Fic: A Feast for mustntgetmy

[luminousgloom]

Title: A Feast

Author/Artist: LuminousGloom

Recipient: mustntgetmy

Rating:NC-17

Contents or warnings: none

Word count:3500 (eek!)

Summary: Remus has a go at cooking a Christmas feast.

Notes: thank you to my speedy beta! and thank you to the Mods for staging this fest and for being so patient.



"Listen, Remus.” Sirius corners him on the morning of the great feast. “I’ve got to ask you something important.”

It's still dark outside, and in their dimly lit kitchen a bleary eyed Remus is attempting to make tea while half asleep. Incredibly, Sirius is freshly showered, coherently dressed and about to leave. He’s going into town with James - shopping for presents, apparently, or rather, giving Remus the space he needs to get on with his preparations.

“About your present. What would you like?” Sirius fixes him with his storm grey eyes. “I know it's meant to be a surprise and all that, but I’m going to get you something special, something you’d love to have. Is there a book? Or a new coat? Shoes, you could do with a nice pair of shoes. Dragonhide brogues perhaps -” He rolls his eyes at Remus’ bemused stare and raises his hands in supplication. “All right, ok. I’m sorry. But don’t make me get you socks.”

“Can I think about it?” Remus yawns, shaking his head. It’s much too early to be making any decisions. “We’ve still got loads of time anyway.”

Sirius flashes him a grin. “Yes, we have, haven’t we,” he says softly, and pulls Remus in for a slow kiss. For the first time ever, they'll actually be spending Christmas together. Sirius smells amazing, and his body feels solid and supple and wonderfully warm. Closing his eyes for a moment, Remus doesn't want to let go of him.

“Let me know if you need anything. Or any help.” Sirius reminds him again.

“Yes. Thanks.” Remus nods sleepily, and lets go of him. “But I won’t.” It’s a point of honour by now, after all the relentless teasing he’s endured, that Remus is going to prepare this blasted feast on his own.

“Right. See you soon then. And have a think about that present.” Still smiling, Sirius turns on the spot, and with a loud crack he is gone.

Remus puts a record on, and braces himself for the task ahead. He’s approached it much like he approaches any new challenge: by looking into it. He’s consulted books, he’s studied recipes and pictures of elaborate banquets. Now, sipping tea in the early morning light, he surveys the mountain of food piled onto his kitchen table.

He’s managed to procure it all over the past five days by methodically visiting specific shops in his lunch hour. It’s been fun, actually, going on odd little missions all over London. The crate laden with fruit and vegetables was delivered by a Borough market trader last night, along with an actual plucked goose from Smithfield. Next to it, various bottles of booze from the wine shop on the corner. A jumble of colourful boxes and jars from a Caribbean shop down in Brixton, all sorts of dried fruit, herbs, and spices from a Bengali cash and carry on Brick Lane in the East End and from an Arab spice trader on Edgware Road just by the Westway. Best of all, a stack of Honeyduke’s Finest from Hogsmeade, and several parcels of excellent cheese from his favourite shop in Covent Garden.

He looks at his elaborate list, and starts with the first item: the roast goose. According to the recipe, the skin must be separated from the flesh. It's a strange job, which Remus does gingerly. Until a week ago he never would have believed he'd find himself doing this.

It started as a sort of joke. Last year’s brilliant Christmas feast had been cooked by Mrs. Potter. The four Marauders spent Christmas at James’ parents’ house, apart from the few days when Peter and Remus went to see their own families. It was fun, a bit like Hogwarts again after living as independent adults for several months.

This year though, the Potters are inundated by relatives. The Pettigrews have already gone abroad, where Peter is going to follow them tomorrow. And Remus is hardly going to ask his own parents to host an elaborate meal, not after they’ve only just agreed to the glorious, nerve-wracking plan of having Sirius stay for a week over Christmas. So when last weekend the four of them deplored the prospect of no shared feast at all, Remus suggested they might just have it here.

“You going to do the cooking then?” James had grinned.

“I could cook steaks,” Sirius shrugged, “and Moony’ll make us the toast to go with it. And a boiled egg, since it's Christmas.”

“I can make more than toast and eggs,” Remus protested indignantly.

James and Peter laughed, but Sirius conceded. “He's right,” he said affectionately, throwing an arm around Remus. “You do whip up a beautiful tinned soup.”

“Get off, Pads,” Remus pushed him away and sat up straight. “All right then, I'll take the challenge. We’ll have it here, and I’ll do the cooking.” He looked at them in turn. “All of it. I mean it. If you lot chip in, I'll cook us Christmas dinner.”

There'd been more laughter, and endless jokes about the menu, but the other three quickly agreed. This was too good to pass up, apparently, and they'd treated it all like some sort of a prank.

Remus still isn't entirely sure what possessed him to offer to do this. It's not about proving them wrong, he thinks now as he applies a simple brining charm to the goose. Everyone knows he has no great culinary imagination or ambition. It's more about the challenge of it. Challenging the consensus that this is something he can't do. So far, so good though - to his delight, the charm seems to have worked, the goose looks sort of different. On to the filling. He chops up parsley, hyssop, winter savory, and sage, then adds halved grapes and squashed garlic. Fragrant green bits of herbs keep sticking to his fingers as he peels and cores the quinces.

Sirius is really the one who can pick random ingredients and turn them into something edible. It's the full moon that first got him interested, and Remus’ ravenous appetite for meat around the time of his turning. James mentioned once that Sirius would never make such an effort if it were Padfoot and Prongs living together. That Sirius wouldn’t even consider cooking for anyone else.

James said it in that gruff tone he uses when things get a bit personal, and Remus nodded and changed the subject. He knows what James meant of course, Remus thinks, throwing the cubed quince in with the rest of the stuffing. Sirius is subtle about it, and it is sort of romantic. Still, Remus can't help feeling uneasy at the mention of any special treatment. It’s the animagus thing all over again. As much as he is touched by their intent, he hates the idea that he should need taking care of because of his blasted affliction.

He finishes stuffing the goose, and adds water to the roasting tin, before shoving the whole thing into the oven. Carefully studied swishes of his wand send the vegetables spinning above the sink, peeling and turning and splitting magically into a pot, ready for cooking later. Remus watches for a moment, in awe. Cooking isn’t all that difficult, it turns out, when you’ve got a good spellbook to help you.

Devils on horseback next, and pigs in blankets. Old Hogwarts favourites, his mum makes these by special request every Christmas. He’s got her recipes for this and, as promised, the procedure is simple enough. The little sausages, or “pigs”, are coated in thyme and honey, while the “devils” are made by poking one salted almond each into plump, shiny prunes. Then the tedious bit: every single little sausage, and each plum, needs to be wrapped in bacon, half a rasher apiece, and set aside for cooking later.

Remus wonders where Prongs and Padfoot are now. Diagon Alley, probably, somehow he can’t imagine them braving any of the traditional hunting grounds of the Muggle Christmas shopper.

It’s a shame they’ve decided to do all this, really. If he's got to be up this early on a Saturday, he’d much rather have Sirius here with him. Naked, in bed, spending hours not even getting up. It’s been an age since they’ve had time for a lie in together. These days, they just sort of cling to each other in passing. Apart from Sirius’ endless Auror training, and Remus’ loathsome work, there are Order meetings, and covert assignments. In the little free time they do have, people keep dropping by, and in the evenings they're either dead tired or out with friends, drinking to forget about it all. Remus can't remember when he and Sirius have last had even half a day to themselves.

At least they’re going to have a week off. As much as he’s excited about spending Christmas with Sirius, he’s nervous, too, because they’ll be staying with his parents. It’s not exactly privacy. Sirius has come to stay with them once before, for a brief, excruciatingly wonderful week of furtive snogs and sneaking around and strong silencing charms. Of course, Remus’ parents loved him. With his easy charm and his impeccable manners, Sirius won them over at once, the charismatic bastard. Surely they must have guessed by now, Remus reckons, but he’s yet to tell them outright that he and Sirius are together. He might bring it up beforehand, he's not sure. They worry about him enough as it is, he doesn't want to add yet another thing to the list. Muggles have only just about decriminalised consensual homosexual acts. His mum is unlike most Muggles in many ways, but who knows... It's complicated.

With the appetisers prepared, Remus turns his attention to dessert. He’s making trifle, using magic. The charms are from The Compleat Treatise on Householde Magick which he’s found in the bargain bin at Flourish and Blotts. First, the elderflower jelly. He manages to soak and dissolve the gelatine in water and elderflower cordial, pours it into a glass dish over handfuls of raspberries, and mutters “Refrigio”, watching it set. The cake is trickier - the batter he concocts looks a bit of a lumpy mess, apparently his magical blending skills aren’t up to much, but then he's always known that from Potions. With the oven occupied by deliciously roasting goose, he applies the baking spell to the mixture - there’s a flash and a bang, and lots of steam, but the result is an only slightly scorched cake. As per his instructions he drizzles it with rose water, then puts a pot of milk on for the custard.

Custard was the first thing they’ve ever had to eat in this flat. They found a half empty tin of custard powder in one of the kitchen cupboards when they moved in, and Sirius insisted they make some at once. He went out to the corner shop for milk and sugar, and got Remus to demonstrate how to work the Muggle gas stove. There is something homely and comforting about custard. Remus remembers them perching on moving boxes, spooning the steaming thick liquid from mugs, and feeling a bit less like intrepid adventurers alone in the big city, less like boys suddenly playing at being proper adults, but as though they might've arrived in a place they would call home.

Following the instructions on the tin, Remus whisks up the canary yellow goo. He tips it into the hot milk, stirring vigorously, breathing in the sweet vanilla scent.

It takes him back, that scent, to a wet and carefree afternoon, months ago.

Sirius and Remus had been out for a long leisurely walk on Hampstead Heath, and got caught in a sudden rainstorm. They were thoroughly soaked by the time they found shelter in a small café, an Austrian place with dark wood panelling, an open fire, and a glorious selection of patisserie on display. The two of them ordered something small, but as the storm wouldn't let up they ended up sampling everything in the place, including a cherry cake that came with the most delicious vanilla custard. Thrilled by such unexpected, ridiculous opulence, they laughed a lot, delirious with sugar, and with the joy of simple pleasures, savoured together. He’s always wanted to go back one day.

Eventually, Remus assembles the trifle. He carefully layers slices of cake over the jelly, finishing with custard, then sets the whole thing to chill. Exhausted, he makes another cup of tea, and puts a new record on. His final task is the one he’s been dying to try: an ancient recipe for an aromatic drink known as Usquebaugh.

He starts by emptying paper bags onto his chopping board. Treacly brown figs, shiny black raisins, and a handful of prunes for good measure. Wielding the large kitchen knife, he attacks the mound of dried fruit, cutting and slicing it all into little pieces. He piles the sticky mass into a very large glass jar, and starts on the spices. A whole nutmeg goes in, bruised with the mortar and pestle, then freshly crushed cinnamon and mace, along with a salvo of cloves and aniseed, finally, delicate red strands of saffron from a tiny box. Satisfied, Remus opens both bottles of Borage and Bramble’s Finest, and upends them into the jar, drowning everything in brandy. He screws on the lid tightly, and points his wand until the jar has shrunk enough to fit into the palm of his hand.

Then he picks up the gleaming silver item he’s borrowed from Dumbledore, and pulls the thin chain over his head. Roughly a month is what he needs. Early enough in the day, on any given Saturday, they would've been fast asleep, or at least in bed with a hangover. And he only needs about a minute, he's got the perfect hiding place.

When the swirling sensation subsides, the music has stopped abruptly. Remus is relieved to find the kitchen empty, and the flat silent.

Then he hears muffled laughter coming from the bedroom. He freezes. Sirius’ voice speaks softly, followed by Remus’ own voice, mumbling a reply. This is strange, and unexpected. Did he get his timing wrong, he wonders. But they’re obviously still in bed, barely awake. It’s fine. As long as Remus is very quiet, they’re unlikely to notice anything at all.

He bends down and silently opens the cupboard under the sink. He’s just about to carefully stash the small jar behind a Muggle bucket they never use, when he hears it. A low guttural moan. Sirius’ voice, sounding breathless, and that telltale moan again. Remus never tires of hearing it, and it goes straight to his groin. Then he can hear himself chuckling.

“Do that again,” Sirius demands, “oh, more, Moony.”

Remus can picture the scene perfectly. Sirius on his back, his legs splayed, canting his hips slightly as Remus sucks him off. Over the past months relentless Auror training has made Sirius’ lean, Quidditch-honed body even stronger, made his muscles more defined. Just now, Remus would be enjoying a rather spectacular view. He'd most likely be playing with Sirius’ arse at the same time, preparing him for pleasures ahead. Remus is dying to take a look.

But he mustn’t hang around. He closes the cupboard door a tad too fiercely, and in his haste to set the Time Turner again, accidentally elbows an empty beer bottle onto the floor.

The sounds next door cease at once. “What?” he can hear himself asking. In the eerie silence that follows, Remus suddenly remembers this very moment vividly: Sirius, stark naked, with his wand held aloft and his cock standing proud, moving like a shadow to check on a sound that Remus was convinced he’d imagined.

Slightly flushed, he arrives back in the here and now, the music resuming at the exact point he’d left it. So Sirius hadn’t imagined the sounds of an intruder after all. And the new wards, preventing anyone from Apparating into the flat, have been both justified and unnecessary.

Running a hand through his hair, he takes a deep breath. He takes a sip of tea and opens the cupboard under the sink. The bottle is there! Excited, Remus enlarges it back to its original size. The mixture has got a lot darker, when he unscrews the jar it exudes a strong aroma of alcohol and spice.

Remus is straining the potent liquid into one of Uncle Alphard’s crystal carafes when he hears the key turn in the front door. Sirius appears in the tiny, dim hall, his pale cheeks bitten red with cold. He shrugs out of his coat, apparently lost in thought. Watching him from the kitchen, Remus is almost stunned by how beautiful the man is, with his fine cheekbones and his noble nose, with all that wild black hair and his gorgeous smile. He looks up and catches Remus’ gaze.

“Hey, Moony. Merlin, it's grim out there.” Apparently oblivious to the chaos in the kitchen, he hones in instead on the trays and bowls of prepared food. "I could smell this from down the road. It looks amazing! Did you really…?” Lifting lids and peering into the oven, he keeps shaking his head in astonishment.

“Yeah,” Remus grins, “it should be ready in an hour or so. I didn't expect you back yet. Where are the others?”

“They’ll be another hour at least.” Sirius rolls his eyes darkly. “Planning to look into about another thousand shops, led by the intrepid Lily and Marlene. Utter madness. Dunno how I lasted as long as I did, to be honest.” He cocks his head, smiling again. “You on the other hand look remarkably unruffled.”

“Yeah, well,” Remus shrugs. “I’m almost done. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought.” He finds two tumblers and pours out two measures of dark, spicy drink. “Here, try this. I reckon we’ve earned it.”

“Thank you. What is it?” Sirius sniffs the glass experimentally.

“Usquebaugh - a very old Christmas drink. I thought I’d give it a whirl. It might be a bit strong.”

They take a swig each, and rapidly set their tumblers down again.

“Bloody hell,” Remus shudders. His eyes are actually watering.

Sirius grins, and smacks his lips thoughtfully. “The aftertaste is lovely. Sort of…” He takes another small swig, wincing slightly. “Essence of Christmas. I like it. So there’s nothing left to do at all? Should’ve known. Here I thought you might need a bit of help.”

Remus moves closer and pulls him in for a kiss. Sirius’ cheeks are ice cold, he tastes of smoke and spirits and spice. “Actually,” Remus says huskily, “I could do with a hand.” They kiss again, and taking hold of Sirius’ freezing fingers Remus guides them lower, placing them firmly on the front of his trousers.

Sirius chuckles against his lips, before deepening the kiss. His hand on Remus’ crotch is rubbing and squeezing, making Remus gasp. “What's brought this on?” Sirius grins. “If I'd known cooking had this effect on you...”

“I used the time turner,” Remus explains shakily, moving into Sirius’ touch. “Remember that time you thought you’d heard someone in the flat? About a month ago? And I didn't believe you.” He lets out a long breath. “That someone you heard was me, stashing this stuff away. But remember what we were doing at the time?” He grins suggestively.

“Oh?” Sirius raises his eyebrows. “Hang on. You mean - you saw us shagging?” he beams. “Wow.”

“I didn't see anything, only heard -,” Remus fumbles with Sirius’ belt, “heard you, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Sirius kisses him hungrily. Snogging Remus fully, he walks him backwards into their bedroom. “You were being strangely quiet? Must've had your mouth full, I imagine...”

Remus laughs and topples onto the bed. “I think so.”

Then Sirius is upon him, pulling Remus’ trousers down and off, running his hands all over his tingling skin. They’ve not got off together in days. Before they do anything else, they share another long, breathless kiss.

“You should’ve joined us,” Sirius says, his voice rough. “I’d love to have two of you at once…” he lets out a choked sigh.

“You couldn’t handle two of me,” Remus grins, gently nudging Sirius’ head downwards. Sirius doesn’t need telling twice. “Anyway, that’s not how Time Turners work, unfortunately.” Remus strangles a moan as Sirius laps at his straining cock a few times before smoothly sliding the entire shaft into his mouth.

Remus forgets all about the food, as Sirius feasts on him, as he prepares Remus with his fingers and a hoarsely murmured charm. Remus’ mind goes blank as Sirius enters him, as he fucks him first on his back, bent almost double, as he fucks him from behind.

Only in the aftermath, panting, spent and delirious, Remus remembers that there's things that still need to go in the oven. And that Pete and Prongs are imminent, with their girlfriends in tow, possibly Marlene McKinnon and whomever else they may have picked up along the way.

“I've missed you, Moony.” Sirius says quietly a bit later, when they dress after a quick shower.

“Yeah. I’ve missed you, too.” Remus kisses him once more. Outside, it’s already getting dark again. “I know what I want for Christmas, by the way.”

“Oh, good.” Sirius grins at him expectantly.

“I want - you. Us. I want us to take some time off, after Christmas. A long weekend, maybe. I want a proper lie in, and leisurely breakfasts. Perhaps to go somewhere for a day, walk on the beach, or on the moors. More than anything, I want you to myself for a bit, uninterrupted, and rested, and awake.”

“Done.” Sirius nods, still smiling. “Good plan. But that's really a present for both of us.”

Remus shrugs. “Take me out, then. Remember that Austrian place in Hampstead? Or to Soho, for dinner. And cocktails.”

“Or we could stay in, and I could attempt to cook you a small feast. Dunno if I'll manage anything like this.” He gestures towards the kitchen, and shakes his head. “How did you do it all? And I'm starving, what's keeping the others?” With a wave of his wand, Sirius summons their two tumblers, catching them deftly. He hands one to Remus, and raises the other. “To mischief spectacularly managed.”

They clink glasses and drink.

“Oh, bloody hell, this stuff.” Remus stifles a coughing fit. They laugh. “Merry Christmas.”