They said it. Made a bloody pact, in fact. Over shitty firewhisky and half-sincere laughter.

“No more girls,” Sirius muttered again, like saying it enough times might make it true. “Just us.”

“Yeah,” Remus echoed. Voice low, eyes not quite meeting his. “Just us.”

But now there’s the bed. Her bed. Sheets tangled, music humming low from the wireless like it can’t decide whether to intrude or stay quiet. The window’s cracked open, air drifting in—humid and heavy, carrying the echo of traffic and heat and something almost metallic. The kind of night that makes everything feel possible, and wrong, and too close to the edge.

Sirius doesn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was him—always too tactile, too thoughtless—his arm brushing against hers, fingers grazing bare skin under her sleeve. Or Remus, whose gaze lingers too long these days. Dark, stormy eyes that flick between them like he’s weighing consequences in one hand and desire in the other, and finding the latter heavier every damn time.

She doesn’t move away when Sirius leans in. Doesn’t flinch when his breath ghosts the curve of her neck, warm and reckless. Remus’s fingers slip into hers like they’ve done it a hundred times before—like this is normal. Like this isn’t the exact thing they swore not to do.

No more girls, Sirius tells himself. Again. Again. Again. Like it’s some sacred mantra carved into the walls of his skull. No. More. Girls.

But Christ, her skin. He hadn’t touched her before—not like this. And now it’s all soft, maddeningly so, like she’s made of something delicate and secret and Sirius is already too far gone.

His hand cups her breast before he can stop himself. Soft. Warm. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, like his own body’s betraying him. He doesn’t want to stop. Fuck, he can’t.

Remus is already gone. Lost in it. Or maybe he was never strong enough to fight it in the first place. She murmurs his name—Remus—and his eyes flutter closed like a prayer’s just been whispered. His lips find her shoulder, soft and trembling.

He glances at Sirius for a second. Just one. But in that look, the whole damn promise they made crumbles into dust.

And anyway, it’s not cheating. Not if it’s with Sirius. That’s the logic. Twisted. Circular. But it works. For now.

Remus’s hand disappears under her skirt. Long fingers, rough from too many years of restraint, find the edge of her knickers, tug them aside. She gasps against him. Kisses him back like she’s trying to keep up but never quite can. Her voice breaks into soft whimpers, and Remus doesn’t know how the hell he ever lived without hearing her say his name like that.

Sirius groans, low and aching, as he shifts, his hips pressing into the mattress. His jeans are too tight now. Painfully so. But he doesn’t move away.

He presses his mouth to her neck. Breath hot. Voice even hotter. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, and means every word of it.

Outside, the night keeps spinning. Inside, promises shatter like glass under bare feet.

And none of them say stop.