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Remus Lupin-Black did not like surprises. He had never liked surprises, not in his almost-forty-nine-years of life, and he was pretty sure that was never going to change. Unfortunately for Remus Lupin-Black, he was married to Sirius, who, as a general rule, ignored what Remus said most of the time.
Remus has tried to explain the surprise thing to Sirius but to no avail. He’d even tried giving the sob story a go, about how he felt that surprises involved a loss of control and that he’d already spent so much of his life patching the unknown into something survivable so he far preferred to know where he stood.
Sirius had just looked at him, called bullshit and asked him what the real reason was. Remus had then begrudgingly admitted it was actually because he was very worried he wouldn’t react with the appropriate amount of joy and glee and whatever else that was expected of him and whomever had gone to the trouble of organising the surprise would think he hated the surprise and thus hate him in return.
And so here he was, on the morning of his forty-ninth birthday. Sirius had woken him up with a birthday blow job, made him a round of marmite on toast and kissed him goodbye at the front door with suspicious innocence, smelling of coffee and the ridiculously expensive cedarwood cologne he’d stolen from Draco and Harry’s bathroom a few weeks back. Not one remark about his age or his impending mortality or the fact that last night Remus told Sirius he had ‘had a fall’ in the kitchen, rather than ‘fell over.’ And that alone should have set alarm bells ringing.
By the time Remus got home to their cottage that evening, the sky over the Welsh hills had sunk into the soft blue-grey that made the world look blurred at the edges. The cottage windows were glowing gold and he could hear voices coming from the back garden.
Remus stopped just before he reached the front door and closed his eyes with a resigned sigh. Then there was a burst of unmistakable laughter, definitely Harry’s, followed by a shushing noise and the sound of something crashing to the floor.
“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” he said to no-one. “What the fuck was that?” He waved his hand and the wards faded away for a moment, allowing Remus to push the door open and head on inside.
“You’re home!” Sirius had clearly been hanging around in the hallway waiting for him. “How was your birthday-day?”
“Like any other day,” Remus told him, dropping his briefcase at the foot of the stairs. “Although we did go and get-”
He barely had time to steady himself before Sirius caught him by the front of his coat and kissed him hard.
“Love you,” Sirius said, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You ready?”
“How many people are out there?” Remus asked him, still slightly breathless. “Don’t think you can distract me with kisses.”
“I can absolutely distract you with kisses,” Sirius said, grinning. “And not that many.”
A head appeared over Sirius’ shoulder and Harry, glasses askew, beamed at them both. “We were promised that there’d be food.”
“There better be food,” Remus looked at Sirius.
Sirius considered. “There’s food.”
“There won’t be any food left at this point,” Draco’s voice sounded from the living room and then he appeared carrying two empty plates. “Move, Black, you’re in the way.”
“Blondie bought that bottle of wine you like,” Sirius said, throwing Draco the middle finger as he passed them. “Let’s go and get you a glass.”
So Remus let himself be led out into the garden. It looked lovely; it was warm and Remus could smell Sirius’ magic hanging in the air as the heating charm settled over him. There were candles everywhere too, most of them lit, some of them glittering in silver and gold and all around the patio were flowers, crooked bunches of spring things crammed into jars and vases and even a couple of old teapots.
“What do you think?”
“Padfoot,” Remus said, turning to catch Sirius looking at him expectantly. “It’s lovely.”
“Good.” Sirius came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Remus’ waist and nudging Remus’ arm until he lifted it and Sirius slipped underneath.
He dropped a kiss onto the side of Sirius’ crown. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“Obviously we did,” Andromeda said, passing Remus a glass of something bubbly.
“You’re nearly fifty,” Ron said.
“Yes, thank you, Ronald,” Remus said, looking over at him.
He was lounging in a chair, Mira sat on his lap. “It’s an important occasion,” Ron carried on, totally unbothered. “Marking your transition into extreme age. Delighted to witness it.”
“Don’t be rude,” Hermione said, glaring at Ron as Mira added:
“You look really old.”
“Mira!” Draco scolded, reappearing and pulling out a seat. Mira just blinked back at him and they all saw the moment Draco melted.
Sirius huffed a laugh. “I think you’re bloody gorgeous,” he murmured in Remus’ ear. “Sit down, Moony. Let us adore you.”
He pushed Remus forward towards a chair, with an arm on Remus’ elbow.
“I’m capable of sitting myself down,” Remus told him, although he let himself be maneuverered until he was sat.
“I know,” Sirius told him, hovering behind. “But you know how I prefer to choreograph you.”
Remus scoffed. “You’re a pain in my arse, Black.”
“Ye-p,” Sirius agreed, looking delighted. “And yet here you are, forty-nine today and still helplessly in love with me.”
Remus tipped his head back so he could see him. He looked as beautiful as he did when they were seventeen. He sighed. “I suppose I am.”
Sirius’ grin softened into something unbearably fond. “Knew it.”
—-------
Dinner was excellent. It was loud the way it always was, five conversations at once, people passing dishes across the table to each other, the scrape of cutlery and constant laughter interrupting every sentence. Harry and Sirius had made a heroic attempt at cooking - roast chicken with lemon and thyme, baked potatoes and spring greens with far too much butter. And Remus, despite his earlier grumblings, was letting himself be adored.
It would have been hard to not with James asking him careful questions about his day at work, clearly trying very hard to sound grown-up, Mira presenting him with a card she had made herself (complete with enchanted moon on the front that winked when you prodded it.) And then Neville, in a quiet moment, pressing a small potted cutting into his hand that had a tag attached that read ‘Should help after the next full - N’ and Harry reaching over at one point just to squeeze his shoulder without needing to say anything at all.
And then of course there was Sirius. There was always Sirius, orbiting around him, topping up his glass, loading his plate, sliding an arm over the back of his chair so he could brush his fingers against Remus’ nape. Remus thought he should be immune to all that by now but the goosebumps that prickled up his arm every time Sirius wound his fingers and tugged lightly at the curls at the base of Remus’ neck suggested otherwise.
After dinner had ended and the plates had been cleared away Remus found Sirius in the kitchen cutting an apricot tart into neat slices. He slid up behind him, tucking himself against Sirius’ back and resting his chin on the top of his head.
“Muggle way?” he asked as the knife cut through the pastry.
“Satisfying,” Sirius murmured, pressing himself back, reaching for Remus’ hand and guiding it to his waist. “Having a good evening?”
Remus, who was watching the knife just in case, hummed. “I never said I wasn’t.”
“No,” Sirius agreed, “But you did look like you were preparing for martyrdom when you came in.”
“I did not!”
“Yes, you did.” Sirius said matter of fact as he ran his finger along the edge of the knife, collecting up and jam and sticking the finger into his mouth.
“And I've told you I don’t like surprises,” Remus shot back, spinning Sirius round so he could kiss him, tasting the sticky sweetness on his hips. “And you chose to blatantly ignore me.”
“Oof.” Sirius pulled the finger out his mouth and thumped a fist over his heart. “That hurts, Moon.”
“Good.”
Sirius kissed the side of his neck and Remus immediately went limp. “And yet you married me anyway.”
“Yes, well-” Remus tipped his head to the side as Sirius started sucking a mark just below his jaw. “That was an appalling lapse in judgement.”
“Mm.” Sirius sucked harder and Remus groaned quietly. “Very tragic for for.”
Remus was just trying to get his brain to catch up so he could think of a witty retort when Draco walked in.
“Are you quite done?” he said, looking at them unimpressed. “Mira and James want to do cake.”
“Fuck off, Potter,” Sirius mumbled into Remus’ neck. “We’re very busy.”
“We’re ready for cake,” Remus countered, taking a step back but then slapping Sirius’ arse, mainly to see the disgusted look on Draco’s face. “Where do you want me?”
“Where do I not want you,” Sirius grumbled but he started to usher Remus out. “Go sit down.”
“Cake time,” Draco announced as he and Remus stepped back outside. Remus was tugged into a different chair - this one at the head of the table - by James. Billsworth immediately leapt into his lap and settled there like a particularly ugly cat shaped cushion.
“No,” Hermione said firmly, lifting the cat back down. “Not near the cake.”
Billworth shot her a look that absolutely said ‘fuck you’ in cat and slinked back under the table. Remus could feel him plonk himself down by his feet.
“We ready?” Sirius shouted from the kitchen and a few people shouted back and Harry started up the first line of Happy Birthday in a voice of deliberate grandeur that made every laugh as Sirius appeared holding a cake. He was singing too, looking directly at Remus with such a shameless intensity and smiling in a way that made the whole thing feel both less embarrassing and also far worse. Remus could feel himself turning pink and could do nothing to stop it.
“... happy birthday, dear Reeeee-mus! Happy birthday to youuuuuu!”
There was a mangled cheer as Sirius set the cake down in front of him. It was absurdly beautiful, not professionally beautiful, it was far too Sirius, who despised anything too polished, for that but clearly made with devotion: a dark chocolate sponge layered with cream and raspberries, swirled icing with a spill of shaved chocolate over the top. Forty-nine candles had clearly been judged as excessive, so instead there were four tall and nine short around the edges, all lit, the little flames dancing gold against the icing.
Remus stared at it. “You made that?” he looked up at Sirius.
“I did,” Sirius said, clearly very proud. “What do you think?”
“I love it,” Remus said sincerely, “Thank you, darling.”
“We helped too!” Mira said, climbing up onto Remus’ lap. “Me and James did the sprinkles.” She jabbed her fingers into the side of the cake where pink and purple unicorn sprinkles had been pressed into the cream.
“Well I love it,” Remus said again. “And I love you too.”
“Speech!” Ron yelled.
“Absolutely not.”
“Tiny speech?” Ron amended. “Go on, it’s your birthday!”
“Oh don’t make him,” Harry said, looking down at Remus’ pink cheeks and clapping him on the shoulder. “He hates this.”
“Nah, he doesn’t,” Sirius said fondly.
“I bloody well do,” Remus groused, although Sirius was right. He didn’t hate it hate it. He looked around at all of them, at the familiar faces lit by candlelight, sitting and standing in his and Sirius’ cottage garden that he had once thought would be an impossible reality and at Sirius, smiling down at him as if he were the most precious thing in the whole wide world.
He swallowed. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice came out rougher than he meant it to. “For coming. For this,” he gestured to the flowers, the candles, the cake, “For all of it, really.”
“That was a lovely speech, Remus,” Arthur said.
“You need to blow your candles out!” James called from across the table, jiggling on Arthur’s knee.
Remus gave him a little salute and the garden went a little quieter. Remus felt a warm hand grasp his own.
“Make a wish, Moony,” Sirius said, the flames painting his face in warm, shifting light. His hair, which was definitely going silver now - although you didn’t dare say this out loud - curled at his temples and Remus could see the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. There was some sort of smear of white on his collar and he absolutely had something stuck between two of his front teeth but still, Remus thought, he looked heartbreakingly handsome.
He took a breath and leaned forward slightly.
And Sirius leaned in too, bending down close enough that his mouth brushed the shell of Remus’ ear, and in a voice pitched for Remus alone whispered: “Blow them out like a good boy, love, and then later maybe I’ll get on my knees and show you what I can do with my mouth too.”
“Good Christ, Pads,” Remus choked out as heat surged through him in one violent rush. He felt his face burn and jerked his head round to stare at Sirius, who had the audacity to look serenely innocent, apart from the wicked glitter in his eyes.
“What?” Sirius widened his eyes.
“Our grandchildren are here!” he gestured to Mira, who was still sitting in his lap.
Sirius ran his fingers through her long, blonde hair. “So?”
From across the table Draco was narrowing his eyes at them. “Did he just say something awful in front of my daughter?”
“No,” Remus said far too quickly.
“Probably,” Harry said at the same time.
Molly pressed a hand to her forehead. “Honestly, Sirius.”
Mira, who really was completely oblivious to the goings on looking up at Remus. “What did he say?”
“Nothing baby-girl,” Sirius said smoothly, picking her up off Remus’ lap and swinging her onto his hip. “Come on Moons,” he said softly and maddeningly sweet. “Your candles.”
“And your wish!” James chimed in.
“And your wish,” Sirius agreed.
And in that moment Remus knew exactly what to wish for. He closed his eyes, face still flushed and blew. Somewhere to the side there was a click of a camera.
Everyone cheered and Remus turned his face up to Sirius.
“You are sleeping in the shed tonight.”
“No I’m not,” Sirius said, still beaming.
“No,” Harry agreed, looking down at the camera and showing the photo to Ginny. “He really isn’t, judging by the look on your face.”
“Potter!” Draco said, clearly scandalised but Harry just laughed. Draco rolled his eyes and lazily lifted his glass. “To Remus.”
“To Remus!” everyone chorused as Sirius set Mira safely down and reached for Remus, pulling him to his feet. For a moment they stood close in the middle of all the noise, hands linked, the other blurring around them.
“You going to keep that promise, then?” Remus muttered, tugging Sirius closer to him.
Sirius smiled. “May-be.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately for me.”
Sirius’ thumb stroked once over Remus’ knuckles. “Happy birthday.”
And something in Remus’ chest gave way a little at the edges. “Oh come here,” he said, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ waist and kissing him - one hand at his jaw, one still tangled with Sirius’ fingers.
Someone catcalled and Sirius laughed against Remus’ mouth and when they parted his eyes were bright and soft and very nearly young.