Now it's Sirius and Remus competing to seduce James Potter.
It started subtly. Or at least, it tried to.
Remus began it, if anyone was keeping score (and Sirius definitely was). It was the way he leaned a little too close to James when they were studying old defensive texts. The soft, deliberate brush of thigh to thigh. The way he’d murmur “You’d be good at that—controlling someone, pinning them down” without looking up from the page. And when James asked why his voice sounded like sin, Remus just smiled and flipped the page.
Sirius noticed, of course. He noticed everything where James was concerned. So he responded in kind — louder, filthier, bolder. He draped himself across James’s lap during movie nights, shirt riding up, hips shifting lazily. He whispered in his ear during meals, licking honey off his own thumb and saying, “Bet you’d taste sweeter, Prongs.” If Remus was trying to seduce James with restraint and breathless tension, Sirius was doing it like a performance art piece.
The tension got unbearable by midsummer.
Remus cornered James first, voice low and purposeful. “You ever think about what it’d be like to have me? Not like Sirius—I’d let you wreck me. I want you to ruin me. That’s different.” Then he kissed James like he meant it — like it wasn’t a tease, like it was invitation.
Later that night, Sirius dragged James onto the roof, joints and stars and wind in his hair. “You’re always in control, Prongs,” he said, straddling James’s hips like it was a throne. “Don’t you want to know what it feels like to be undone? By someone who knows how to make it good?” He bit James’s lip and smiled when he whimpered.
James went silent for two days.
Then, with no warning at all, he slammed open Remus’s bedroom door and said, “Get naked and get on your hands and knees.”
Remus blinked, stunned, then obeyed—flushed and breathless, already trembling with anticipation. James stripped methodically, climbing in behind him like he’d been waiting for this for years.
But then the door creaked again. Sirius stood in it, half-smirk and half-growl, shirt off, eyes dark.
James didn’t look away. He just crooked a finger. “You. Behind me.”
Sirius stopped breathing. “You want me to—”
James reached between Remus’s thighs and made him moan, slow and filthy. Then he looked back over his shoulder and said, “You wanted to top me. He wanted me to top him. I want both. Make it happen.”
And Sirius did. With hands shaking and mouth filthy and reverent, he pressed in behind James, who was already buried deep in Remus—who was begging, panting, thrilled to be taken and watched.
Three bodies, tangled, gasping, demanding.
And no one ever tried to one-up the other again—because in the end, they all got exactly what they wanted.
