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Summary
James hadn't told him that his physical trainer was a fucking Greek god. He hadn't explained to him that his pitch-black hair was so long that it had to be pulled up into a messy bun and, still, some naughty curls would escape and frame his jawline to make it look even sharper. He had also avoided telling him about his grey, stormy eyes that held a peculiar brownish sparkle and made you debate between avoiding his gaze because it was too intense or getting lost in it until the pass of time became just a banal concept. He hadn't mentioned those shaped, strong muscles that could possibly lift Remus up and also bend him in half.
Yeah, probably James hasn’t realised any of that and Remus should not be blaming him, but who can he blame then, for gawking like an idiot in front of the smiling man, who can’t even imagine every dirty thought that is crossing Remus' mind?
Or
Remus is in desperate need of a personal trainer to help him at the gym. Sirius is just what he asked for, maybe even better.