Chapter Text
“Right, Sirius. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Three, two, one.”
Sirius took a deep breath and put on his best TV smile. The director gave a silent, exaggerated nod, pointed at him, and the cameras started to roll.
“There’s always so much to do as Christmas approaches here at the inn,” Sirius told the camera. “From preparing breakfast baskets for our guests to making homemade gifts for our neighbors. Come with us as we—”
“Wait, Sirius, cut, cut, cut! What the hell is that?” the director cried, pointing over Sirius’s shoulder.
“What’s what?” Sirius asked, wheeling around, his eyes scanning the orchard where the director was pointing.
“That!” the director said. “That… creature!”
“What crea… Ohhh,” Sirius said slowly, tipping his head sideways and squinting through the branches of the apple trees at the oddly shaped figure walking through the orchard. “Yeah, that’s Alfie.”
“Who the hell is Alfie, and what’s he doing in my shot?” the director demanded.
“I’ll find out,” Sirius said, then cupped his leather-gloved hands around his mouth.
“Alfie!” he yelled toward the orchard.
“Yeah, Stubby?” Alfie called back.
“Come here if you have a sec?”
“Be there in two shakes of a Porkchop’s tail!”
Sirius turned back to the director and pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward Alfie, who was now climbing up the hill wearing… something.
“He’ll be here in two—” Sirius started, but stopped himself. “He’ll be right here.”
“Did he just call you Stubby?” the director asked.
“It’s a long story,” Sirius said.
A crisp gust of Northumberland wind blew through the air, making Sirius shiver, and he pulled the zipper on his leather jacket up a little higher. But as soon as he did, a woman from the wardrobe department rushed at him and zipped it back down again.
“But I’m cold, Donna!” Sirius protested.
“But we wanna see those tattoos, Sirius!” Donna replied, then gave him a bracing pat on the shoulder. “It’s just one more outdoor scene. You’ll live!”
“Fine,” Sirius grumbled, then turned around just as Alfie scaled the top of the hill. He was carrying a heavy crate in his arms and wearing…
Well, Sirius still wasn’t quite sure what he was wearing. It was gray and black, knitted from yarn, and was definitely somewhere in the hat family, considering it was on Alfie’s head.
But that’s where any resemblance to a hat ended. It seemed to have very large protruding wings and what looked like a long, billowing cape that covered Alfie’s shoulders and most of his face.
“You wanted to see me, Mister B?” Alfie asked cheerfully, looking pink-cheeked underneath his strange costume. He hoisted the heavy crate up a little higher in his arms and looked expectantly at Sirius.
“Yeah, so, umm… the director was just wondering what you’re doing,” Sirius said as tactfully as he could.
“Collecting crab apples,” Alfie replied, gesturing with the crate in his arms. “Like Remus asked me to.”
Sirius looked sideways at the director, who huffed a little and folded his arms across his chest.
“I think—more specifically—he’s wondering why you’re wearing that,” Sirius said.
“Wearing what?” Alfie asked, looking bewildered. Or at least, Sirius supposed he looked bewildered. The wind had shifted and blown the knitted cape across most of Alfie’s face. All Sirius could see was Alfie’s left eye, an eyebrow, and half a nostril. But those parts were definitely bewildered.
“That blanket on your head!” the director snapped.
“Oh!” Alfie said. “Nosferatu! He’s not a blanket. He’s an undead Romanian count.”
Sirius sighed.
“OK, Alfie, same question. Why are you wearing it?”
“You and Remus said to just go about my regular business while you’re filming,” Alfie said.
“Right,” Sirius nodded.
“And I needed to collect the crabapples so Remus can make the winter crabapple jelly. But it’s very cold outside this time of year.”
“OK, yes,” Sirius said. “I’m with you so far.”
“Then Isla reminded me that sometimes cameras can devour pieces of your soul, and I really don’t want that. Especially not right before Christmas.”
“Well, no,” Sirius agreed. “Who would?”
“Exactly! So she knitted me Nosferatu!” Alfie said.
“Because…”
“Because his woolen weave keeps me warm while his undead spirit protects me from evil, soul-devouring cameras.”
Sirius turned to the director.
“Well, there you go. Does that answer your question?” he asked, trying his very hardest not to laugh.
The director just stared at Sirius, gusts of hot steam billowing out of his nostrils like an angry bull, before turning to Alfie and pointing a finger at him.
“Stay out of my shot!” he said.
“Roger that!” Alfie nodded with a grin and a wink at Sirius, then trudged off toward the inn with his crate of crabapples and Nosferatu’s cape billowing behind him.
It had been less than a day since the television crew arrived at Silver Moon Bed and Breakfast to film their new Christmas special and already, Sirius was having second thoughts. He hadn’t filmed anything at all since his last live “Sirius Eats” Christmas show two years earlier, and he wasn’t particularly eager to do it again.
But he did have a new cookbook out, this one a collaboration with his brand-new husband, called “A Silver Moon Christmas,” and their publisher was keen to promote it by putting not only Sirius, but also Remus, on television.
“Absolutely not,” Sirius had said flatly when his manager, Pandora, had first broached the subject of a Christmas special during a Zoom meeting over the summer. Sirius was sitting at the desk in the little office adjacent to their bedroom, wearing his “work-at-home business attire,” AKA, a button-down shirt and boxers that weren’t visible below the camera. It was 10:00 pm and Sirius was very much ready for bed, but Pandora was in New York City, meeting with Sirius’s American publisher, and couldn’t talk until after she was done working for the day.
“You haven’t even let me tell you what they’re proposing yet,” Pandora said.
“I don’t want to do any more live specials. You know that.”
“They don’t want you to do a live special. They don’t even need you to travel to London. The crew would come to you. Since the recipes are from your work at the inn.”
“No,” Sirius said. “Remus would hate that.”
“You signed a contract agreeing to promote this book.”
“Yes, but I thought that would mean doing a handful of five-minute segments on morning chat shows. Maybe calling into a radio station here and there. Writing a guest column and a few recipes for Sainsbury’s,” Sirius said. “Not opening up our home to a fleet of ravenous vultures.”
“Sirius, I know you’re a happy hermit now, but don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Pandora asked.
“No, I don’t,” Sirius said.
It might have been almost two years since his TV show wrapped, but Sirius still couldn’t shake the visceral memories of being chased through the streets by the paparazzi, (not) punching a photographer, and being publicly outed, not to mention worrying that Remus, Teddy, Fleur, and Tonks would have their privacy violated.
“Sirius, listen,” Pandora sighed tiredly, pulling off her earrings and tossing them onto a bed behind her in what must have been her New York City hotel room. “You know I’m on your side. And you know that I have been a brick wall between you and the media, doing everything I can to promote your work while also maintaining your privacy.”
That was true. After Sirius fired his previous manager, he hired Pandora, who had walked that tightrope brilliantly.
“But this special could be a really wonderful way to promote the book without requiring a lot of extra effort from you and Remus,” she said. “Do you know that the Americans want to air it here, too? That Netflix wants to pick it up?”
“They do?”
“Yes, they do!” Pandora said, and Sirius could hear the buoyancy coming back into her voice as she started to wear him down. “And you wouldn’t need to do any extra appearances beyond the special! We’ll be able to cut it down into little segments to air on the chat shows, instead.”
“I guess that sounds a bit appealing.”
“And remember, there would be no travel involved!” Pandora said. “That means instead of going to London multiple times, all throughout December, to promote the book before it comes out, you’ll be able to stay home and get ready for Christmas with Remus and Teddy.”
Sirius arched an eyebrow at Pandora’s slightly low blow. She knew that staying home with Remus and Teddy was Sirius’s soft spot.
“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, and Pandora’s face broke into a triumphant smile. Then he added quickly before she got too excited, “but I need to talk to Remus about it first.”
“Of course,” Pandora nodded. “How is Remus?”
Sirius glanced over the edge of his laptop screen through the office door and into their bedroom, where he could see Remus, sitting up in bed, wearing only his boxers and his adorable glasses and reading Samin Nosrat’s new cookbook. Sirius had always thought he was the only person who read cookbooks cover-to-cover as though they were novels until he met Remus. Now they each had advanced signed copies of Samin’s cookbook (she’d gifted them to Sirius) and he and Remus were reading them together.
“He’s great,” Sirius replied, overtaken with a gooey little smile and a happy sigh, and Pandora shook her head fondly at him.
“Still in the honeymoon phase?” she asked affectionately. “After nearly two years?”
“Always,” Sirius said.
A few minutes later, after Sirius promised Pandora once again that he’d consider doing the special, he shut his laptop and made his way from the office to their bedroom.
“How was it?” Remus asked, looking up at him and putting the book onto his bedside table. The little lamp was casting his curls and freckles in a pretty golden light, and Sirius thought for the millionth time how utterly beautiful he was.
“Ugh, don’t ask,” Sirius said, unbuttoning his dress shirt, tossing it into the laundry bin, and climbing onto the bed to snuggle into Remus’s side. Remus immediately lifted an arm and pulled Sirius close, kissing the top of his head as he rested it onto Remus’s bare chest.
“C’mon, it can’t have been that bad,” Remus said, running his wide palm up and down Sirius’s arm and kissing his head again. “What’d she say? How are the meetings in America going?”
“The meetings are going great,” Sirius said. “Apparently, everyone’s very excited to promote the book.”
“That’s great,” Remus said. “So what’s the problem?”
“They want us to do a Christmas special,” Sirius groaned, then quickly turned his face and buried it into Remus’s armpit.
Remus’s hand stilled.
“Us?”
“Yeah, us. Me and you. The authors of this book.”
“Oh. Wow. What kind of a Christmas special? Like the kind you used to do?”
“No, no, nothing like that, actually,” Sirius said. “They want to prerecord it and film it here.”
“Here? As in at the inn?”
“Yep.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I said that you would hate it, but I would talk to you anyhow.”
“What makes you think I would hate it?” Remus asked, and Sirius sat up, craning his neck to look at him incredulously.
“Fame is my worst nightmare. That’s one of the first things you ever said to me. Remember?”
“And one of the first things we ever agreed upon in our relationship was that I could decide things for myself,” Remus said, then added with a pinch to Sirius’s side, “Remember?”
Sirius rolled his eyes and kissed his third-favorite freckle on Remus’s chest.
“Yes, I remember,” he said.
“And when we decided to write this book together, I knew that we’d also have to promote it,” Remus continued.
“I know,” Sirius replied, climbing on top of Remus until he was straddling him.
“OK, then take any worries about me out of the equation,” Remus said, running his hands up Sirius’s thighs until they rested on his hips. “If it wasn’t for me, would you agree to do this special?”
Sirius tipped his forehead onto Remus’s shoulder and considered that question. If he did the special he wouldn’t have to travel anywhere. He could stay home for the holidays and wouldn’t spend the month of December ping-ponging all over Britain.
“Yes,” Sirius conceded finally, looking up at him again. “I probably would.”
“Then let’s do it,” Remus shrugged.
“Really?” Sirius said, searching Remus’s face for any signs of hesitation or worry. But he didn’t see any.
“Yeah, of course,” Remus said. “In fact, I bet it’ll be fun!”
“You think?”
“Why not? I’ve enjoyed every single second of working on this book with you.”
“You have?” Sirius said, tipping his head sideways to gaze at Remus’s lovely features and feeling his heart get all gooey again. Good lord, this man of his.
“Every single one,” Remus said, lowering his voice a little and tracing his fingertips under the waistband of Sirius’s boxers. “I loved brainstorming recipes with you.”
Then Remus closed his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed a soft kiss to the edge of Sirius’s jaw, making goosebumps erupt across Sirius’s neck.
“I loved testing recipes with you,” Remus whispered, then kissed across Sirius’s face until he reached the other side of his jaw, letting his lips graze a little longer against his skin.
“I loved taste-testing with you,” Remus whispered again, and this time peppered little, feather-light kisses down the front of Sirius’s throat, wrapping a hand around the back of Sirius’s neck.
“And I loved how we celebrated every new recipe we finished writing,” Remus murmured against his collarbone, dragging his teeth there a little before continuing.
“First there were the foolproof almond croissants,” Remus breathed, swirling his tongue around Sirius’s nipple before sucking it hard into his mouth and letting it go with a pop. “When I slid under the desk to swallow your cock while you submitted it to our editor.”
“Then there were the lavender macarons with honey buttercream,” Remus said next, slowly massaging Sirius’s inner thigh, his fingers inching closer to his swelling cock and rolling his other nipple between his fingers while Sirius writhed on top of him. “When I rode your dick on the kitchen floor at 2:00 in the morning.”
“And we can’t forget the chocolate beetroot cupcakes,” Remus continued, his voice straining now, even as he slid his hand from Sirius’s nipple down his chest and stomach, his fingernails scratching lightly and making Sirius gasp with the intense sensation. “When I bent you over the counter and fucked you until you came without me touching you at all.”
“Fuck, Remus,” Sirius whimpered, tipping his head sideways while Remus kissed hungrily up his neck. Sirius lifted himself up on his knees and shucked off his boxers, then sank back down onto Remus’s lap, where Remus’s hand was waiting for him, too. Remus reached underneath Sirius’s arse, palming hard at the firm flesh, and spread his cheeks apart, probing with his fingers. Sirius rolled his hips against Remus’s hard cock and slid his knees further apart, opening himself up more and more.
But then Remus’s fingers grazed against something hard and unexpected, and now it was his turn to gasp in surprise.
“Sirius Black,” Remus said in a low, scolding voice, his eyes wide and wanting, his pupils blown dark, his chest heaving, “Celebrity chef, darling of the British culinary world. Did you have this in the whole time you were talking to Pandora?”
“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, his voice breaking desperately as Remus pressed on the plug. “Needed… needed some incentive to get through it.”
“Well, aren’t you the naughty thing,” Remus said, gazing up at him in adoring, lust-filled wonder.
And then they were lunging into a ravenous kiss, licking into each other’s mouths. Sirius was tired from a long day on the farm and at the inn, and an even longer night waiting for his meeting with Pandora, but he wasn’t too tired for this. He couldn’t imagine a time when he’d ever be too tired for this.
Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus’s neck and lifted his arse again when Remus tugged gently at the plug.
“Need this out so I can get in,” Remus breathed hotly into Sirius’s ear.
“Yeah,” Sirius nodded, breathless, ready to do whatever Remus told him to.
Remus pressed the plug once more, making Sirius moan wantonly, before pulling it out slowly, then quickly replaced it with three lubed fingers. Sirius grinded down onto his hand, sucking a dark, hungry mark into Remus’s beautiful, bare neck while Remus somehow maneuvered his own boxers off, too.
Then, in one, slow, slick, practiced slide, Sirius sank down onto Remus’s hard, thick cock, feeling every glorious inch as it stretched him wide and pressed in deep. He arched his neck back and closed his eyes as Remus’s hands dragged down his lower back and onto his hips, guiding him lower. Remus craned upward to kiss Sirius’s chest, letting him adjust to the stretch, which was just as breathtaking as it had been the first time he’d ridden Remus.
Now though, there was so much more. Sirius had no idea how it was possible to love someone so much, and to feel that love in every look, every touch; in every word and moment of every day. But he did. It overwhelmed him sometimes, especially when it was just the two of them, alone in bed in those in-between hours of the morning and night, and he’d curl into Remus and hold him, breathing in the scent of his skin and hair, memorizing every line and freckle.
Sirius rolled his hips up and back, smooth and liquid, cradling the back of Remus’s head with his fingers threaded through his hair while Remus gripped Sirius’s arse. Their kisses were deep and slow, matching the movement of Sirius riding Remus’s cock. Every thrust pressed and dragged at Sirius’s prostate, making him whimper and moan, making a little tear leak from the corner of his eye. His cock pressed between their hips, aching, dripping, and so hard, begging to be touched. Sirius wanted Remus’s hands on him, wanted his strong, thick fingers gripping him, stroking him.
Then, as though reading Sirius’s mind, Remus reached between their stomachs and wrapped a slippery hand around his shaft, stroking up and down in time with Sirius’s thrusts, sliding his thumb over the sensitive head with every upward pass.
“God, fuck, Remus,” Sirius moaned into Remus’s mouth, no longer coordinated enough to really kiss, but keeping their lips and tongues pressed together, licking and searching anyhow. “Are you close?”
“Yeah,” Remus gritted out, nodding, his eyes shut tight. “Fuck, you feel good. So tight for me. You want me in you?”
“Yes,” Sirius whimpered, not even minding that he was begging.
“Want me to fuck you so hard and full until I empty inside you? You want to feel me filling you up? Want to feel me leaking out of you?”
Sirius nodded feebly but couldn’t answer. Instead, his body convulsed, his thighs and stomach tensed, his balls tightened, and his orgasm shot out of him with a strangled cry, spilling over Remus’s fist and dripping down his thighs. He felt his arse tighten and throb around Remus’s cock, and then Remus was coming, too. He was moaning into Sirius’s mouth and fucking up into him with hard, erratic thrusts, filling him in a way that would never, ever stop being the most erotic thrill of Sirius’s life.
Sirius’s arse and both their cocks throbbed and twitched, until finally they were slumped against each other with a slick mess of sweat, come, and lube slipping between them. But even cleaning up was a lovely ritual, and within a half hour, they’d showered together, washing each other gently in the ensuite, put clean dry sheets onto the bed, and folded themselves into each other’s arms against their pillows.
They lay together in the dark quiet for a few minutes after that, not saying anything, Remus just resting his head against Sirius’s tattooed chest while Sirius played with the damp ends of Remus’s curls.
“Are you sure you want to do the special?” Sirius finally whispered into the silence. Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius’s middle and kissed the bottom of his ribcage where he could reach without moving his sleepy body.
“I’m sure,” Remus whispered back. “How hard could it be?”
Now, five months later, Remus and Sirius were learning the answer to that question as Silver Moon Bed and Breakfast became overtaken by a 20-person film crew from London.
They’d agreed to shut down the inn to other guests for three days, with the production company providing refunds to the handful of people who’d already booked during that week and covering any lost revenue from being closed, in addition to paying Remus and Sirius’s salaries for doing the special. The production company was also paying the salaries of the additional staff they needed to keep the place running while Remus and Sirius were busy filming, since the crew was staying at the inn and needed to be fed.
“You don’t need to do anything fancy,” Pandora had assured them a few days before the crew arrived. “Just the basics. Cold breakfast, sandwiches. They can handle their own dinners.”
But “just the basics” wasn’t Remus’s style, and of course he’d worked day and night in the week leading up to their arrival to ensure that they had plenty of frozen pastries, lunches, desserts, and breakfasts ready for the staff to pop into the oven each morning.
“I feel bad that they won’t be fresh-baked,” Remus said, as he slid yet another sheet pan lined with almond croissants into the flash freezer.
“They won’t know the difference,” Sirius assured him, and when Remus pretended to be insulted, Sirius just swept him into a kiss against the stainless steel kitchen rack.
A few days later, Sirius was shivering outside in the orchard while Alfie hauled away a crate of crabapples with the assistance of Nosferatu.
“Shall we try for take two?” asked the director, whose name was Brendan or Brandon. Sirius couldn’t remember. He’d have to send a sneaky text to Pandora when they finished with this take. Of course, he could’ve asked Remus, who somehow remembered every guest’s name, their favorite breakfast basket order, and how they took their coffee, but he was busy shooting a kitchen segment with the assistant director (whose name Sirius definitely didn’t remember).
“Sure,” Sirius said, and they cracked on.
The second take went fast, now that Alfie wasn’t lurking around the orchard, and soon Sirius was walking quickly down the gravel road toward the inn to see how Remus was doing. His stomach was in knots thinking about how he wasn’t able to be with Remus during his very first scene, and hoped he was alright by himself with the vultures.
But when Sirius pushed the swinging kitchen door open and peeked inside, he saw Remus looking absolutely gorgeous in a white, button-down work shirt and plain black apron. He was also wearing his reading glasses, which he didn’t usually do unless he was actually reading.
“Do I need to, like, hold the pastry bag a certain way? Or can I just act normal?” Remus asked the assistant director as they readied for a shot of him filling macarons at the kitchen counter.
“Nope just be yourself. Act like you do when you’re teaching any of your classes,” she assured him. “Don’t worry about where the camera is, just fill the macarons like you usually do and talk us through it.”
“Alright,” Remus nodded with a shy little smile, looking up at the director through his pretty lashes, before bending over the macaron tray and filling a few shells with honey buttercream. “Like this?”
“Perfect.”
“Thanks, Amanda,” Remus said.
Amanda, right, Sirius thought, as a makeup artist swooped in to do a few touchups on Remus’s forehead.
“I haven’t worn this much makeup since I was forced to be one of the Major-General’s daughters in my primary school’s production of Pirates of Penzance,” Remus said in that sweet, disarming way of his, and the entire room erupted into giggles.
“Oh my god, he’s so cute,” Sirius heard one of the women on the crew whisper to another.
“Adorable,” the other woman gushed back, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically. “People are gonna lose their minds when they see him.”
“Look at his hands. I wish I was that pastry bag!”
“Yeah, and now that you mention his hands…” the second woman said, her voice trailing off as she rushed over to the assistant director, whispered something in her ear, then hurried to Remus.
“Hey, Remus, do you mind if I just do a little wardrobe adjustment?” the woman asked, reaching for Remus’s sleeve.
“Oh, umm, sure, no problem,” Remus said, looking a little surprised when the woman took the pastry bag out of his hands, unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt, then rolled up the sleeve until it was just below his elbow.
“We’ll just do the other one, too, then,” she said, and repeated it with the other sleeve. She stepped back and surveyed him. “Hold the pastry bag again?”
Remus obeyed, and held it over one of the macaron shells, his forearms, wrists, and hands flexing as he moved, and the other woman sighed appreciatively.
“This OK?” Remus asked, wide-eyed and innocent, and Sirius had to laugh at his poor, lovely, clueless husband, being lusted after by everyone in the room and having absolutely no idea.
“One more thing,” the wardrobe woman said, then reached forward and undid another button on Remus’s shirt, this one at his chest. Remus drew back a little, definitely surprised that time, and Sirius had the urge to tell her to leave him alone.
But in another second, Remus relaxed. His shirt was open only slightly more, revealing a teasing hint of skin that disappeared under the top of his apron.
The woman nodded and put her hands on her hips, happy with her handywork.
“Yes, that’s the look,” she said.
“Alright. Yes. Thank you,” Remus said with an awkward laugh, then looked up in Sirius's direction and squinted a little. He took off his glasses, apparently saw Sirius properly, and mouthed “hi!” excitedly. But within seconds the wardrobe woman was scolding him.
“No, no, glasses on, please, Remus!”
“Oh, sorry,” Remus said, quickly putting them back on. “It’s just that they’re reading glasses, and I can’t actually see out of them for longer distances. Everything’s blurry.”
“That’s too bad,” the woman replied, not sounding sympathetic at all. “Don’t worry, we’ll get someone to lead you around.”
“I… I can take them off eventually, though, can’t I?” Remus asked feebly, but no one was listening. Instead, the lighting, sound, and camera crews were following Amanda’s instructions to get ready for their first take.
“Alright, Remus, off we go!” Amanda called.
“Wait, now?”
“Yes, now!”
Remus shot a fleeting, panicked look in Sirius’s general direction, squinting through his blurry glasses, as the director counted down.
“Three, two, one!”
Despite Remus’s momentary panic, he was a dream in front of the camera, just like Sirius had predicted he’d be years before. Remus was not only handsome, but funny and fun, with the same easy-going charm and natural teaching ability that always won over guests in his baking and cookie decorating classes at the inn. Even his mistakes were charming, peppered with jokes and stories, and when the director yelled cut, the entire room erupted into applause.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Amanda said, looking around at her colleagues, “I think we’ve just witnessed a star being born.”
Everyone clapped again, and Sirius’s chest swelled with pride. He knew Remus would be brilliant.
Remus muttered a shy, “thank you” and squinted around at everyone. But even though Remus was smiling, Sirius thought he spotted something strange in his expression, lingering behind his eyes. Hesitation or worry, maybe. But then Remus took off his glasses, spotted Sirius again, and his face broke into a bright, genuine smile, and any strangeness evaporated immediately.
“How was it?” Remus called over the hubbub as the crew busied themselves to move their equipment into the breakfast room for the next scene, during which Remus would be demonstrating how to pack the perfect, decadent breakfast basket for Christmas morning.
“Amazing!” Sirius called back, stepping into the kitchen fully now. Remus opened his mouth to say something else, but the woman from the wardrobe department spoke first.
“Remus! We need you in those glasses!”
“Right, sorry, Rosie,” Remus nodded, but Sirius stepped in. He had to.
“Come on, he can take them off between takes,” Sirius told her with a slightly annoyed laugh. “Glasses are miraculous, you know. You can put them back on, even if you’ve just taken them off.”
“It’s just that we’ve done his hair and makeup already, Mr. Black, and the glasses are part of it,” Rosie replied.
“Why are you even making him wear glasses, anyhow?” Sirius asked. “He can’t see out of them unless he’s reading.”
“Well, I mean… look at him,” Rosie shrugged, nearly helplessly, pointing at Remus with both hands, her open palms facing upward. He did, indeed, look incredibly fetching in his button-down shirt, apron, and dark glasses, with his soft golden curls falling over his forehead, and gah! Sirius wanted to just take a bite out of him! But now was not the time for that.
“And between the two of you?” Rosie continued, then looked Sirius up and down too, taking in his leather jacket, ripped jeans, and combat boots. “You’ve got this dangerous biker meets sexy librarian thing going on and people are going to go absolutely feral for it. So trust me on this. The glasses? They’re staying.”
“What if he gets a headache?” Sirius protested. “Eye strain is nothing to scoff at, you know.”
But Remus scoffed anyhow, despite Sirius’s proclamation to the contrary.
“Sirius, it’s fine,” Remus whispered, putting a gentle hand on Sirius’s back.
“It’s only for a few days,” Rosie assured him. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him a pair of nonprescription lenses next time.”
And before Sirius could answer, Remus was whisked away into the breakfast room, leaving the words “next time” ringing through the air.
They worked all day and into the late afternoon. Both directors insisted that they wait until “golden hour” to get what they hoped would be the closing shot of the special, with Remus and Sirius holding hands and literally walking off into the sunset toward the inn.
By now, Teddy, Tonks, and Fleur were watching, too, sitting in lawn chairs, covered in fuzzy blankets, and munching on popcorn, as though their favorite TV program had just come on.
Every time the director yelled “cut!” they’d burst into cheers and applause, and every time the director asked for one more take, Teddy would shout advice from the sidelines.
“Do you have a pebble in your shoe, Dad? You’re walking kinda funny!”
“I think you should skip a little next time!”
“Pa you need your hat! Your ears are all red and cold!”
“You should have Moony and Padfoot walk with you on leashes!”
The director—whose name was definitely Brandon—pointedly ignored Teddy, even as Remus and Sirius struggled not to laugh through every take. They’d been shooting for 12 hours straight and were both getting a little punch-drunk and silly. At least the camera was at their backs.
“I actually think I do have a pebble in my shoe,” Remus whispered on the thirteenth take, then tripped a little because it was getting darker and he still couldn’t see where he was walking.
“Cut!” the director yelled.
“Dad, don’t trip next time!” Teddy called.
“Thanks, Teddy,” Remus answered.
“Alright, one more take,” the director said, but Sirius spun around with a sigh.
“No, Brandon,” Sirius told him.
“It’s Brendan,” Remus whispered.
“Brendan,” Sirius corrected. “We’re done. You got the shot on the third try, and we did it ten more times anyhow. You don’t need another take.”
“He’s right, Bren,” Amanda said. “You’ve got it in the can, and we’ve lost the light anyhow. Everyone’s tired. Let’s wrap for the day. We’ll start bright and early in the morning.”
Tonks had mercifully ordered curry takeaway, so no one had to cook, and they all flopped onto the couches in Fleur and Tonks’s living room in front of the Christmas tree, eating straight out of the plastic containers for dinner.
Remus and Sirius tried valiantly to ask Teddy about school, but all he wanted to talk about was the TV show. Sirius answered all of his questions, but Remus seemed strangely quiet. Shit, did he have a headache after wearing those glasses all day?
“When will I get to be in it?” Teddy asked, bouncing up and down on the couch with the takeaway container balancing precariously on his lap.
“Calm your body, mon chou,” Fleur said, putting a gentle hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “We don’t want to spill on the couch.”
“The day after tomorrow,” Sirius told him. “The morning after James, Lily, and Harry arrive.”
“Two more sleeps!” Teddy cried. “And I get to miss school, right?”
“Right,” Remus agreed through a yawn, and Teddy cheered again.
It had been a long conversation between Remus, Tonks, Fleur, and Sirius about whether they were OK with Teddy appearing in the special. But after Lily assured them that Harry’s life hadn’t been disrupted in any way from occasionally being on Sirius’s show, they decided to let him do a short cookie decorating segment with Harry, Remus, and Sirius. Of course, Teddy’s incessant begging played a part, too.
Tonks, on the other hand, had flatly refused the producer’s request for her to appear in the special. They’d wanted to do a foraging segment with her, but she’d laughed in their faces when Sirius and Remus asked.
“So is that a ‘no?’” Sirius asked.
“That’s not just a ‘no,’” Tonks replied. “That’s a ‘fuck no.’”
Still, she had agreed to hang around during one of the shooting days so Remus could do the foraging instead, with her as his off-camera guide. They wanted to include a recipe for savory wild mushroom tartlets, and Remus still didn’t fully trust his own mushroom identification skills.
“That’s all I need, to kill an entire television crew,” Remus had said, panic rising in his voice.
“I’ll be there, don’t worry,” Tonks assured him, making him take a few deep breaths for good measure. “If anyone dies, it’ll be because of your cooking, not the mushrooms.”
They finished their curries and somehow wrestled a still overly excited Teddy into bed, before Remus sleepily announced he was heading upstairs to shower.
“Coming?” Remus asked, leaning over to kiss Sirius on the cheek.
“Yeah, I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Alright,” Remus said. “Goodnight, guys.”
“Night!” Tonks and Fleur said together. Sirius watched Remus disappear down the long hallway between their houses, craned his neck backwards to make sure he was out of earshot, then turned back to Tonks and Fleur.
“He hates it!” Sirius hissed, his eyes darting between them.
“Who hates what?” Tonks asked loudly, but Sirius shushed her.
“Shh!” Sirius hissed, looking around again, as though Remus was about to leap out from behind the Christmas tree. “Remus! He hates doing the show.”
“He doesn’t seem like he hates it!” Tonks protested, but Sirius shook his head.
“He does. He hates it. I can tell.”
Tonks and Fleur exchanged a skeptical look.
“How can you tell?” Fleur asked.
“How?” Sirius repeated. “I’m his husband. I can tell by the look on his face.”
“I’ve been looking at his face all night, he seems fine to me,” Tonks said, but Sirius shook his head.
“No, you don’t understand. I can read his microexpressions.”
“I think until they become macro-expressions, you probably don’t need to worry about it,” Tonks deadpanned, and Fleur elbowed her in the ribs.
“Tell us what you’re feeling, darling,” Fleur said, giving Tonks another pointed look when she opened her mouth to say something else.
“Well,” Sirius said. “First of all, they’re making him wear his glasses.”
Tonks and Fleur waited, as though expecting Sirius to keep talking. When he didn’t, Tonks replied.
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“He can’t see out of them! They’re reading glasses! And they’re making him wear them all the time! Even when he’s not reading!”
“Oh,” Fleur nodded.
“So what?” Tonks asked.
“So! He’s risking eye damage!”
“I don’t think that’s a thing,” Tonks said, but Fleur poked her again.
“Is there anything else?” Fleur asked.
“Yes!” Sirius said, scooting to the edge of the couch and leaning forward intensely. “They keep unbuttoning his shirt!”
“You mean he’s making macarons with an open shirt?” Tonks cried, her eyes wide. “Like, nipples out and everything?”
“Well, no,” Sirius said. “But he showed quite a bit of sternum. And wrist. And forearm!”
Tonks snorted and hid her face in her hands, while Fleur just stared at him with her head cocked to one side, as though Sirius wasn’t quite as sane as she thought he was.
He obviously wasn’t describing the button thing well enough.
“Look, I know it doesn’t add up to much.”
“It doesn’t add up to anything!”
“But I know Remus! I was watching the look on his face. He’s uncomfortable! He just doesn’t want to say anything.”
“What could possibly be making him feel uncomfortable?
“Oh, I don’t know… maybe because he was being blatantly objectified!”
“Right, because glasses and wrists are famously scandalous,” Tonks said.
“It was forearms, too,” Sirius countered. “You don’t know the significance of that, you’re not attracted to men!”
“Yeah, I’m more and more grateful for that every day,” Tonks laughed, gesturing broadly at Sirius.
“No, you don’t understand. Glasses, ropey forearms, and competence? It’s catnip! And throw in an apron on top of it? They might as well parade him naked through the streets!”
Tonks doubled over laughing again, but Fleur got up, sat next to Sirius, and put a gentle arm around his shoulders.
“Darling, Remus is a smart man.”
“I know!” Sirius said in a wild panic. “He’s the whole package! He’s a human aphrodisiac.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I mean, he’s smart enough to set his own boundaries. If they ask him to do something he’s uncomfortable with, he won’t do it.”
“But that’s the thing, Fleur. It has nothing to do with being smart,” Sirius told her. “I know, I’ve been in this position. You feel like you can’t say no to these people.”
“Maybe he doesn’t need to say no to glasses and wrists.”
“It’s more than that! It’s the principle! The slippery slope! The—”
“How about this?” Tonks interrupted. “I’ll be out there with you while you’re filming tomorrow. I’ll watch things, too. I’ll even keep an eye on his microexpressions. And if anything seems weird, I’ll be the first person to back you up.”
“Really?” Sirius asked, his chest relaxing a little.
“Of course! We love Remus, too. We don’t want him to be uncomfortable.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. We happen to love you, too. Anyhow, you should go upstairs,” Tonks said. “Maybe Remus will show you his wrists.”
“You’re funny.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
A few minutes later, Sirius did, indeed, go upstairs. But when he reached their bedroom, Remus was already in bed, fast asleep. Sirius tiptoed in next to him, not wanting to wake him, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe he was just being overprotective.
Or maybe they really did want to parade Remus naked through the streets.
But that wouldn’t happen. Not on Sirius’s watch. He kissed Remus one more time, rolled over, and resolved to be extra vigilant for the next two days.
Project Observe and Interpret Remus Lupin’s Microexpressions was now underway.