It's my birthday, too

Thomas probably wasn't in the best state to visit Harry, but it was his birthday, and he'd been celebrating. He stumbled down the stairs to Harry's basement apartment, fumbling for the talisman Harry had given him to take down the wards, and finally giving up and sitting down on the bottom step. "Harrrrrrrryyyyy," he called, crooning it really, and then started singing some obnoxious song like you'd hear at a dance club, something with auto-tuning and girls in skimpy clothes in the video.

Somehow, Harry hadn't anticipated this. He was still up, of course, having vowed not to step outside his apartment on Valentine's Day for any reason. He'd spent the night in his lab instead, making a variety of potions. Bob had complained, naturally, that he hadn't gotten the night off, but really, as Harry had taken a certain amount of vindictive delight in pointing out, it wasn't as if he could actually, in his words, "get some," being incorporeal.

Tired, he'd staggered upstairs for a beer, but was sidetracked by the sound of singing. Loud, obnoxious singing. By an extremely intoxicated White Court vampire. He went to the door, dressed in baggy sweatpants, a plain white t-shirt, and his favorite raggedy robe, and opened it, his expression incredulous.

"Harry!" Thomas grinned, holding his arms out as if he expected a hug. "There you are. I knew I could count on you to be home tonight!" He staggered to his feet, propping himself up on the cement wall that encased the below-ground stairwell. "I couldn't find my key." Which was saying something, since he wore it around his neck, along with his pentacle.

Harry bit his lip to suppress a laugh, and stepped forward to wrap his arm around Thomas's back, the other around his shoulders, to pull him through the wards. It wasn't exactly a hug, but it was definitely an embrace. "So you decided to sing instead of knock?"

"I didn't want to set off the wards and end up on my ass," Thomas drawled with a wry grin. He apparently had forgotten that he just had been on his ass. He made it into the apartment mostly on his own power, though there was a fair amount of leaning on Harry.

"Right." Harry had learned that there was no arguing with drunk Thomas. He shut the door behind them with his foot and, though he could have let go of him by that point, led him over to the sofa. "Just how much have you had to drink?"

"I lost count. Enough to be feeling good." Thomas sprawled on the sofa, squinting up at Harry. "It's my birthday, I'm allowed to have fun."

"Oh, right. Your birthday," Harry murmured, as if he'd forgotten. "How old are you now, big brother?"

Thomas shot him a Look that didn't have as much impact as he wanted, in his current state. "Still older than you," he answered, his eyes drifting closed.

"But still looking younger." Because life was unfair like that. Harry went to the kitchen and got a tall glass of water, which he brought back and deposited in Thomas's hand. "Drink."

"Not younger," Thomas called after him. "Just less beat-up." He eyed the glass and took it, sniffing. "It's just water," he complained, wrinkling his nose.

"Drink the water now, or the hangover potion in the morning," Harry said, mildly, settling in the leather armchair closest to the fire.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "What're you, my mother?" he grumbled, but he was pleased that Harry actually cared enough /to/ mother him. Gods knew neither of them had had much mothering in their lives.

Harry snorted softly and looked Thomas over, resting his chin in his hand. "I know how you feel about family," he said, lightly. The Raith, side, anyway. How Thomas felt about their family ties...they'd never really spoken about it.

"To say nothing of how they feel about me," Thomas answered, taking a swallow of water. He shook his head--or, well, rolled it against the couch cushion. "I don't want to talk about them."

Silence was Harry's agreement. He stretched, his eyes trailing over Thomas casually, and rubbed a hand over his lightly stubbled jaw. The silence was companionable. After living with each other for six months, whenever Thomas came over it was like going back to that time, and he liked that. It was one reason he'd never kick Thomas out. Though he wouldn't admit it if asked, he still kept certain things in his fridge that he knew Thomas liked.

Thomas stared at the ceiling for a minute, then sighed. "I'm hungry. Please tell me you have something more than dry cereal in the house."

"I think there's ham," Harry mused, forehead lightly furrowed as he struggled to remember. "Feel like a sandwich?"

"I feel like another drink, but I have a feeling I'm not getting that here." Thomas looked at Harry blearily and nodded. "Sure. A sandwich would be good."

"What, you're not drunk enough?" Harry stood up, glancing at Thomas with more curiosity than disapproval. He took the unwanted glass of water on his way to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of beer from the icebox, setting it on the counter as he also retrieved cold cuts, bread, cheese, and mustard. "That more to your taste?"

"There's no such thing." Thomas chuckled a little, then eyed the beer. It was so far away... He sighed and hoisted himself to his feet, trudging to the kitchen to get the bottle and leaning against the counter to drink it. "Much better. Thank you."

Harry slid his brother a knowing glance, a faint smile on his lips, and then set about putting together a few sandwiches because, now that Thomas had mentioned it, he was hungry too. Starving, actually.

Thomas took another swig, then set the beer down and wandered over to peer around Harry, leaning against his back to watch him make sandwiches. "You're so good to me," he murmured, leaning his head against Harry's shoulder.

It wasn't until Thomas leaned against him that Harry realized just how long it'd been since someone had touched him--even casually like this. Because it felt good. Not in a creepy White Court Vamp kind of way. Just in a touching and being touched kind of way. And that had to mean it was past time for him to get another girlfriend. He swallowed and smiled again, reflexively. "Not letting you make the food when you're trashed is more a favor to myself than for you," he countered, dryly.

"...Also a valid point." Thomas sighed and kept leaning, because it kept him upright. "But you could have just let me starve."

Thomas might think he was just sighing and leaning, but what he was really doing was oozing sex and hormones against Harry's back. And...hey. It'd been awhile. Harry let out a low breath. "...I'd never let you starve. Eating is...important."

"Yes. Yes it is." Thomas fell silent for a minute and then moved away, back to the beer as he took a deep breath. "...I've been feeding," he mumbled, slumping against the counter.

When Thomas moved away, Harry exhaled and quickly finished the sandwiches. At Thomas's admission he turned around and faced his brother. "And by feeding you mean....?"

Thomas snorted, rolling his eyes. "I mean sex, Harry. Not--not a lot," he added quickly, because that was important. "Just...here and there, to supplement what I get at the salon. Never the same person twice." Okay, that wasn't entirely accurate, but Robin wasn't technically a person.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Why Thomas was telling him this...he wasn't sure. At some point in their relationship he became Thomas's confessor, and that was...a little unnerving. "And?" He laughed and lightly shoved at Thomas's shoulder. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"

Thomas frowned, a little surprised at Harry's reaction. Maybe that was just the alcoholic haze in his brain. "...No?" He shrugged a little and nursed his beer, eyes on the floor. "Just...thought you deserved to know." That his brother was still a monster, despite Harry's denial of the fact.

Harry pushed the sandwich towards Thomas and rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you remember the day I asked you what it was like? The hunger?"

Thomas nodded, taking another swig of his beer before picking up the sandwich. He remembered it very vividly, in fact. It still didn't quite do it justice, the analogy he'd used, but it was as close as he could get.

"And you honestly think I'd be pissed at you feeding? After that?" Harry looked reproachful and took a large, pointed bite from his sandwich.

Thomas shrugged again. "You weren't entirely thrilled to find out I was feeding on people by washing their hair," he pointed out. It still fed on their energy, still addicted them to him, even if he tried to spread it around as much as possible.

Harry sighed internally and finished his bite before answering. "It...took me awhile...the whole...salon thing, I mean. I know I mock you for it...relentlessly, but...I don't think I ever told you how proud I am of you."

"...Really?" Thomas snuck a look at him and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Really." Harry's smile was lopsided. They didn't talk like this--and if Thomas wasn't drunk, he's not sure he would be telling him this. "You don't take more than you need. You protect them as much as yourself--more than yourself."

"I don't want to be a killer," Thomas whispered, setting the sandwich aside as he suddenly lost his appetite. "I try not to hurt them." But his demon was another story.

"I know." Harry smiled a little. "And speaking from experience...I know it doesn't hurt." Except to stop.

"Not until they're dead." Thomas took a deep breath--and then a deep pull of beer. "I don't know why I'm saying any of this. I'm drunk." But his grasp of the obvious was clearly still firm.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, but he smiled and squeezed Thomas's shoulder lightly. "But I'm not. So...feed. It's okay. I trust you."

Thomas swallowed and met Harry's eyes briefly. "Thank you." He hesitated, then reached out and clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. It wasn't the hug he'd been tempted to give, but he and Harry weren't all that great at physical affection, either one of them.

Harry studied his brother for a moment. "C'mere," he said softly, and pulled Thomas into a hug anyway. He could count on one hand the number of actual conversations like this he'd had in his life, and half of them had been with Thomas.

Thomas was stiff for a moment, then melted against Harry, his cheek pressed to his brother's. He turned his head, lips brushing along Harry's jaw almost accidentally, making him still as his demon stirred at the intimite touch.

At the touch of lips Harry inhaled sharply and pulled back, but forced a laugh. "Hey...I'm not that kind of girl," he said, trying to shrug it off.

Thomas pulled away, shaking his head, eyes squeezed closed. "Yeah, I know. I didn't mean...it was an accident." He looked away and added softly. "I should go...sleep it off."

Well, hell. If that wasn't a punch to the gut. Harry sighed and pulled Thomas close again, pressing a hasty kiss against his forehead. "Hey...."

Thomas clenched his teeth, determined not to lose control again. "It's fine. I'm fine. I just need to sober up." He kept his eyes closed, his head down. He was chagrined, a little ashamed even, by the momentary weakness.

Harry nodded and squeezed Thomas's shoulder once more before pulling back. "You need to eat. I mean--the sandwich," he clarified. "And then bed. If you can manage to wrestle the blankets from Mouse and Mister."

Thomas nodded, then blinked and looked up. "...You want me to stay? Here?"

"Uh...yeah?" Harry looked confused. "I thought that's why you came here."

But now Thomas didn't want to admit why he /had/ come. "Not...I mean sure. Thanks." He took a deep breath and scooped up the sandwich.

"No problem." Harry nudged him. "We're family."

Thomas gave Harry a faint smile and nodded. "I know." And then he focused on finishing his sandwich, pausing halfway through it to add, "I should probably take that water now."

"I've got a hangover potion ready," Harry reminded him. He finished his last two bites of his sandwich and pushed the plate away. "Go lay down...I'll put this away." He gestured vaguely towards the sandwich fixings. He could use some time to compose himself anyway.

Thomas nodded again and straightened with only a momentary sway, trudging toward the couch with the rest of his sandwich, eating as he walked.

Harry watched him go and hesitated, debating offering him his bed. In the end, he decided against it, and cleaned up in silence, walking back into the living room when he'd finished.

Thomas was slouched on the couch again, popping the last bite of sandwich in his mouth by the time Harry returned. He glanced over, brushed some crumbs off of his hands, and then stretched out on the couch with a sigh, letting his eyes drift closed.

Seeing Thomas like that made something twist in his stomach, and for a moment he considered offering Thomas his own bed instead of the couch--but only for a moment. He stood there, watching him from a distance, and said nothing. After a minute, when he was sure Thomas was asleep, he picked up one of the many blankets from a chair and laid it over the top of him. "Happy birthday, brother," he said softly.

By the dawn's early light

There was one thing Thomas had always appreciated about Harry's basement lodgings; the small, high windows were kind enough to not let a lot of morning sunlight in when one was sleeping a hangover off on the couch.

Mister, on the other hand, knew nothing of kindness as he walked across Thomas' face and down his body, ignoring the 'oof' and the groan that followed as he leapt from the arm of the couch to the top of the bookcase where he gave Thomas a disinterested look in response to the bleary glare he was receiving.

"I always did love Mouse more," Thomas grumbled, cranky, and pulled the blanket over his head as he rolled over on his side, back to the room. Stupid cat.

Though the apartment was still dark, and silent, there was a large, wrapped package in shiny white paper next to Thomas's head, and a small bottle with a handwritten tag of Hangover in Harry's memorable scrawl.

Thomas noticed the package, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he was nearly asleep again before before it really registered, what it was, why it was there. "Harrrrry," he groaned, turning back over to stare at the package, then at the bottle. It seemed almost not worth the effort of moving to reach for it, even if Thomas trusted Harry's potions and therefore that it would do as advertised. What it would taste like was another matter.

Thomas sat up carefully, holding his head until the room stopped tilting. The hangover wasn't as bad as it should have been, thanks to his demon, but it was still bad enough to make him reach out and pick up the waiting bottle, opening it to take a sniff. "...Ugh You need to learn how to make them cherry-flavored," he muttered grumpily before taking a deep breath and downing the contents, grimacing as he set the bottle down with a thump.

Harry could hear Thomas talking in the other room and shook his head. It was, after all, just a dream, and it wasn't his fault at all. Thomas was an incubus--it was genetic. He'd probably zapped Harry with some kind of vampire mojo accidentally while he was drunk. That was all.

He got up and grabbed his robe, then padded out to the living room to see how the drunken incubus was fairing. "Good morning," he said, cheerfully, and maybe just a little bit louder than necessary.

"Unh," Thomas replied, cranky. He could feel the effects of the potion already starting, but that didn't make him any more of a morning person. He amended his initial grunt with, "Coffee."

"Still not a morning person," Harry observed, smile wry. He made his way to the kitchen and took out the coffee press and pre-ground coffee, then filled the kettle and put it on the wood stove to boil. They did things the old-fashioned way in this house--by necessity, not eccentricity.

Thomas let his head fall into his hands, knowing it would be a few minutes before he could get properly caffeinated. "...You didn't have to get me anything," he muttered after a minute.

"What do you get the man who has everything?" Harry mocked. He shrugged a shoulder. "You're my brother. I get to give you presents whether you like it or not."

"Yeah, yeah." Thomas lifted his head, looking over at Harry. "I'll open it as soon as I'm awake."

Harry shrugged again, keeping his back to Thomas. His heart was still racing as if he'd taken a perk-me-up potion and he moved towards the icebox, staring blankly. "Hungry?"

Thomas grunted and gave a faint shake of his head. "Nuh."

"You sure? You didn't eat much last night. Food, I mean. And uh...here. I have no idea if you ate...out." Smooth, Harry. Really smooth.

Thomas sighed and leaned back against the couch. "I didn't. Eat out. Food or otherwise," he answered darkly. "I just want coffee."

As if answering his wishes, the kettle began to whistle, and Harry moved to take it off the stove, grateful for the distraction. He filled the coffee press with grounds and water and then slowly moved the plunger down. "Maybe you should have," he muttered.

Thomas heard, of course he did. His enhanced hearing made sure of that. His jaw tightened but he didn't say anything, just stretched out on the couch again, tangled up in the blanket Harry had covered him with last night.

Harry poured two mugs of coffee and brought one to Thomas without saying anything further. Mouse padded out of his bedroom with an impressive yawn and stretched, front legs first, then back legs as he walked towards the kitchen, following the smell of coffee. "None for you, bud," he said, crossly. "I think Mister's still traumatized from the last time you lapped up some caffeine."

"Dear God," Thomas exclaimed at the very thought, getting up on one elbow and reaching out for the coffee. "I shudder to think."

"Yeah, pretty much," Harry agreed. Once Thomas had his cup, he settled in his favorite armchair, inhaling the aroma greedily.

Thomas spent a few minutes just sucking down the hot coffee, feeling it start to kick in, perking him up far better than the burn of the hangover potion. "Bless you," he murmured finally, raising grey eyes from the coffee to his brother.

Harry didn't answer, too absorbed in his own cup, but nodded, acknowledging his thanks. Mouse finally moved from the kitchen to curl up at Thomas's feet. Or, well, on them.

That was okay, Thomas wasn't going anywhere just yet. And it was kind of nice, in a way. Just like when they'd been living together. It was easy to forget how they'd gotten on each other's nerves, to just remember how nice it had been to see Harry regularly, to have someone there who would always have his back. He knew Harry was still there if he needed him, but it wasn't quite the same, these days. "So. Should I open it now?" he asked, letting one hand fall away from the coffee cup to reach out and touch the wrapped package.

"It's your birthday," Harry replied with a shrug. "Technically it's late, so...."

Thomas nodded, took another sip of coffee, then set it aside and pulled the present onto his lap. He tore away the paper carelessly, and then stared at the box beneath it. "...Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots?" he read, looking up at Harry with a confused expression.

"Yeah," Harry's expression was guarded. "Old Earth toy. You know how they keep bringing everything back....next it's Ataris and Nintendos."

"Uh huh. Like you've been anywhere near a video game system." Thomas opened the box, just to make sure--yep, it really was what the box said. "And...why did you get me a toy?"

Harry pursed his lips and lifted his eyes from his coffee to Thomas's face. "When my dad died...before I went to live with...." Justin. But he wouldn't say his name. "I spent Christmas in an orphanage. And that year the 'it' toy was Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. They had these commercials...two boys playing with them. Two brothers. And more than anything...I wanted to give those robots to my brother."

Okay, now it made more sense. "So...you did." He looked up and smiled at Harry, a little awkwardly. "Thanks. I think." He wasn't sure what he was ever going to do with them, but the sentiment behind the gift...that was something neither of them were used to expressing, familial love.

"Thirty years late," Harry said, his expression turning wry. "I didn't even know I had a brother at the time. But I wanted one. Oh, the innocence of youth...."

"But now you have one." Thomas smirked. "And you know what a pain in the ass it is."

"At least what a pain in the ass you are," Harry shot back. Banter was much more familiar ground for them than sentimentality.

"I do try," Thomas breezed, smiling beatifically. "It's good to know my efforts are appreciated."

The comment earned a snort from his long-suffering brother. "I see the hangover potion is kicking in."

"Thanks. For that," Thomas said simply, flashing a quick smile. "And for last night. Sorry about anything I said..." Or did.

"So...you don't really think that I could be as good looking as you are with the right hairstyle?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I wasn't that drunk," he drawled.

Harry grinned. "No. You weren't. So...there's nothing to apologize for. Except maybe your singing."

And the almost-kiss, but if Harry wasn't going to mention that, Thomas would happily pretend he didn't remember it. "I sang? Lucky you..."

"Yeah, it's almost like it's my birthday, too," Harry said, dryly. Mister paused from his bath to walk across Harry's lap and curl up like he belonged there.

Thomas chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd ask if I could take a shower before I go, but...I don't trust your water heater." He grabbed his coffee and drained the rest of it. "So I'll just shower back at my place."

"The water heater?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure it's the fact that I don't have any of those foofy perfumed shampoos and washes?"

"That certainly doesn't help your shower's case." Thomas got to his feet, setting his coffee cup on the table and tucking his present under his arm. "I'll see you later, Harry. Thanks again for the weirdly sweet gift."

Harry wouldn't admit it, but he was actually a little hurt that Thomas didn't want to open said weirdly sweet present and actually, well, play with it. But he shrugged casually. "I thought you didn't like the taste of hangover potion."

"I don't. It's nasty. But it's better than the taste of a hangover." Thomas grinned and headed for the door.

Mouse, perhaps sensing Harry's mood, moved from his position on the couch to lay his head on Harry's leg. Harry absently scratched the foo dog behind the ears. "So...I'll see you later?"

"Of course." Thomas nodded, gave a little wave, and was out the door.

Harry watched him go, exchanged a look with Mouse, and then stood up to get another cup of coffee. "Ingrate," he grumped. "Not you," he assured the dog hastily.