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brandstifter-sys · 3 months ago

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The Great Bitchin Bake-Off

Chapter 2: You Close? (Ao3)

Word Count: 3215

Rating: T+

Characters: Roman, Remus

Warnings: Innuendo, blood, gore, food, intrusive thoughts, Remus has OCD

Roman and Remus have no internet, no cookbooks, and they have to make breakfast for everyone in the mindscape. Rather than work together, the creativitwins just have to make it a competition, if only so there's something edible in the end.

Roman returned to the kitchen before Remus, and checked his dough. There was still some time before it should have been ready. It had risen somewhat, even with that stupid towel covering it. He was not looking forward to making the filling or glaze for his cinnamon rolls now that he was clean and wearing his Mickey Mouse pajama pants and an old American Eagle t-shirt. His pajamas were not meant to get dirty, so he also borrowed one of Patton's aprons.

At least he could get started on his filling in peace. He went to the fridge and grabbed a block of cream cheese, thinking that it would suit his needs. He placed it in the clean mixing bowl and turned the mixer on to the highest setting. Whipping the cream cheese seemed like the right thing to do. He also needed to add some cinnamon, so he went to the cabinet for the spice.

“Aw! You started before I got back!”

Roman glanced over his shoulder and pouted at Remus. The duke was pouting back at him, leaning against the oven he turned on, and holding an electric hand mixer. Good. Roman was not about to give up his edge.

“Last I checked, it’s not a race,” Roman scoffed and casually dumped some cinnamon in his cream cheese. It was just enough to give it some color. That's what he told himself.

“It’s not!” Remus laughed and bounced to the counter where his butter was waiting for him. He immediately grabbed a bowl and put the butter into it.

“Then why are you complaining?”

“Because I want to spend time bonding with my pissy little brother!” he laughed and grabbed his blood jug. He needed to add some more holding power to his filling.

Roman scowled and turned to his mixer. Would he need to add anything more? He hoped so, if only so he could pretend that he couldn't hear Remus. Unfortunately he couldn't think of anything.

“Of course I would rather not have to fight or compete every time we get to hang out! But you think I'm evil for some reason,” Remus continued and turned on his mixer.

As soon as the beaters met his cursed concoction, a crazed laugh leapt from his throat. The rapid spinning was spraying the blood all over the bowl. Some of it even splashed onto the counter top.

Roman turned off his mixer and guarded it from any potential splash damage. He was horrified by Remus' deranged, wicked cackling and his unnaturally wide eyes, locked onto his bowl.

Did he really have to wonder why Roman was convinced he was evil? That laugh could freeze the fires of hell!

And then he stopped. Remus turned off his mixer and grinned at Roman as if he hadn't unleashed an inner demon or two.

“It matches your face!” Remus giggled and held up the beater. Roman would have been more offended if the whipped butter was a darker shade of red, but it was a rather light pink that matched his favorite blush.

“You didn't add any cinnamon,” Roman commented dumbly. Granted, he still had the powdery spice next to him.

“Of course not! That goes on separately! Don't tell me you didn't know!” Remus jeered and grabbed a rubber spatula to clean the beaters.

Roman fumed and tried to ignore the smugness hidden in that chipper tone. The least Remus could do was acknowledge his budding ire!

But nope! Remus was happily cleaning up his mixer and gathering yet another bowl and a measuring cup. He didn't even look Roman's way when he pushed his butter mixture aside and pulled out the sugar.

“What are you doing?” Roman huffed.

“Making cinnamon sugar for the filling!” Remus responded and carefully measured out the sugar he would need. He had a feeling Roman would want to copy him somewhat.

He was right! Roman snatched the bag of sugar from him like a greedy little goblin and grabbed a bowl. The rude little prince could keep it, as long as he shared the cinnamon.

Remus knew better than to expect that much from Roman. He stole the cinnamon while Roman poured some indeterminate amount of sugar into his bowl. Hopefully it wouldn’t bite him in the ass later!

Of course, being a nosy little bitch sure would! Roman just had to see what Remus was doing. He had to fight back the urge to laugh, Remus added so little cinnamon to his sugar, surely no one would be able to taste it!

He swiped the bottle from Remus with a scoff and dumped half of it into his sugar. Remus mixed his sugar and bit his tongue. He wasn’t going to ruin Roman’s “perfect” cinnamon rolls with any decent advice!

“And now to pull a Frankie!” Remus cheered and grabbed his resting dough. He tore the towel away with a flourish and grinned. It was so puffy and red, like his lips after using them on someone's—

He cleared the counter and pulled out two baking dishes, mainly so Roman wouldn’t get in his way later. This was the second most fun part, right after kneading the fresh dough. Then he sprayed both pans with cooking spray and broke out the flour again.

Roman set his fillings aside and checked his dough. It rose somewhat, but it looked dense. Surely it would become fluffier after baking. He watched Remus coat the countertop with a dusting of flour and then let his dough slowly drop onto it from his bowl. It was disgusting.

Remus laughed and set the bowl in the sink. He was far too pleased with his creation for Roman’s comfort. He was so pleased that he slapped the red mass with a giggle.

“It’s even softer and jigglier than Virgil’s butt!” the duke cheered and grabbed a rolling pin.

“What?” Roman gasped, affronted that Remus would dare talk about his best friend in such a lewd manner.

“Yeah! He’s got a booty to die for! That’s the one spider trait he can’t hide!” Remus jeered and coated his rolling pin with flour, “Remember this, Ro hoe bro, spiders have the fattest asses in the animal kingdom!”

Roman sputtered indignantly and stole the flour. He had to finish this task so he could get away from this twisted disaster!

The so-called twisted disaster was absolutely killing it, rolling out his dough and humming to himself. Roman immediately floured his counter and grabbed a rolling pin, not one to be out done. But when he turned his dough out, it landed with a thud that caused flour to puff up in a cloud and cover his shirt and apron.

“I’m looking down the hole, you’re looking up at me,” Remus sang to his bloody mass of gluten, “You’re cold and tired, that is easy to see.”

Roman forced himself to ignore that off-key screeching and focus on rolling out his thick dough.

“Lower the rope to you, a bucket and a light,” Remus kept going, “Your membrane will be soft and smooth, and your heart will be mine! It rubs the lotion on its skin! Or else it gets the hose again!”

Roman gripped his rolling pin tightly, enough that his knuckles turned white. He was not hearing this. He was not hearing this while this imbecile made the kitchen look like a murder scene.

“The look inside your eyes drives me from control,” Remus kept singing as he carefully flattened and spread his dough, “Evoking visions of my favorite casserole! And if I eat your heart—”

“Will you stop that?!” Roman snapped.

Remus stared at him with wide eyes and an unnerving grin. He cracked his neck and waited for Roman to continue. He didn’t.

“I look like an organ harvester, the least I can do is have fun with it!” Remus said through his teeth. The horrible thoughts flooding his mind about harvesting actual organs were getting too loud. The singing was helping him. Not that Princey ever considered that.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

Roman frowned. He hated that Remus was right. But he could not concentrate when Remus was singing about Hannibal Lecter!

“Could you find a different song, one that isn’t laced with questionable queer representation,” Roman sighed. He would have to make some sacrifices if he wanted to get this over with. At least Remus seemed to relax at that request.

He set his rolling pin aside and grabbed his butter and spatula, dancing to the beat in his head.

“Just a steel town girl on a Saturday night, lookin' for the fight of her life. In the real-time world no one sees her at all. They all say she's crazy!” he sang as he spread the butter on the flat dough, making sure to leave a thick coat. He was jogging in place and having fun with his little baking mess.

Roman was not having nearly as much fun. His dough kept tearing and he couldn’t get it flat enough for his liking. This was not a task meant for a prince, but he would do it, and he would surpass Remus. He was sure of it.

By the time he was satisfied with his dough and spreading his cream cheese on top of it, Roman saw Remus was finished adding his cinnamon sugar mixture. Instead of continuing to the next step, he just had to have a little dance break.

It was impressive, watching him run in place on the balls of his feet, switching into fast pirouettes and flailing with timed precision. Roman was half convinced he could hear “Maniac” playing as his boastful brother went full on Flashdance.

“He's a maniac! He just moved in next door! He will kill your cat and nail it to your door!” Remus sang, surprisingly well for how much he was moving.

That's when Roman noticed that Remus switched from his Dread Pirate get-up to a black, strapless leotard and dark red leg warmers. Dark. Red.

“You thieving wretch!” Roman snarled and abandoned his baking to throttle Remus. That bastard had the gall to steal his—wait.

Roman didn't own a pair of leg warmers.

Remus was too lost in his performance to pay him any mind. There wasn't enough room for any cool flips or sudden dips, which put a damper on things, but he was Remus, he could make it work!

It was only when the duke arched back, stretching his torso over the island counter by the stove, that Roman realized what absolute hell could break loose.

Remus reached up and grabbed a pull chain out of thin air. Knowing him, the fluid that was supposed to crash over him would not be water, like the movie. It could be urine or diarrhea or something else from that area. Or it could be blood. That was the most likely considering the course of the evening.

Roman immediately tried to will the coming cascade into water. Or juice. Or anything that wasn't a bodily fluid. Just not blood. Not blood.

Not blood

Remus pulled the chain and opened his mouth wide. He was thirsty and he was looking forward to a mouthful of Gatorade.

Blood rained down all over him, coating the counter top and splattering all over the floor. Fortunately it didn't reach the cinnamon rolls.

Remus jolted upright and raced to the sink. He spit out the offending fluid and coughed like he was dying.

“What the fuck?! Why did you make it blood?!” Remus whined and washed his face.

“What were you expecting?”

“A tasty beverage! Why did you change it on me? It's my job to be gruesome!”

“I was trying to change it to not blood!” Roman huffed. He would not be blamed for Remus' mess.

“‘Not blood?’” Remus laughed and magically changed out of his dance get-up, “You know you can't conjure a ‘not’ anything!”

Roman shrank back and tried not to pout like a kid.

“At least it was human blood! Can you imagine how much thicker it would have been if it was dragon blood!” Remus giggled and skipped to the fridge. He was still thirsty and he knew Virgil had some pomegranate iced tea in there. And if he didn't want to share, well Remus was a glutton for punishment!

Roman shook off any embarrassment and got back to his cinnamon rolls. He sprinkled the cinnamon sugar on top of the cream cheese and realized he didn't have enough. So he grabbed the cinnamon and coated the whole thing so he couldn't see any cream cheese.

Remus watched him amusedly as he drank a glass of iced tea. Oh, he was excited to see the end results of that!

He put the empty glass in the sink and washed his hands again. It was time to finish the beast!

He carefully rolled up his dough, making sure it was just tight enough. Roman blatantly copied him, but that wasn't a problem for Remus. He was fine with giving Roman some help.

Roman was quite pleased with how well he rolled his dough and pulled out a knife to slice it into perfect rolls. This was something he knew he could do! He was careful not to create any sort of tear with each slice. When he had ten rolls to bake, he was satisfied.

And then the countertop shook violently.

Roman glanced over at Remus and cringed. The duke was suspended in mid air, doing a split, with his hands around the handle of an oversized, double headed battle axe. The axe was jammed in the counter and covered in off-red gunk.

“Are you trying to wake everyone?!” Roman snapped as Remus' feet met the floor.

“Nope!” Remus laughed and swung his axe again, jumping up to deliver a comical amount of force. Roman had to wonder if his trembling on impact was just for show. Considering he repeated the process until he had twelve buns, and he was giggling, Roman assumed that it was an act.

Remus banished his axe and dusted off his hands. And then the oven beeped, signaling that it was ready. Perfect!

“Pick your pan, Princey!” Remus cooed and motioned to the baking dishes he prepared. Roman would suspect he sabotaged one, especially if he handed it over, so he had to give Roman the first pick.

Roman swiped one with a pompous air and brought it to his rolls. He arranged them delicately as if he were arranging a bouquet and sighed once he was done.

Remus was not so delicate, plopping them on his dish in three rows of four. He didn't take a deep breath to relax, but instead went for the cabinets again.

“Can you put mine in?” Remus asked as he pulled a jar from the cabinets. Powdered sugar.

“Why on earth would I help you?” Roman scoffed incredulously and brought his tray to the oven.

“Why would you want to pass up the opportunity to ruin my dish?” Remus laughed and grabbed his mixer. He needed to clean those beaters for the final piece. He summoned his rubber gloves again and turned on the sink.

“Am I nothing more than a scoundrel to you?!”

“Nope! But don't heroic princes want to keep things fair? It's fair if they bake at the same time!” Remus countered and washed his beaters, “Plus my gloves would melt in the oven!”

Roman relented and took both dishes to the oven. He set them inside on the same rack and closed the door before setting the timer.

“Thanks Pissy!” Remus said and dried his beaters, “I'll get started on the rest of the dishes after I make my glaze.”

Roman glanced at the stand mixer and pouted. He would have to wash the paddle and bowl before he could make his own glaze. He was not Cinder-Elias for Pete's sake! Baking was more than enough for him, cleaning was absolute agony!

“Gimme your bowl and paddle while I still have my gloves,” Remus said, cutting into his spiraling, “I’ll make a double batch of glaze while you run to your side to get some eggs.”

“Why didn't you ask me to do that before you used blood?” Roman gawked.

“Because you told me to figure my own shit out before I could ask! And now I'm not asking because I need help, so you won't immediately say no!”

“And why would you think that?”

“Because you wouldn't be helping me! We still have to make eggs and sausage for everyone!”

“‘We?’ You have already bastardized this breakfast enough!” the prince huffed and crossed his arms, “I shouldn't even let you make my glaze, seeing as how you'll ruin it with your demented ideas!”

“Butter, powdered sugar, milk. That's all I'm putting in there. Nothing else. Even despite your cowardly sabotage, I haven't used anything you can't find in this kitchen,” Remus pouted.

“The blood!”

“It's still here, in the jug on the countertop, and then there's some on the floor and cabinets, and there's plenty rushing to your face, Pissy!” he jeered.

Roman fumed as he gathered his bowl and paddle and put them in the sink for Remus. It should have been a red flag considering how the duke lived, but Roman couldn't be bothered. He was too frustrated with this menace.

Remus shrugged and washed the dishes, perfectly content with the job as long as he didn't touch any dish soap.

“Why are you so calm about cleaning?” Roman asked. He knew Remus was always raving about his filth and squalor.

“It calms me,” Remus shrugged and rinsed the paddle, “Don't tell me you haven't noticed!”

“Why would I?”

“Because you secretly care about your stinky big brother and his mental health. Or maybe you don't, but you need to know your enemy's weaknesses!” Remus teased. He had long come to terms with the fact that Roman didn't like him, possibly that he hated him. Remus didn't need Roman to like him, as long as he didn't live up to his namesake.

“Do you honestly think you're worth my attention?” Roman scoffed. So what if he didn't pay attention to the duke? It's not like Remus was paying him any mind!

“Yes, but I can be wrong,” Remus said as he set the paddle aside and washed the bowl. Roman was unnervingly silent. Remus decided that he struck a nerve.

He most certainly did! Roman was a noble prince and he knew exactly where his attention was needed. Not some fiendish evil twin! Why would Remus even think he deserved Roman's attention? Because they were brothers?

They were brothers. Maybe Remus was right, that he should care, or admit that he cared.

“And now I'm ready to churn up some cinnamon roll cummies!” Remus chirped and set the clean dishes aside.

No, Roman did not have to give him any attention.

He huffed and sank out to gather the ingredients for the rest of breakfast. If he were smart he would do all that cooking in his part of the Imagination. And he was feeling rather intelligent.

Remus mentally patted himself on the back. This was not the right time to get into deep stuff and get all emotional. He had work to do!

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#sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #creativitwins #food mention tw #gore mention tw #sex mention tw #intrusive thoughts mention #ocd mention #sandyscribed

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