Work Text:
January 17, 1979
3:28 p.m.
“Before you say anything, please know that I love you and nothing you do tonight will change that. I hope.”
Sirius slowly looked up from the quidditch magazine he was reading. Grey eyes darted from Remus’s scarred, tired, but determined face, down to the two shopping bags clutched under his arms.
“Come again?”
“Don’t freak out.”
“Moony, when have I ever freaked out?” Sirius grinned. They both knew the obvious answer to that.
“I wanted to say a proper thank you, for helping me get a job, and for taking care of me on Sunday, so I thought we could do something you’re always going on about—”
“Finally coming out with me on my motorbike?”
“Dear Merlin, NO! Cooking, Pads. Proper cooking. With a recipe, and vegetables, and—Merlin help me—knives and such.”
Sirius flew from his chair, who knew where the magazine went, and flung himself at Remus. Gently of course, keeping in mind of the lingering effects of the full moon. Also the groceries, of course those too.
“You’re actually going to let me cook?”
“We’ve been cooking together since we moved in.” Remus deadpanned.
“That’s a load of bullocks, usually you cook and I’d just watch you, or do something and you’d kick me out of the kitchen.”
“There was an awful lot of cooking involved over the holidays, Pads.”
Sirius was having none of it. He swept one of the bags from Remus’s grasp and fairly waltzed into the kitchen.
“Padfoot, no! Put the knife down! You don’t need a knife to put groceries away, you twat!”
3:51 p.m.
“I regret this already.”
“Don’t say that, Moony!”
“Padfoot! Right, I wasn’t going to make rules, but we need this one. No physical affection while holding knives.”
Sirius gently set down the knife and went up on his tiptoes to kiss his boyfriend’s nose.
“That’s much better.”
3:58 p.m.
“No. No! That’s the wine! Don’t use that! PADFOOT!”
4:01 p.m.
"Don't make me tell you again, put your hair up!"
"What's wrong with my hair?
"Nothing, it's just as brilliant as always, but I rather like it on your head than in my chicken."
"Good point."
4:11 p.m.
“Rub the marinade into the chicken.”
“… What?”
“It’s what the recipe says, just do it.”
“Lemme see that.”
“Your hands are covered in chicken already; you don’t have to see anything.”
“Moooooonnnnnyyyyyyyyy.”
4:27 p.m.
“This whole baking thing is a load of bollocks.”
“You’re the one who loves muggle cooking.”
“They always make it seem so quick on the telly! I have half a mind to ask Delia Smith if she’s actually a witch. The things that woman can do in the kitchen.”
“… Is that why we’re using her recipe?”
“Aww, is my Moony jealous of some bird on the telly?”
“No.”
“You are! Mind you, Delia seems like a lovely woman, but I wouldn’t trade you for the world. Even if her no nonsense tone is quite soothing. Hey, it’s kind of like yours!”
“No it’s not.”
“It bloody well is, mate. Maybe that’s why she’s so easy to listen to.”
“Stop talking. No more daytime muggle telly for you! Is the sodding chicken ready yet, why is it taking so bloody long?”
4:59 p.m.
Noodles were almost finished, and Sirius was finally getting the hang of chopping vegetables without taking off fingertips. It was all going rather well.
A little too well, in fact.
“Hey Pads.”
“Yeah Moony?”
“I smell smoke… Did you take the chicken out of the oven?”
“Bugger.”
5:20 p.m.
Remus carefully healed the burns on Sirius’s hands.
“I told you to use the oven mitts.”
“I panicked! Forgot I was a wizard too, could have used a spell or something.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Or something.”
“When did you buy a fire blanket?”
“The first time you set fire to the oven, back in July.”
“Oh right, that was our second day in the flat, right?”
“It sure was.”
“We’ve gotten much better since then, eh Moony?”
Remus looked around the kitchen. It was a complete disaster, of course. Pots, pans, and sauces that were definitely going to leave stains covering every inch of the room.
“Well at least we managed to keep it contained to the kitchen.”
“And the noodles turned out brilliant, if I do say so myself.”
“Yes, Padfoot, they sure did. Wish I could say the same for the chicken paprika.”
“Er—yeah—sorry about that mate.”
Remus chuckled at the dish. There was a fine layer of black burnt bits on top, but underneath was mostly salvageable.
“Don’t worry about it, Sirius, it didn’t go completely pear-shaped, so I think we should call this a success.”
Sirius grinned. He licked up a spot of tomato sauce that had splashed onto his boyfriend’s cheek, rather near his mouth.
After a moment or two, the couple began to eat their hard earned dinner, intertwining their feet under the table.
“So! Should we start with a live chicken next time, for authenticity?”