lovely picture you made, the view of you and how hard you tried to hide your pleasure has Sirius nearing James's level of desperation.
“We’ll pay you,” Sirius cuts in. “Name your price. Galleons, Honeydukes stock, doing your Prefect patrols for a month—anything. Just help us out here, yeah?”
Remus just lets out a soft, breathy laugh as if he didn't hold his best mates’ lives in his hands.
“This is getting us nowhere,” James admits, gesturing vaguely between himself and Sirius. “We need your expertise. Your particular brand of cunning.”
Sirius scoffs at the flattery. It’s a bit rich, coming from Prongs, but if that’s what it takes.
Remus’s other eyebrow joins the first. He takes another slow sip, letting the silence stretch. He’s drawing this out, savoring it. Wanker. “My expertise in what, precisely? Alchemy? Transfiguring the furniture?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “I believe you’ve already requisitioned my talents for the evening. And my girl’s.”
Sirius pushes off the table. “Come on, Moony. Think of it as a final exam. A practical application of all your…skills.”
“Skills that have proven far more effective than our own,” James adds, looking genuinely miserable. “She’s thwarted every attempt. She’s…she’s invincible.”
Remus lowers his cup, his gaze sliding from James to Sirius and then back again. He says nothing, merely tilting his head in silent inquiry. He is completely unmoved, only the slight twitch of his scarred cheek betrays that he is waiting for something.
Maybe Prongs was on to something with the flattery. Sirius tries his own hand at it.
“Now, we know who’s in charge of that skirt, so we’re asking you. We want—no, need your help. Unless, of course,” Sirius works a different angle. He leans in close, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “The missus is too clever, even for you.”
Catching on quick—and thank Merlin for that—James plays along. “Oh! That answers that, then. One more riddle solved.”
Remus, bless him, takes the bait. With a furrow between his brow, he asks, “…what?”
James shrugs, “I guess Lynx beats wolf.”
Remus blinks, staring at them, face as hard as a stone wall and twice as impenetrable. It feels like an eternity and a half before he snorts, long fingers coming up to muffle his laughter. Sirius’s tensed muscles release at the sound; he nearly unravels with it. And he can feel the sigh of relief James heaves as if it were his own. He’d been prepared to be jinxed to Alcatraz and back, followed by a night with his head buried in the porcelain after a dose of Lynx’s Venom, and it’s clear the other boy had done the same. It would have been worth it.
“You’re missing the fundamental flaw in your strategy, lads,” Remus says, leaning in slightly, his tone patronizingly gentle. “You’re treating it like a prank. She’s a Marauder; she expects a prank. You need to change the rules of the game entirely.”
James blinks, his mind visibly racing as the cogs turn. Not for the first time, Sirius wishes he were a Legilimens. A mischievous spark ignites in James's eyes, his posture instantly straightens as the defeat evaporates from his face. He turns to Sirius, then, a wicked grin breaking out across his features, before looking back at Remus with absolute resolve.
He slaps a hand onto each of their shoulders and shakes them with renewed energy.
“Fancy a wager, lads?” James asks.
Remus blinks at him, surely as caught off guard as Sirius is.
-
You’d never tell him this, his head massive enough as it is, but James was right. Despite the loss, the turnout is lethal.
The party is in full swing now, the common room packed to the gills with bodies bathed in the shifting light from your floating baubles and you’re able to cut loose knowing that Peter is on McGonagall watch, map laid out on a table near the portrait hole, hidden amongst parchment and other clutter.
You had been pulled away from Lily by a beaming Alice and whisked around the room with no chance to protest. She prattled on about Frank’s latest scheme to propose—a disaster waiting to happen if you’ve ever heard of one.
By the time you make your way back to her, Lily has had enough of sharing your attention. She laces your fingers together, twirling you like a top.
You dance with her, the two of you having had enough of Remus’s concoction to throw propriety to the wind. Your arms are looped around her shoulders while her hands settle on your hips, delicate fingers playing at your waist. Your free hand twirls strands of her hair, the other holding the glass you're sharing. You giggle to each other about nothing, and you take another sip, letting the pleasant, warm buzz spread through your veins as you lean against her, nodding supportively as she complains about Slughorn.
It's all well and good aside from one wee thing. The boys are up to something.
You aren’t sure what, and you'd normally ignore it to save yourself the headache of dealing with the outcome of their scheming. And yet, you can't enjoy the festivities around you because you're entirely certain it has something to do with you. You can feel it in your bones.
“They're out to get me, Lils, I know it.”
“Those prats?” She rolls her eyes, glancing over to their huddle, before coming back to you. She cackles at your pout. “Poor love. Better you than me.”
You scoff, pushing her shoulder as she laughs. “Some friend you are.”
“Ignore them, yeah?” She smiles, spinning you around. That's plenty easier said than done.
How else do you explain this: the two of you grinding on each other in a way that’d normally have James dazed and shamelessly gawking, and yet, he’s talking to Remus and Sirius, the three of them huddled together as they heatedly converse, whispering like they’re planning a heist. And you know, with a deep certainty that your fate is being sealed. You just don't know what form your demise will take.
You try to take her advice and enjoy yourself, blissful ignorance and all that; you truly do. But even as sloshed as you are, you’d be a fool not to recognize when the mischief bug has taken a bite out of them. And if they aren’t trying to rope you into it, it means it’s very likely aimed at you.
You’re not paranoid. They just have a long and storied history of making your life as difficult as it is entertaining.
James is walking over, a confidence about him that's a bit different from the usual swagger he dons when he’s about to ask you to dance. No, this is the confidence of a predator, one you only ever see aimed at whatever team is opposite Gryffindor on the field.
“Evening, ladies,” he says with a grin that shows far too many teeth. “Having fun?”
“Loads,” Lily replies dryly, her eyes narrowing. “What do you want, Potter?”
“Can’t a bloke come say hello to two of his favorite people?” He asks, all charm.
“No,” you and Lily say in unison.
He chuckles, completely unfazed. “Right. Well, in that case,” he holds out a hand to you, “I’ve got a proposition for you, Tufts.”
“Goody.” You let out a weary sigh, handing your glass to Lily. “This ought to be good.”
“Only if you’re brave enough for it,” he winks. You know that wink. It’s the one he uses before he tries to talk you into doing something truly idiotic. You’re far too old to be as intrigued as you are.
Against your better judgment, you allow him to lead you away, weaving through the throng of students. He brings you to the group of armchairs by the fire, now rearranged into a sort of circle. Sirius is already there, perched on the arm of one of the chairs with a smug look that's different than his regular smug look. This one promises trouble. Remus is slouched into another chair, swirling what’s left of his drink in a glass. He looks at you from under his lashes, and you can feel his stare like a physical thing.
“So,” you begin, planting your hands on your hips and trying your best to look intimidating. “What’s the big idea, hm?”
James beams, clapping his hands together. “Glad you asked. We’re having a little competition. A test of skill, nerve, and sheer, unadulterated talent.”
You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And what, exactly, are we competing at?”
“Oh, that all comes after, my darling,” Sirius says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Game first, then competition."
You frown, "The game being...?"
"Spin the bottle."
“Spin the bottle.” You blink. “What on Earth is that?”
“It's another one of those brilliant Muggle inventions. Like the motorbike or, uh,” Sirius pauses, waving his hand vaguely, "help me out here, Moons."
"The telly," Remus mumbles, hands now free, and he reaches for you. Long fingers settle on your hips, pulling you back to stand between his legs.
Sirius snaps and points to Remus, "Yes, that! It's rather simple, really: you gather a few people, get in a circle, and spin the bottle. Whoever it lands on—"
“They snog,” James cuts in, and maybe it's the firelight playing upon his glasses, but there's a glint in his eye that makes you narrow your own.
You can hardly believe your ears. A game so juvenile, you'd have a hard time convincing anyone outside this room it was Remus's idea. But, considering he's the only one with any real understanding of Muggle games—it had to have come from him.
At least, that's what Sirius tries to convince you of.
"Like I said, brilliant, isn't it?" He grins.
“Right,” you say slowly, looking between the three of them. Their faces are alight with mischief, all except Remus, whose expression is carefully blank. Though knowing him, it’s practically the same as the other two. “But what, exactly, is the point? Besides snogging?”
“The winner,” Sirius says, leaning forward and lowering his voice as if he’s imparting a great secret, “gets to ask a favor from the loser.”
You scoff. “And what’s the favor, then?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” James says, his grin widening. “It could be anything. Within reason, of course. I'll even throw something extra in to sweeten the pot. If you win, gorgeous, I’ll do your Potions homework for the rest of the term. No complaints, no shoddy work. Slughorn will think you’ve gone and inherited a potions mastery from some long-lost relative.”
A tempting offer, to be sure. Slughorn’s assignments have been a special kind of hell lately, and the thought of outsourcing them is a dream come true.
“But if I lose,” you say, your gaze flicking to Remus, who’s now watching you with an unreadable expression. “What then?”
“Then you owe the winner a favor,” Sirius says, leaning back on his elbows and smirking. “Anything they want. Within reason,” he adds, echoing James’s earlier words with a wink.
You cross your arms, considering it. It seems too easy, too straightforward for a Marauder scheme.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” James says, but the way he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet tells you otherwise. “Unless, of course, you’re scared.”
Your hackles rise at the challenge in his tone. “Scared? Of you lot? Please.”
“Then prove it,” Sirius goads, gesturing to the floor. “Pull up a bit of carpet. The bottle’s waiting.”
You twist your mouth to the side, lacing your fingers in Remus's hair. He hums, leaning into your hand before you wiggle his head a bit. "And you're certain you want to play, Rem?" It's a bit hard to believe that he's fine with the idea of you putting your lips on someone other than him. Not that you wouldn't be miffed watching him doing the same, but someone here has a possessive streak, and it isn't you.
He shrugs, "I'm game if you are. You are game, aren't you?" And there's that tone again, the one that practically yanks on your pride—which still smarts with every breeze along your thighs.
You let out a long, dramatic sigh, as if you’re being put upon greatly. You could just say no. You could tell them to bugger off and go back to dancing with Lily, but where's the fun in that? You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, especially when James Potter is the one issuing it. You're nothing if not a thrill seeker, and they all know it.
The common room is packed now, the firelight from the hearth and the floating baubles casting a warm, chaotic glow. The orbs drift lazily, their colors shifting from deep crimson to electric blue, pulsing in time with the raucous energy of the party. The sweet, potent scent of the Firewhisky blend hangs in the air, and the sounds of overlapping conversations and bursts of laughter create a deafening, joyous wall of sound.
James rounds up those willing to play into a loose circle on the floor, away from the worst of the foot traffic. You're sat next to him with Remus pressed against your other side, his arm a welcome weight along your shoulders. After the rules are explained, the game starts innocently enough. Frank Longbottom pecks Peter on the cheek, Marlene McKinnon gives a sloppy, five-second snog to a Hufflepuff Chaser, and the bottle keeps spinning.
And then it lands on you. Lily's smile is shy when you look at her on the other side of James, blushing a pink as sweet as the rest of her. You laugh at the whoops and lean over James to reach her, stretched over his lap.
"Alright, Evans?" You ask, teasing your fingers along her jaw.
"Alright, yourself," she murmurs, and then she's pressing her lips to yours.
Lily’s mouth is soft and warm, tastes like cinnamon, and the cherry syrup you two had been pouring over your drinks. You cup her jaw, deepening it with a swipe of your tongue to the seam of her lips. She gasps into your mouth, and the hollers are instant, piercing through the party's din. You pull away with a soft pop and a wink at her, making her blush deepen to a lovely crimson that almost matches the house colors around you, and you can feel James sitting stiffly beneath you. For once, he seems to be at a loss for words, ears nearly as red as Lily's hair.
"Alright, Potter?" You give him a playful shove as you settle back into your spot, a smirk playing on your lips. He nods stiltedly, pushing up his glasses.
"Wasn't prepared, is all."
Sirius barks with laughter, slapping a hand on Remus's knee. "Looks like you’ve got some competition, eh?"
You can feel the tension in Remus beside you, a subtle tightening of the muscle in his arm around your shoulders. He doesn't say anything, but you can hear the low rumble in his chest when he clears his throat.
It's James's turn, and it... also lands on you. Your brows raise, and you look at him. He seems stunned at first before shaking himself, a slow, cocky grin spreading across his face. You go to tell him to wipe that expression off, but you're cut off by two big hands cupping your face. You're forced to turn your head to look at him as he leans in close, breath smelling of Firewhisky and chocolate frog.
"Potter," you start, but it's too late. He kisses you. It's not soft or sweet like Lily's. It's a messy, confident kiss that's all tongues and teeth. He nips at your lower lip, a silent challenge, and for a moment, you're kissing him back with the same ferocity. A battle of wills and lips.
You pull away with a gasp, breathless and more than a little flustered. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to look annoyed but failing to hide the faint smile tugging at your lips.
"Show off," you grumble, but your heart is hammering against your ribs.
James just winks, a triumphant glint in his eye. "Just giving the people what they want, gorgeous."
It's your spin, and somehow it lands on Remus. You snort, "Lucky me."
You don't even wait for the goading from Sirius as you climb into your boyfriend's lap, straddling him as you sink down onto him. This is far more familiar, far more comfortable than any other position you've been in tonight. You cup the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It's slow and deep, a languid exploration of each other's mouths that feels both claiming and reassuring. His hands find your waist, holding you close, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. It's just you and him, a dance you know all too well. You pull away, your forehead resting against his, both of you a little short of breath.
"Alright, alright, break it up," Sirius says, though there's no real bite to it. He looks more smug than annoyed, and you have a sinking feeling that you're playing right into their hands.
You slide off Remus's lap, back to your spot, and watch as Remus spins. The bottle spins and spins, a blur of green glass in the firelight, and then it slows, wobbling before finally coming to a stop. It's pointing at Sirius. Remus blinks. For some reason, they both seem rather taken aback. You and James cheer them on. "Get on with it, you gits!"
The jealousy never comes; instead, you feel flustered watching them go at it as you lean into James, his laughter vibrating against your back. There’s an urgency to their kiss, a messy clash of teeth and tongues that's more about asserting dominance than anything else. They pull apart, a strange, charged energy passing between them.
"Was it good for you, Moony?" Sirius makes kissy faces at him, and Remus rolls his eyes, but he's blushing. When you make eye contact with Sirius, he winks at you, and you play off the warmth in your cheeks as a remnant of the whiskey. When Sirius spins it, it lands on...you. Again. You frown pithily, confused. You haven't had nearly enough to drink to not notice that.
"Hm. What are the odds, huh?" James mutters from your other side. He's always been a shit liar. You don't get much time to think about it because Sirius is curling his finger, beckoning you.
"Here, kitty, kitty," he purrs, the pet name a deliberate tease. You huff, crawling on your hands and knees, and you make a show of hesitating before pressing your lips to his. He’s not as messy as James, nor as gentle as Remus, nor as sweet as Lily. He’s all heat and tongue and a challenge in every movement. His teeth graze your lower lip, and you gasp, pulling away with a soft 'pop' before he can deepen it further. Your face feels hot, and the way he’s smirking makes you want to smack it. "Got something on your face, Tufts."
You know for a fact that you don't. You crawl back to your spot, glaring at him as he winks, but James is quick to distract you. He's practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes fixed on the bottle.
The game continues in this strange, almost absurd fashion. Every single time the bottle spins, it lands on one of the four of you. And never on Lily or Marlene or Frank or any of the others who have joined the circle. You find yourself kissing Remus, then James, then Sirius, then back to Remus again. It's a dizzying, confusing mess of lips and tongues and hands, and you're starting to feel like you're in the middle of a particularly bizarre dream. Nobody else seems to notice, too sloshed or busy with someone else's mouth to pay much attention. You’d think they would notice. But you all have a reputation.
After James spins and lands on Sirius for the third time, the pieces click into place.
You lean back into Remus's chest, watching James and Sirius snog with a sort of detached amusement. Remus's arm is a familiar weight around your waist, and you can feel the low rumble of his laughter against your back.
"They charmed it," you whisper, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. "They charmed the bottle."
Remus nods, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. "When you were distracted by Lily. Wondered when you'd figure it out." You squeal when his fingers tickle your side, vulnerable to his touch.
You can't help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally catching up with you. "You knew?" You ask, turning to look at him. He doesn't deny it, just presses a soft kiss to your temple.
"You think they came up with it themselves? Didn't factor in our spins landing on each other and not just you, though," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Remember: this is only part one." Your brows furrow in confusion, but you don't have a chance to ask what he means before it's your turn to spin again. You're starting to feel a bit like a human pinball, bounced from one boy to the next.
As more and more people tap out, leaving just a few of you in the circle, James claps his hands with a grin. He shares a glance with Sirius and then Remus before saying, "How about we up the ante, aye?" He gestures to the few players left. "We've got to make this more interesting. You and whoever it lands on spend a little time in the cupboard."
You're about to gawk at the idea, go on about how juvenile that is, even for him, when Remus leans down and whispers in your ear, "Need you to settle something for us, hen." When you whip around to make sure you heard what you thought you did, he mouths, game first, then competition. The beautiful, smug bastard.
You want to throttle him. But… You want to win even more. So, you stay. Not like it's a hardship, being passed between the three hottest blokes in Scotland.
"I'm game," Sirius says with a shrug. "Never been one to turn down an opportunity to snog a pretty girl in a dark, cramped space." You can't deny the flutter in your stomach.
"What about you, love?" James asks, turning to you with a hopeful expression. "Ready to take your chances?"
You don't say anything, instead, leaning forward and spinning the bottle. You're not a Marauder for nothing. They'd want you to try and fight fire with fire, and that's exactly what you plan to do. But you know better than they think you do. You're not going to try to counter their charm. You're going to use it to your advantage.
The bottle spins, a green blur against the floor, and you hold your breath. It slows, wobbles, and then it comes to a stop. It's pointing at James. Of course, it is. You let out a silent groan, your shoulders slumping in what you hope is a convincing display of disappointment.
"Looks like it's you and me, gorgeous," James says, his grin widening. He's practically buzzing with excitement, and you can't help but feel a thrill of anticipation despite yourself. He stands up, holding out a hand to help you to your feet. You take it, your fingers curling around his, and he pulls you up and into his arms. The crowd around you erupts into a chorus of whoops and catcalls, and you roll your eyes, but don’t bother hiding your smile.
"Alright, lovebirds, you've got five minutes," Sirius calls out, pointing towards the door to the dormitory stairs. "And try not to break anything, yeah? We're rather fond of your pretty faces."
James leads you towards the broom cupboard under the stairs, a small, dusty space filled with cleaning supplies and forgotten Quidditch equipment. He pushes the door open, and you step inside, the air thick with the smell of old wood and polish.
"Five minutes," he repeats, his voice a low rumble in the small space. He closes the door behind you, plunging you into darkness. "You know the rules?"
You can feel the heat of his body next to yours, the warmth of his breath on your cheek. You nod, your heart pounding in your chest.
"I'm not going to make this easy for you, Potter," you whisper, your voice husky.
"I'd be disappointed if you did," he murmurs, and then his lips are on yours.
This kiss is different from the one in the circle. It's slower, more deliberate, a thorough exploration of your mouth that you’d never think your James capable of. You want more. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, before cupping your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in his messy hair, pulling him closer.
He breaks the kiss, leaving you panting in the dark. "Jump," he commands, his voice rough with desire.
"So you can drop me on my arse? You'll lose your lead after that one."
You’ve only ever been picked up by Remus before, really thrown around if it’s nearing the full moon, and you saw how many cups James drank. Too many to be trusted.
“What?” he laughs, though there might be real offense there. “You don't think I can lift you?”
James doesn't give you the chance to answer, and you squeal as he picks you up while standing. You're left reeling with your back against the wall and your thighs thrown over his shoulders.
Your jaw drops, gaping at him as he grins, and your thighs instinctively try to close around his head, but it's nothing for him to keep them open. His calloused hands grip your thighs tight enough that the fat of them spills between his fingers.
“None of that, now,” he says, pressing wet kisses along the sensitive skin there. You shudder, your fingers tangling in his hair as he mouths at your clit through the thin cotton of your skirt. He looks up at you, a triumphant glint in his eyes, and you know you're in trouble. You would rib him for showing off like the stag he is if he didn’t leave you feeling like, well, like a lynx in heat.
"James," you gasp, your head falling back against the wall with a soft thud. "What are you—"
He doesn't let you finish. He pushes your skirt up, revealing your bare, glistening folds to his hungry gaze. He groans, the sound vibrating against your core, nosing at your thatch of hair.
“No knickers, I knew that, but, wow,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “Wanted to get a proper look. You’re a vision, love. Always knew you’d be.”
You're about to say…something, but then his tongue is on you, and all coherent thought flies out the window. He laps at you with a hungry intensity, swirling and probing, tasting every inch of your slick heat. His nose bumps against your clit, and you cry out, your hips bucking against his face. He holds you steady, his grip tightening on your thighs as he devours you, a man starved.
Your nails scrape against his scalp as you try to ground yourself against the overwhelming pleasure. He's relentless, his tongue delving deep inside you, fucking you with a pace that leaves you breathless and begging.
"James—Merlin, don't stop," you can feel the coil tightening in your stomach, the familiar heat building, building, until—
"Time's up, lovebirds!" Sirius's voice cuts through the fog, a cheerful, unwelcome interruption.
James pulls away with a groan, and you almost sob at the loss. He gently lowers you to the ground, your legs trembling, barely able to hold you up. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a small, apologetic smile on his face, glasses crooked on his face.
"Sorry, gorgeous," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "Rules are rules."
You take a moment to compose yourself, smoothing down your skirt and trying to catch your breath. Your cheeks are flushed, your lips swollen, and you know you must look a right mess. But as you step out of the cupboard, a wicked determination settles over you.
One down, two to go.
In the light, you can see just how fogged the round spectacles are, his own lips swollen and wet from more than just spit.
Sirius is leaning against the wall, a smug look on his face as he takes in yours and James’s disheveled states. He pushes off the wall, sauntering over to you with a confident swagger that makes your stomach flip.
"My turn," he says, his eyes dark, pupils blown out. He takes your hand, and you let him lead you back into the dark, cramped space.
"What, no bottle this time?"
"Think I've been patient enough." He wastes no time, pressing you against the door as soon as it's shut. His kiss is demanding, a clash of teeth and tongues that leaves you overwhelmed, trying to keep up. His hands are everywhere, mapping your curves, tracing the line of your jaw, the dip of your waist, before sliding down to your hips. He pulls you closer, grinding against you, and you can feel the hard length of him through his jeans.
He's different from James, more playful, more teasing. His fingers trail down your spine, leaving a path of fire in their wake, tracing the crease between your thigh and cunt. He pushes your skirt up, his fingers finding your slick folds, and you gasp, your head falling back against the door.
"Someone's already had a bit of fun, I see," he murmurs, a low, satisfied hum vibrating in his chest. His thumb circles your clit, and you arch against him, a moan tearing from your throat. "And she's so wet for me, too."
"Arrogant prick," you gasp, your hands tangling in his long locks.
"Think James did a good job, pet?" he whispers against your lips. You can't answer, a choked gasp escaping your throat as he slips a finger inside you. While Remus's fingers are long, the callused pads knowing just how to rub against that spot that makes your toes curl, Sirius's fingers are more elegant. Thinner, but nimble—as pretty as their owner. You can't help but compare the two while he's knuckle deep in you. You hiss at the chill of his rings, the temperature difference all the more apparent where you're wet and wanton.
“Wait,” he pulls his fingers out, pressing them to your lips before you can complain. “Open. Help me out here.”
He groans as you take his middle and pointer into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them as you suck his rings off. “How does he get anything done around you?”
You spit the rings into his waiting palm, leaving nothing but the taste of metal and the salty tang of your cunt behind. “I don’t make it easy for him.”
He’s quick to pick up where he left off. He adds another finger, scissoring them inside you, stretching you in a way that has you seeing stars. His thumb finds your clit, circling it with a pressure that has you arching against him, a desperate moan tearing from your lips.
"C'mon, Tufts. You gotta tell me, did James not satisfy you?" He murmurs, a smug satisfaction in his tone. "Or are you just greedy?"
You want to smack the smirk off his face, but your body betrays you, your hips rolling against his hand, seeking more. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin as he nips at your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
He takes his time, alternating between fast, relentless strokes and slow, teasing circles that leave you teetering on the edge. He's a master of this, a conductor of your pleasure, and you're just an instrument in his hands. He plays you with a skill that'd be more infuriating if you weren’t riding his fingers.
You can feel the coil tightening again, the familiar heat building in your core. You're so close, so close you can taste it. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You try to hold it off, you truly try, but you're still sensitive from James's ravishing.
And then, you're saved.
"Time's up, Pads!" James's voice rings out, a little too cheerful for your liking. "Your five minutes are up."
Sirius curses, glaring at the door before pulling away with a reluctant sigh. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light. He gently extracts his fingers, and you shiver at the loss of contact.
"Another time, Tufts," he whispers into your hair, stealing a quick peck. "We'll finish this properly."
He helps you straighten your skirt, his fingers lingering on your hips, before opening the door and leading you back out into the light.
You're a mess. Your face is flushed, your hair is a tangled mess, and your legs feel like jelly. You know you must look thoroughly debauched, and how satisfied James and Sirius look only confirms it. Remus, however, just watches you, his expression carefully neutral as he takes in your disheveled state. He stands up, holding out a hand to you, and you take it, your fingers trembling slightly.
"Duty calls," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. He leads back towards the cupboard, and you follow, your heart pounding in your chest.
He closes the door behind you, plunging you into darkness. The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady combination that makes your head spin. He doesn't say anything, just cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.
"You're a sight, dearest," he murmurs, his voice soft and affectionate. "D'ya have fun?"
"You're a right bastard, you know that?"
He hums, nodding obligingly as he leans in and kisses you. “I know, I know.”
"You aren't winning this, Lupin." You swear against his lips, and he pulls you into another. And another. This kiss is different from the others. It's slow and gentle, a tender exploration of your mouth that feels more like a homecoming than a competition. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, a silent request for entry, and you open for him, a soft sigh escaping your lips. He tastes of Firewhisky and something uniquely him, a comforting warmth that spreads through your veins. And you know you taste of cunt and Sirius’s fingers, a mix he seemingly can’t get enough of.
His hands are gentle, tracing the curve of your jaw, the line of your neck, before settling on your waist. He pulls you closer, and you can feel the hard length of him pressing against your stomach. You grind against him, a silent plea, and he groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates against your chest.
"Remus," you gasp, one hand in his hair, the other gripping his nape, pulling him closer. "Please."
"Patience, love," he murmurs, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. "We've got all the time in the world."
But you don't, and you both know it. The five minutes are ticking away, a constant reminder of the competition at hand. He seems to sense your urgency, his kisses becoming more demanding, more possessive. His hands roam over your body, reacquainting himself with every curve and dip. Almost like he’s covering James and Sirius’s touches with his own. He grips your hips, trailing under your thighs. It's instinct then to wrap them around his waist, and you gasp at the first press of him against you. Each grind of his hips is more insistent than the last, and you feel like you could explode from a gust of wind. You've never felt this sensitive, raring to go just from grinding.
As dark as it is, you don't see him take himself out of his trousers as much as you feel him, hot and thick against you.
"Ch–cheating," you gasp. He's cheating, even now.
"All's fair," he grits out between clenched teeth, "in love and war." He pins your hips to the door with his, holding you still as he lines himself up with your aching entrance. "And this," he pushes in with one deep thrust, "is a bit of both."
A strangled cry escapes your lips, your head falling back against the door with a soft thud. He's big, somehow bigger than you remember, and the stretch is exquisite. He holds himself still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, but you're having none of it. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. He starts to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that has your toes curling. He knows your body better than anyone, knows exactly how to drive you wild, and he uses that knowledge to devastating effect. You moan, chasing each thrust with one of your own, both of your desperate attempts at getting as much friction as you can get.
His angle is perfect, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes your legs shake and your breath hitch. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Think the boys are listening, hen? Wondering what's taking so long? Think they know that I'm the only one who can make you fall apart like this?"
You can't answer, your mind a blissed-out haze of pleasure. You can only hold on, your nails digging into his shoulders as he picks up the pace, each thrust harder, deeper than the last. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the small space, a lewd soundtrack to your downfall.
He slides a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs tight, insistent circles, and you cry out, your body arching against him as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. You're so close, so close you can taste it.
"Should thank 'em, for warming you up for me," he whispers against your skin. "Cum for me, love, let me feel you."
And you do. You shatter around him, your walls clenching tight as a wave of pleasure crashes over you, and it feels like you're drowning in it, wave after wave after wave. He follows you over the edge with a groan, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spills inside you, filling you up.
He holds you close for a moment, both of you panting in the aftermath, your bodies slick with sweat and sex. He presses a soft kiss to each corner of your mouth and then each of your eyelids.
"Time's up, Moony!" Sirius's voice cuts through the haze."You're holding up the game."
Remus sighs, pulling away with reluctance. He gently lowers you to the ground, your legs trembling, barely able to hold you up. He helps you straighten your skirt before tucking himself back into his trousers. When he opens the door, it feels like you’re entering a new world.
The boys are whispering to each other, their heated conversation cut short at the sight of you and Remus.
You're a wreck; you can feel it. Your flustered, your clothes are skewed no matter how much Remus adjusts them, and you can feel Remus's spunk leaking down your thighs. And you don't give a damn, not after a shag like that and not if it left James and Sirius staring like they are.
"So," James says, rocking back and forth on his heels, apparently able to ignore how hard he still is even if you can’t. He catches your eyes glancing at where he strains in his trousers, and you swear you see him twitch. "Looks like you win this round, Moony."
Remus smirks, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across his face. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. "I did, didn't I?" he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Guess that means I get to collect my winnings."
Sirius scoffs, shaking his head in mock disgust. "Figures. You always were a competitive bastard."
"Don't be a sore loser, Padfoot," James says, clapping him on the shoulder. "It was a good effort, yeah?"
It feels like you're floating, pleasantly sore as you absorb Remus's warmth, when it occurs to you. You scowl, looking between the three of them.
"I lost."
