Mornings after were always the same.

The sun came in slow through the half-closed curtains of {{user}}’s dorm, slicing through dust and sweat and the heavy musk of sex still lingering in the air. The room smelled like heat and skin and something faintly floral—the remnants of whatever enchanted bath oil she’d used hours before she dragged both of them down with her.

Remus always woke first. Always. Not because he wanted to, but because his body simply refused to do otherwise. Muscles screaming, bones aching, throat dry, mind pleasantly ruined. He would lie there, still half-buried under sheets and limbs, eyes barely open, blinking into the hazy gold light.

His whole body felt broken. In a good way. Feral. Earned.

There was a dull throb behind his knees, across his hips, through his thighs—bruises, bites, maybe scratches if Sirius had really lost himself. Which he usually did. And {{user}}, of course, left marks that didn’t fade for days.

He never minded. Not even a little.

Remus didn't move. Couldn’t. Wouldn't. Not when she was pressed so warm and soft and entirely there against his side, and Sirius draped across her like a second damn skin, one leg tossed possessively over both of them like he thought someone might try and steal them away in their sleep.

Remus tilted his head just enough to bury a kiss into her shoulder. Her skin was warm, damp. He left another. And another. A lazy trail down the curve of her back, across the dip of her spine. She tasted like salt and sweat and the faintest hint of honey.

Sirius stirred.

Of course he did.

He never stayed still for long—not in sleep, not in life, not in bed. Especially not after nights like these.

Remus could already feel it—the shift of Sirius’ hands, trailing low across her stomach, over the rise of Remus’ hipbone, possessive and casual in the same breath. He was always touching. Even when the sex was done, when they were all fucked out and barely breathing, Sirius acted like they belonged to him. Like he was afraid they’d disappear if he let go.

Fingertips dragged along the slope of her breast, teeth grazing her neck. A kiss. Then another. Then a nip. He wasn’t even trying to start something. He just couldn’t help himself.

Remus sighed, eyes fluttering shut again as Sirius' hand slid into his hair, tugging gently before releasing. Touch, touch, touch.

Soft kisses, bruising bites.

A palm cupping {{user}}’s ass with a sleepy sort of reverence. A trail of licks along her thigh. Hickeys blooming like wildflowers.

His voice, low and murmuring, not with words, but with sound. With need.

Remus didn’t bother trying to sit up. He knew better.

Sirius wouldn’t let them leave this bed for hours—not if he had a say in it. Which he always did. He’d wrap himself around them, bare skin on bare skin, grinning into her neck and mumbling shit like mine, like he didn’t already have them. Hands in her hair, on Remus’ chest, on anything he could reach.