It's my birthday, too

[raith_rogue]

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.