#But they're too lazy to get up off their arse to grab it so they do all they can to reach it

[sporco-filth]

i don't know what it is but laziness is really hot. just, like not wanting to do anything. sleeping in, moaning about having to walk two steps, sitting all flopped on the couch because you're comfy

i don't even mean laziness that leads to weight gain or laziness to do with cleaning or not wanting to get up to pee. those are all hot, but like just literally being slothful turns me on in and of itself

It's part of why I hate being lazy in real life because if I lounge about I'm going to be getting all hot and flustered

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Feathers to Fly

Prompt: if you ever felt like continuing Feathers for the Pillows, I'd love to see the knights finding out about Merlin's wings, maybe he finally tells them... and then everyone helping him take care of his wings and exercise them (maybe flying?) I love this story so much and reread it constantly! - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none!

Pairings: merthur

Word Count: 2802

Be extremely careful what you promise the heirs of Camelot, Merlin has learned, for once you've given them your word, they will hunt you down to the ends of the earth to ensure you keep it.

That's how he feels at least when it's Arthur waking him up the next morning, insisting that they go and find out if Merlin can fly.

"Alright, alright, you great prat," Merlin grumbles as he drags himself upright, "I'm up. Now piss off."

"You never piss off in the mornings when I tell you, I don't see why I should piss off now."

"Maybe you'd have a bit more sympathy for me."

"Perhaps this will be the push you need to start showing me the proper respect in the morning."

Merlin snorts, flexing a wing and plucking a stray feather from the ground. "If I started showing you the 'proper respect,' you'd drag me to Gaius and insist something was wrong."

Arthur huffs and flicks Merlin's forehead but doesn't deny it. Smart. "Come on. Let's get some food in you."

"Why are you down here? You're the one that gets all the better food and I'm the one who has to go get it."

"Exactly. So get your lazy arse out of bed and fetch our breakfast."

Despite the arrogance and superiority oozing from his words, Arthur's hands are gentle and sure as he helps Merlin stand, motionless as Merlin re-orients himself on the floor and shakes his head a few times to clear it. His wings twitch, still not quite used to being seen so blatantly. Arthur notices—Arthur notices a lot of things, apparently—and rests a hand on his spine.

"Alright?"

"Yeah. Just give me a moment."

"Of course."

And just like that, there's no more teasing. No more roughness, no more brashness. Just Arthur, standing there, quiet as you please, letting Merlin get himself used to having someone here.

It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

"Okay," he says a few moments later, "clothes."

"Right."

Merlin stifles a noise at watching Arthur stare down the wardrobe like it's an oncoming army. "Tell you what, I'll get dressed and you can go get the food from the kitchens."

"Are you the prince now?"

"I'm the one who actually knows how to dress himself." He shoos Arthur out of the room and takes a deep breath.

Okay. Okay.

He's shown Arthur his wings. His wings that he knew about already. The wings that Arthur and Morgana and Gwen and Gaius all know about. His wings. The wings they want to see if he can fly with. The wings that he—

"Ah!"

"Merlin?" A few short footsteps later and Arthur's back, crouching down to hover around Merlin as he grabs for his shoulders.

"Sorry," Merlin gasps, "sorry, sorry."

"Don't apologize," Arthur scolds with far more concern than heat, "just let me help you. What's the matter? Do they hurt very much?"

"I molted not too long ago, they're still—" he stifles another noise— "they're still sore."

"Do you need to be carried?"

Merlin stares at him like he's grown two heads. "Who are you and what have you done with the world's biggest prat?"

Arthur cuffs him halfheartedly across the shoulder. "I'm serious, Merlin. Can you walk? Do we need to get Gaius in here so he can have a look at you? What's wrong?"

"Yeah, I'm serious too."

"What, don't think I'd care?"

"No!"

The instant the word leaves his lips, he wants to claw it back, especially when Arthur looks at him like he's just gutted a newborn pup right in front of him. He swallows, feeling the weight of Arthur's gaze and ducks away.

"…sorry."

"Oh, Merlin," Arthur's voice sighs, reaching out and carding his hand through his hair. "I don't blame you. I've not…I really messed things up, didn't I?"

"What?"

"By not telling you I knew. Or not acting on it in any meaningful way." The hand in his hair moves to tuck stray bits back from his face. "I…I didn't mean to."

Merlin takes a deep breath, slightly pushing into the touch. "I know."

"Come on," Arthur says in a much softer voice, reaching down to offer Merlin his hand, "hold on to me. I'll get you upstairs."

Standing up on its own is alright, and so is walking—once Merlin gets dressed properly, that is. Still, there is a certain kind of relief that fills him once they're out of the way of the castle halls and safely behind the doors to Arthur's chambers. Merlin lets out a long breath and his wings twitch, pulling slightly against the fabric of his tunic.

"You can let them out again if you want."

"I swear you just want to see me shirtless."

Arthur chuckles into his ear and Merlin startles. When did Arthur get that close?

"If that was all I wanted, you'd know it." And before Merlin can unpack that sentence anymore than he already is, Arthur turns to the table where the food has appeared. Has it been here the whole time? "I had another servant fetch it."

"Wait, when did you tell them to do that?"

Arthur gives him a strange look. "We passed Malwen not five minutes ago. You were standing right next to me. Did you not hear me?"

Merlin just gestures helplessly at his back. "The pain…"

Arthur sobers. "Right. Come here and sit, then, let's get food in your belly."

A strange thing, it is, to sit at the table he's served for so long and get to eat from it too. Arthur keeps eyeing his plate disapprovingly and putting more food on it.

"No wonder you're so skinny," he grumbles once when Merlin looks at him in shock after receiving two of his sausages, "just eat."

"I'm perfectly fine, actually."

"Oh, is that why I see you almost faint when you stand up too quickly on cold days?"

"Well…"

"Eat, Merlin," Arthur says, prodding him with the handle of his fork, "that's an order."

"Oh, it's an order, is it?"

But the smell of the food is intoxicating and Merlin can't exactly hide the way his mouth waters as he keeps eating. Arthur grumbles something that sounds like I told you so, but he can't quite hide the way he smiles when he thinks Merlin isn't looking.

Before they've even finished breakfast, there's a cursory knock on the door and in burst Morgana and Gwen, each looking more excited by the moment as they bustle into the room.

"So," Morgana says, throwing herself into the chair next to Merlin and ignoring Arthur's squawk of surprise, "are you excited to learn if you can fly?"

"Uh…"

"Let him eat, Morgana," Gwen says softly, even as she reaches out to ruffle Merlin's hair, "it's not every day you figure out if you can fly."

"Oh, no, please," Arthur says dryly as Morgana shrugs and helps herself to some of the food, "by all means, have what you want."

"Why, thank you. It seems your court manners are improving by the day."

"You poured your wine onto the last noble that visited, you can't talk."

"Only because he insinuated that I'd be of no use other than something to look at."

Gwen glances at Merlin and the two roll their eyes at the siblings as Merlin finishes his breakfast. No sooner has he pushed the plate away and drained the last of his goblet do all of them perk up eagerly. He scoffs. "You'd think I were coming to the kennels with a slice of meat."

"You're not a piece of meat, Merlin."

"You're a winged piece of meat. Hey!" Arthur swats at Morgana as she hits his arm. "Don't hit me!"

"Children," Gwen scolds, standing and helping Merlin clear away the dishes, "now, Merlin, is there somewhere you'd like to go?"

"Go?"

"To test your wings, of course."

"There's a large field about a league from here," Arthur says as he and Morgana stand up too, "it was supposed to be a farming field but the soil isn't quite ready yet. That should be big enough."

Another twinge in Merlin's back as the three of them begin planning. His wings shift about uncomfortably. Something coils and curdles in his stomach.

"Merlin?"

Arthur's voice comes from beside him again, his hand suddenly warm and solid on his back.

"Merlin," he asks gently, "are you alright? You don't look so good."

"I…" He swallows. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Morgana says, her attention turning to him as well, "is something wrong? Let us help."

"Why—why is this happening?"

"Why is what happening?"

"Why are you all being…so nice to me?" He fiddles with his hands as Arthur begins to rub soothing circles into his back. "This—this doesn't happen. You don't do this. Not—not like this."

"Do what, Merlin," Arthur says softly, "take care of you?"

"You're not taking care of me," Merlin spits, irritation sharpening his tongue, "you're talking about me like I'm some—some—some exotic beast brought in to be a spectacle. Like I'm some thing that you want to see perform."

"Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry," Gwen says, reahcing out for his hands. He takes hers and squeezes. "I didn't—I didn't mean for it to come off that way."

"No, neither did I." Morgana comes closer too. "I just wanted you to see that it wasn't bad. That you didn't feel like you had to hide it from us. That we accept you for what you are, you don't have to shave bits and pieces off so we'll tolerate you."

"You're my Merlin," Arthur agrees, an arm wrapping gently around his waist, "wings or no wings."

Merlin turns and buries his head in Arthur's shoulder, taking a shaky breath. His wings twitch and he winces, feathers hooking into the fabric of his tunic and pulling until it groans. Arthur makes a noise and reaches for the hem, carefully freeing it from the worst of the hangups and smoothing it down without touching the wings.

"You don't have to try flying if you don't want," he says, "but let's at least get you somewhere you can stretch, okay?"

"Okay."

"It's settled, then. Off we go."

Merlin stays close by Arthur's side as the women lead the way, chattering on about picnics and food and baskets. Arthur keeps a hand out for Merlin to take if he needs to, wary of how close others get so as not to accidentally brush against Merlin's back. They manage to get all the way down to the staircase outside the kitchens before they suddenly run into the knights.

"Sire," Leon says, taking in the four of them, "My Lady. Where are you rushing off to this morning?"

"A picnic," Morgana says, "the weather is simply perfect for it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin sees Lancelot staring at him. He looks over and nods once. Lancelot smiles and steps a tad closer.

"Would you be terribly opposed," he asks in a voice meant only for him, "if you were to travel with an escort?"

"A-all of you?"

"Only if you want."

Leon, through whatever magic he has to always be perfectly observant of everything that goes on, turns to look at him. "It would be terribly remiss of us to allow the heirs of Camelot to leave the safety of the city without proper protection. Not that they could not protect themselves, of course."

"Good save, mate," Elyan mutters as Morgana raises an eyebrow.

"U-um—" Merlin glances around— "sure."

"Excellent!" Gwaine claps his hands. "I've been craving a good sandwich."

"You literally had one last night."

"Yes, and I woke up craving it again."

By the time they actually set out from Camelot, it's a proper caravan. All the knights are mounted in their signature red cloaks, Gwen and Morgana ride in the center with Gwaine and Percival behind them, Lancelot and Elyan either side. Arthur is in front, as always, with Merlin by his side, Leon just behind. The soft and sweet smell of a forest after rain follows them as they trek underneath the trees to a wide open field.

"Shall we eat first?" Gwaine takes the reins from Morgana. "I'm starving."

"You're always starving."

"Nothing wrong with putting food in a grown man's belly."

Gwen rolls her eyes fondly and helps Merlin set up the picnic as the knights tend to the horses. Soon enough everyone's sat under the sprawling canopy of a large tree, talking about everything and nothing at all.

It's…nice.

But soon enough, Gwaine tosses aside an apple core and stretches, leaning back on his hands. "So, why'd you actually want to come out here?"

Merlin chokes on his water. "Well…"

He looks up to see expectant eyes on him.

"…so I could stretch."

"Stretch?" Percival tilts his head. "Stretch what?"

"My—my wings."

Silence.

Then Gwaine smacks Percival's shoulder. "I knew it! Pay up!"

"Wait, wait, you—you what?"

Percival grumbles as he hands over two coins. "I thought it'd just be the magic, okay?"

"Magic that leaves feathers lying everywhere?"

"Merlin," Lancelot says softly when poor Merlin looks terrified that all of these people somehow figured out that he has wings, what is he going to do? "Merlin, it's alright. We only had hunches, nothing firm."

"Your secret is safe with us," Leon agrees, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder, "I swear it."

Gwaine snorts. "Yeah, don't think anyone's going to be a big enough idiot to try and mess with you."

Merlin can't help but scoff at that, only to see deadly serious looks on each and every face. Suddenly a few sudden ends to visits from nearby nobles make a little more sense. "You…don't care?"

"What, that you've got wings? No, not particularly."

"Nah."

"You're you, Merlin, weird comes with it."

"You are still the same man I've grown to trust."

Leon simply shakes his head.

"…oh."

"Go on, then," Morgana encourages, "stretch if you need to."

Merlin takes a deep breath and the air thrums with energy. Slowly, carefully he reaches back and pulls the outer tunic over his head and his wings unfurl, soft motes of golden light emerging too as the air ripples around them. A few stray feathers drift down to the ground.

"Blimey," Gwaine mumbles, "that's brilliant."

"They're stunning," Elyan agrees, "really stunning, Merlin."

Percival silently hands another coin to Gwaine.

"Magnificent," Lancelot says.

"There you are," Leon hums, smiling as Merlin grins sheepishly at him, "I was wondering where you'd sent your magic off to."

"Wait, can you fly?"

"Gwaine!"

"What? The man has wings, I'm not allowed to ask if he can fly?"

"I don't know if I can fly," Merlin says before they can devolve into another argument, "I've—I've never tried."

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

What, indeed.

Filled with a burst of energy, Merlin stands and walks a few paces away from the blanket. Muffled whispers and shushing sounds come from behind him as he's sure everyone jockeys for a better view. It's surprisingly endearing.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Magic swirls around him, the tips of his fingers beginning to tingle. He opens his hands slowly, letting it pool in the center of his palms and swirl out again, back up his arms, to his shoulders, down into the wings. They twitch and turn, flaring out in the warm sun.

He flaps them once, twice.

The magic thrums and he opens his eyes, looking up at the sky.

When he was little, a bird fell from the sky and taught him what it was like to look up.

Now, standing in a field with his wings bared for all to see, he takes a step and launches himself upward.

Gwaine hollers as his wings beat against the wind, carrying him higher, higher, higher into the bright blue sky. He stretches out his arms to feel the air rushing against them, wings brushing the top of his skin as he swirls and dives, his magic telling him when he needs to pull up, when to tuck and roll, when to spread his wings and just feel.

He can tell he's smiling by the ache in his cheeks but he can't bring himself to care.

Every little child has dreams of flying at least once. This is so much better than anything he could've imagined.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

a drabble of any ineffable husbands fluff if you're up to it (if you need more to go on it can be in Aziraphale's bookshop)

I've been drawing stuff with them in their cottage in the South Downs, so I'm gonna go with that.

On with the fic!

--

Crowley liked the little slice of the world they now lived in, and that included the little town nearby, where he'd go about causing minor problems for old time's sake, and getting the shopping down. He had left Aziraphale alone for a few hours, which was perfectly fine, the two of them loved being around one another but also liked their space.

The demon came to a stop in front of their cottage, parking the Bentley. He stepped out with the shopping bags, looking over his car real quick. She was in need of a wash, the country roads kicked up a lot of dust.

Yes, Crowley could just miracle it away, like he did in the city, but he enjoyed cleaning, especially when it wasn't him stress cleaning. He made a note to come out later in the day to get the Bentley cleaned up, but after he spent some time with his husband.

He stopped in front of the door, about to put his key in the lock, when he tasted something in the air. It was sweet, strong, and warm.

Ah, Aziraphale was baking.

Crowley really hoped that he was using the actual packets of yeast he had in the kitchen and not... whatever grew on some of his books. Again.

Open the door, Crowley could smell and taste the aromas of baked goods, and felt how warm the cottage was. "Angel?" He called out as he walked towards the kitchen, finding the place a bit of a mess with bowls and dishes, utensils and baking items scattered all over their counters and island. "Got a wild hair up your arse and decided to break out the flour, angel?" He commented as he set the bags on the island.

"Oh!" Aziraphale looked away from where he had been bent over, staring into the little window of the oven. "Ah, yes, sorry! I had nearly forgotten I promised the ladies at the local book club that I'd bake for the farmer's market tomorrow. They're doing a charity thing and wanted me to contribute with some of my tasty cakes and such!"

Crowley glanced about after pushing his glasses up to rest on his head. "Yeah, I can see that. I think you made enough for everyone in all the towns and villages around here."

"Oh, hush." Aziraphale huffed and opened the oven, pulling out a pan that contained what looked to be muffins. Crowley could taste bananas in the air, ah, banana nut. He might snatch one of those up.

"Made anything for us to enjoy for tea?" Crowley asked as he put things away with a wave of his hand, too lazy to bother with the task himself.

The angel perked up. "Yes! I made a delightful loaf of honeyed bread for us to try with those delightful jams you experimented with the other day! I'm really looking forward to the pear one."

Crowley made a face. "You can have that whole mess, I'll stick to the strawberry and raspberry ones. But still, sounds good, want me to get things ready while you deal with your mess?"

Aziraphale nodded and the two got about to work, the sound of music from another room, sounded like one of Aziraphale's records, was playing. Crowley glanced over at his husband, who was moving about, grabbing used dishes to put in the sink to be washed after lunch, with a smile on his face.

Sometimes it caught him off-guard to find himself in this situation, where he didn't fear Heaven and Hell finding them together, where they were living together in retirement. And married, to boot.

"What's got you smiling like that, dear?" Aziraphale asked, catching Crowley's attention.

"Ah? Well, just... thinkin', 's all." He turned back to starting the electric kettle.

The angel moved closer, pressing close. "Thinking about what?"

"Don't make me say it, angel..." He groaned. "I've got a reputation."

"I'm sure you do." Aziraphale said, the bastard.

Crowley huffed. "I was just thinkin' about how lucky I am that I can do stuff like this with you, it's... it's nice."

This put a huge smile on the other man's face. "It is, isn't it? Now, get the kettle started, dear boy, so we can have some nibbles!" He then kissed Crowley on the cheek and went back to the sink.

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hi, I love your work! Can you do a fic where everyone thinks James and Sirius are dating? They aren't, but they've got massive crushes on each other. Of course, they get together by the end. Please make it fluffy! Bonus points if the teachers think they're together, too!

Remus saw James and Sirius cuddling on the common room couch and rolled his eyes. Could it even be called cuddling if James was just laying on top of Sirius? That seemed to be crossing a line. It was one thing to do it in their beds-- aka worse-- but at least then the only other people that could see it were Remus and Peter which was better the entirety of the Gryffindor House. "Oh my god, get a room." 

"We have a room," James mumbled, not opening his eyes. 

"A private room," he corrected. "One where a whole bunch of impressionable children can't see you groping on the sofa." 

"We're not groping," Sirius denied, a tell-tale blush dusting his cheeks. Remus didn't even want to think about how much he blushed when they were actually fooling around instead of laying down being (arguably) innocent. 

"Yeah, if we were, we would actually have our own room." James paused, then added, "You know what, that's a good point, let's go up to the dorm. Your bed's more comfortable than this anyways." He wiggled around, putting his hand on the cushion and pushing himself up. He did a weird half-roll to get off the sofa without poking Sirius somewhere squishy and landed in a heap on the ground. It sounded painful, but he bounced up right after, so maybe it hadn't been that bad after all. 

"My bed? What about yours?" 

"Yours is comfier." 

"It is not," Sirius said, frowning as he followed James to the stairs up. 

"Great," Peter muttered as they disappeared, still bickering about who had the better bed, "now we have to wait until they're done shagging to go up there. What if I need something?" 

"Maybe you'll actually finish that essay for Flitwick." 

"I wouldn't count on it." 

Sirius wished he could turn his head just a little and press his lips to James's. It would be so easy. Barely a second, and... Sirius sighed, turning his face into the pillow. A stupid dream that's what it was. If something was going to happen between him and James, it would have happened by now. All the teasing in the world from Remus and Peter wasn't going to change that. 

*

McGonagall was too good to roll her eyes at them, but she was pretty sure they could sense it all the same-- they had that talent, but it's a pity that they didn't act on it and save her a bit of a headache. She understood; they're teenagers, they're in love, they'd rather be snogging than sit through her class on spells they already knew how to cast. 

It was still annoying. "Potter, Black," she snapped. 

They straightened, looking towards her with expressions affecting innocence automatically. "Yes Professor?" James asked. He'd always been better about talking them out of scrapes, in large part because none of the other professors were willing to let go of their bias to the Black Family. 

"Do your classwork, and then you can flirt to your heart's content. You don't want to fail your final year of Transfiguration because you were too lazy to pick up your wand." 

"Yes Professor," they both said. 

A minute later, the finished product sat on their desks and they were back to what they'd been doing before: looking at each other like the world began and ended with them. 

Internally, she gave a sigh. She had no idea how Euphemia could handle it, especially with them living under the same roof. For now, she was just going to be thankful that it wasn't her problem, and that in a few months, she would have zero responsibility for them. 

*

James knew that it was the exact opposite of Gryffindor courage to do what he'd been doing. But he'd thought about it, and it was nice to have everyone think he and Sirius were dating. Even nicer was the fact that Sirius didn't seem to mind. He didn't trick himself into thinking that that meant Sirius felt the same, but it was fun to pretend that when Sirius only rolled his eyes at Moony and Wormtail's exclamations of disgust of how schmoopsy they were, it was because Sirius thought they were overreacting instead of the truth that they weren't together at all so there was no snogging or shagging for their mates to be worried about. 

He didn't have anyone to talk to about it since his friends were Sirius, Remus, and Peter. Remus and Peter already thought they were together, and he definitely couldn't ask Sirius himself if he thought James had a chance with him. Well alright, he could but that would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it. 

"We should do something stupid," Sirius declared, just him and James in the dormitory. They were sitting on the floor, newly finished homework in haphazard piles off to the side. 

When all the Marauders were around, it would be stupid; when it was just him and Sirius, it was going to be positively awful. "I'm in." 

"Great!" 

"Anything in mind?" James asked. 

"Gimme a minute." They sat in silence for a while, and James organised the piles so that they'd know whose homework was whose and they wouldn't have to mess with it later. 

All the warning James got when Sirius made up his mind was a quick glance, and then Sirius was on top of him, hands at his face and leaning in as he kissed him. "I- huh?" 

Sirius licked his lips as he leaned back slightly. That didn't change the fact that he was straddling James, and when did he put his hands on Sirius's hips? "We said we'd do something stupid. Right?" 

There was nothing more stupid than snogging his best mate that he was secretly in love with. It was probably too stupid even for him, but when would he ever get a chance like this again? Sirius wanted to try it, and he had that little glimmer in his eye that James could never resist. "Right." He tilted his head up a little so they'd be better aligned, and then they were kissing again. 

They didn't get very much time alone before the door opened and Peter exclaimed, "Oh gods, my eyes!" because he was an over dramatic bastard. 

"Get out!" Sirius yelled, grabbing the nearest textbook and throwing it at him. 

Peter made a little 'eep' and ducked out of the way even though it wasn't necessary and the book hit the wall next to where he'd been standing with a loud thump. "Fine, I'm going! But FYI, other people have to live in this room too, you know." 

The door closed again, and Sirius glared at it with more vitriol than James thought was strictly necessary. "You okay?" 

"Fine," he muttered. 

"Yeah, you seem fine." 

Sirius huffed, his anger turning to annoyance easily and making like he was going to climb off of James which was just unacceptable. James tightened his grip on Sirius's waist and frowned. 

"Where are you going?" 

"Well I was trying to put my homework away," he said, raising an eyebrow. 

"Does that- I mean, are we... done?" 

"Yeah mate," Sirius said, giving his chest a condescending pat. 

James let go of him and let him get to his feet to busy himself in putting his rolls of parchment in his bag for safekeeping. His immediate reaction was hurt, but Sirius was acting too blase about it. If this was them fooling around because they wanted to do something stupid, he would've laughed, given James another kiss or made a joke, and then climbed off him to go back to normal world. Acting like this meant... something. He didn't know what, but Sirius wasn't as cool with this as he was pretending. 

He leaned back so he was laying on the floor. He couldn't see Sirius anymore, but he heard him moving around. "Why did you suggest that?" 

"Why did you say yes?" Sirius shot back. 

Same answer. That was what people meant when they asked like that, right? "People always think we're together," he said. 

"I noticed." 

"You think they're onto something? Kissing you wasn't exactly gross." 

"'Not exactly gross'. Glowing review there, James." 

"You know what I mean. It was," he said, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Sirius, "it was good. And I like you better than everyone else anyways. We should try, shouldn't we?" 

Sirius was quiet for a moment, then he blew out a breath and sat down next to him. "And when it doesn't work?" 

"If I can't make it work with you, I can't make it work with anyone." Then what he said sunk in, and James elbowed him. "Why wouldn't it work? I'm a bloody catch, and your best mate, you should like me." 

"Course I like you." 

"I meant fancy." 

"I do that too." 

"Yeah?" 

Sirius started to blush, and in general he looked ridiculously embarrassed, but he still said, "Yeah." 

"Well that's, er, good, yeah? Cause me too." Oh gods James was such a moron. Every time he imagined confessing to Sirius, he was a lot smoother than this. 

"Yeah," Sirius said again. "Good." He leaned a little into James, and James leaned a little into him. They shouldn't be this shy considering they'd been snogging a minute ago, but it was better than what James had imagined they could have when he rolled out of bed this morning. 

James couldn't help but chuckle, running a hand through his hair. 

"What?" 

"It's nothing," he said, laughing a little more. 

"C'mon, what is it," Sirius said, turning his head to look at him. 

"It's just so stupid that we're acting like we don't know how to talk to each other." 

Sirius snorted, then started laughing too. They both relaxed as the mood lightened, and Sirius mumbled, "Sorry I was being an arse about it. Got nervous, y'know?" 

"Believe me, I know. Are we gonna have to apologise to Pete?" 

"Fuck no." 

"Are we gonna tell anyone that we haven't been together before now?" 

"Also no," Sirius said with an infectious grin.