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“Ha! It’s finally happened!”
Remus, having been banished from the kitchen an hour earlier, looked up from the book was reading on the couch. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of his boyfriend in front of him, clad in nothing but boxers and a long apron, a steaming tray held out in front of him.
“What’s happened?” Remus asked, trying to direct his gaze to somewhere appropriate.
“I’ve finally gotten better than you at baking.”
He looked inordinately smug as he thrust the pan under Remus’s nose. Remus, who’d been looking politely puzzled, glanced at the pan and huffed out a laugh. His face fell into a slightly condescending smile.
“Ah. Well sure. Not that it’s really baking, but sure. You’re so much better than me.”
“It absolutely is baking.”
Remus didn’t dignify the comment with a response. He just snorted and turned back to his book.
“Everyone on the planet except pastry snobs would agree that this baking,” Sirius said, wrenching the book from Remus’s grip with the hand that wasn’t clutching the offending dessert. He settled himself on Remus’s lap, straddling his legs and leaning forward, wafting the pan under Remus’s nose.
“Come on… don’t they smell good?”
“They do,” Remus conceded, “but it’s still not baking.”
“I had to bake it in an oven. Hence, baking .”
“But there’s no… skill. You’ve made a dessert. It’s not the same.”
“You’re such a snob.”
Remus just shrugged, entirely unbothered, then reached down to snag a blob of chocolate from the top of the bars. Sirius smacked his hand away.
“You don’t get any unless you admit that I did a good job baking,” he emphasized the word with a mischievous smile, “these bars.”
“You did a very good job baking the bars,” Remus parroted back, squeezing Sirius’s waist with one hand, the other creeping back towards the mass of chocolate chips stuck together by sweetened condensed milk. Sirius pulled the tray away.
“That was not genuine.”
Remus let his head fall back against the cushions, peering up at Sirius with a smile.
“You did an excellent job, baby,” he said, running his hands down Sirius’s sides, letting his fingers dip under the fabric of the apron and trail towards the waistband of his boxers.
“Don’t try to distract me, Remus. It won’t work.”
Remus laughed, eyes twinkling.
“You come in here wearing nothing but an apron and… and,” he fished around for the right word, “ grind all over me, obviously trying to get me to compromise my professional integrity by admitting that those,” he wrinkled his nose at the pan, “could fall under the category of baking. And you have the gall to accuse me of distracting you ?”
Sirius laughed and did, in fact, grind his hips down against Remus’s lap.
“You caught me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Remus’s lips.
“Mhm. You know you’re not exactly subtle.”
“You know I tried being subtle with you for a while, but you didn’t seem to get the message that I was interested. I’d never make the same mistake twice.”
“Good.”