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Sirius, sat at the kitchen table with parchment strewn all over the table under the guise of putting together notes of his latest case, looked at the mixing bowl that his husband had just placed on the counter. His eyes flickered to his husband who was currently looking the perfect picture of calm, but Sirius, who knew him better than himself, knew it was an act.
Remus, who this morning, hair mussed and catching his breath as he flopped on the bed beside Sirius, the sweat still cooling off their heated bodies, had promised Sirius that he would bake Sirius a cake since it was Sirius’s birthday the next day, was frowning at a recipe book magically suspended in the air and Sirius was fighting the urge to say something.
Despite Sirius’s protests that he did not need a cake, Remus was adamant. After a fire call to Hope Lupin who explained the ingredients patiently to her son, Remus was steadfast in his decision to bake a cake without the aid of magic, just like his mother had told him to.
Sirius loved the Lupins. Really, he did. He had spent many an evening with Lyall over a firewhiskey, and Hope was the only person other than Euphemia Potter who he would ever call ‘Mum’. He adored them and would do absolutely anything for them. However, in Sirius’s opinion, the Lupins’ best quality was also their worst. They thought that Remus could do no wrong and, while Sirius normally thought it quite adorable with the way they hung onto every word that Sirius told them about Remus’s latest success, because far be it for his modest husband to ever sing his own praises, the two simply refused to accept the fact that their beloved son was an absolute disaster in the kitchen.
It had started with Potions in Hogwarts and Sirius had spent many a lesson in the dungeons quietly whispering instructions to Remus who had once held the record for the most number of blown up cauldrons in a single term. The Lupins, who were unable to ever come to terms with their son ever finding anything difficult, had given Remus enough confidence that he could do better that Remus had continued Potions right into their seventh year.
After graduating, Sirius had hoped that Remus’s days of being unable to follow a simple step-by-step procedure, a description of Potions classes that he had wisely never said out loud to his then boyfriend, would be over, however they had continued the praise well into Remus’s adulthood.
Remus, fed up with not being able to cook anything more complex than eggs, and bouldered by the confidence his parents patiently bestowed upon him, had recently experimenting with baking in the kitchen and delivered many of his goods to his parents. No amount of rock-hard scones, too-sweet gingerbread or bread that was far too dense ever deterred his parents. Sirius was of the longstanding belief that both Lyall and Hope had stomachs that were walled with iron.
Sirius was not so forgiving. The two of them had a system. Sirius did all the cooking, and Remus did all the cleanup. It worked well for them. The two would be well fed, Sirius would not go to bed hungry, Remus would not threaten to lock Sirius in a cupboard with a boggart when Sirius stacked the dishwasher the wrong way, and the two did not have to go through the painful and messy process of divorce.
And so, he was now watching his husband whisper a timer spell, oblivious to the fact that he had just dumped two cups of salt into the mixture instead of sugar. Sirius looked at the bowl and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Remus held up a finger.
“No,” Remus said, glaring at Sirius. “No, absolutely not, no,” he said.
“I was just going to...” started Sirius, but Remus continued as if Sirius had not spoken.
“No,” said Remus.
Sirius took a breath. “Moony, I...” he tried again, but Remus cut him off. “No,” Remus said again. “I only let you in this kitchen because you said you would not say a word.”
Grey met brown as the two stared at each other.
Sirius held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I won’t say anything. I’ll just sit here and look at my notes while you bake the cake. Happy?” he asked.
“Thrilled,” came Remus’s dry response.
Sirius grinned a little, ducking his head down and pretending to reach the parchment in front of him. Even in his most stressed moments, his sardonic husband never failed to make him laugh with his dry sarcasm.
The next few minutes passed in comfortable silence as Sirius zoned out the sounds of his husband lightly singing along to the wireless, spoons clattering into bowls and the low hum of the oven as it was opened and closed as Remus pottered around the kitchen.
Although he had only brought his work into the kitchen with him to pretend he had something to do while silently supervising his husband, Sirius soon found himself lost in the case. It had been a grim one, and Sirius had lain awake many nights in the last few weeks, trying to determine how a muggle aeroplane had seemingly vanished into thin air. Both Sirius and James agreed that there must have been magic involved, but the only question remained was how.
So lost was he in his notes that he was startled out of his thoughts when a loud bang came from the oven. He looked up and saw his frazzled husband open the oven and valiantly attempt to waft away the black smoke that was billowing out of the oven.
He stood up and Remus, who was still trying to keep Sirius away from the benchtop, looked over his shoulder, and said, “No, stay there, it’s fine, I...” his voice trailed off as his apron caught on the oven handle and the edge of it got caught in the smoke. Somehow, and Sirius was not sure how, the apron itself started smoking and Sirius quickly strode over and said an aguamenti spell and directed the water at the apron.
Sirius looked at his husband, hair in complete disarray, eyes dejected, hunched over, his ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron still smoking slightly, and couldn’t help but smile. His adorable husband was an absolute mess and Sirius wouldn’t have it any other way.
Remus brought a hand up to his eyes and groaned. “I’m sorry, Pads, I...” he started but this time it was Sirius who cut Remus off.
“Moony,” he said, his voice full of affection. “It’s okay,” Sirius said.
“I know, I know,” said Remus. “I just wanted your birthday to be perfect.”
Sirius sighed affectionately at his clueless husband and walked a few steps forward to him, careful to not trip over the open oven door, and put a hand to his husband’s face. Remus smiled a bit and leaned into his hand.
“Moony,” he said. “I have you. My birthday is already perfect, you idiot,” he said, fondly, rubbing Remus’s check with the thumb of his hand.
Remus smiled, and Sirius smiled back.