Title: The Homoerotic Subtext of Breakfast Side Dishes: A Short Tutorial By Mr. S. Black & Mr. R. Lupin
Pairing: Remus/Sirius… er, sort of.Spoilers: none
Rating: G. Anything above said rating is completely at the disposal of the reader. I admit to nothing.
Summary: "I think I shall dine on fine sausage tonight."
Notes: This is just insane. I don't even know where this came from. Too much Oscar Wilde plus too much caffeine plus considerable lack of sleep equals Something Weird and Crack!fic-like. Not beta'd. All mistakes/insanity my own.
:-:
"I think I shall dine on fine sausage tonight," said a man one afternoon, in between the newspaper and the muffins. A delicate smear of orange marmalade decorated the one he held aloft in his fingers while he contemplated.
"That is very phallic imagery," noted his companion lightly. His face was hidden behind the daily front page. The picture on its cover was that of a white house veiled by black smoke.
"Indeed," replied the first with a grin. It was lost on his companion, his eyes trained solely on the print. The man bit gently into his muffin and marmalade, chewing thoroughly. "Of course," he said, pushing the food to his cheek with his tongue, "you are welcomed to join me." It was naught but muffled noise and he wasn't clear if the second man understood him.
Bits of muffin festooned the black smoke of the cover picture. It looked like a face.
They sat in silence. The first waited for the second to respond. He curled and uncurled his toes in his work boots. He did not chew.
"You know," his friend said suddenly, shaking his paper firmly until the muffin debris fell to the table, "that I do not like sausage. I only eat bacon."
The other man blushed and swallowed forcibly. He cleared his throat. "But for supper?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and reclining into the chair. "Preposterous. Come! Eat sausage with me tonight. I insist."
His friend lowered the newspaper an inch, until he could see over its edge. He narrowed his eyes and then widened them. "It does not matter for which meal I eat the sausage. It does not change my taste. I simply do not like it. Therefore I shall decline, gracefully." He ruffled the paper again and returned to reading.
The man snorted, and shook his head. "Perhaps you have had a bad experience with sausage. I cannot understand your disliking it so. I've always found it deliciously appetizing, especially when served with wine. I do have fine taste in wine, you know."
"I know," agreed his companion from behind the paper.
"Besides," the former continued, "You have never tasted my sausage. It might change your opinion on the subject. Why not give it a try?"
The second man folded the newspaper. He laid it on the table atop the muffin crumbs. A jar of marmalade sat at its corner. He turned his eyes on his friend.
"I do not have a faulty opinion of sausage. It's very well and good in principle, but I have a personal disliking towards it. I have never developed the taste." The first man made an effort to interrupt but his companion held his hand for him to wait. "And besides, my mother always cooked me bacon. I grew up with it. I am used to it." He laid down his hand to signal that he was finished.
The first man considered, "So you like you're mother's bacon but you do not find sausages, in themselves, disagreeable—nor the people who eat them? You simply prefer bacon because it is what you are used to?"
"Why no!" the second exclaimed, leaning his elbows upon the table. "Of course not. It is a very understandable thing, liking sausage. I, however, happen to prefer bacon."
"I see." The man slouched in his chair and thought for a moment. "You might come to my house tonight and have bacon." He leaned forward eagerly. His face lit with the idea.
His companion shook his head slowly. "You know for a fact that you do not have any."
The man slouched again into his chair, defeated. "I suppose you are right. I would go buy some for you, if you would like," he murmured, already knowing it was impossible.
"You have no money," his friend commented truthfully, but kindly. His eyes were sad.
They sat together in dreary silence, pondering their predicament. The muffins and newspaper were forgotten. A breeze blew the corner of the paper, revealing the appalling pre-chewed crumbs.
"It is a very terrible thing," the first man said at last, "having only sausage to offer a man." He sighed and flicked a crumb with his forefinger.
His companion looked at him sympathetically. He sighed as well. "Cheer up, old man," he whispered. "I can't bare to see you look so forlorn. It makes me sad as well."
The man nodded but said nothing. He flicked another crumb across the tabletop.
Seconds ticked by.
"All right! All right!" said his companion finally. He threw his hands in the hair and scoffed. "Anything to get you to stop sulking. Fine. I will sup with you tonight, on sausages." He smiled playfully.
His friend's eyes grew round and pleased. "Oh truly? That makes me so very happy to hear. I didn't want to be alone tonight, just sausage and me."
His hand stilled on the newspaper and his companion covered it with his own.
"Of course. Anything for you." They exchanged a look and a smile. "But," his companion continued, "They had better not be burned. You wouldn't want to ruin my first experience with sausage and completely turn me off for the rest of my life." He squeezed his friends' fingers.
"Of course not," the man agreed and grinned.