[for Brian]

[one__song]

[Continued from here.]That fucking face... Claire'd had an attitude adjustment, that was for sure. She wasn't the bumbling blonde bimbo she'd once been, and Roger vaguely hoped Hunter's cock had very little to do with it

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[queer_as_brian]

Brian was feeling pretty fucking good. He'd spent the last few days drunk on good liquor for once, and he was in the mood for some company.

He wandered over to Roger's room after finishing the bottle of Grey Goose, knocking lightly and poking his head inside when there was no answer. Not there. Fuck. He stood in the corridor for a few seconds, frowning.

Some blonde chick came out of the men's room and bolted past him without a word, rousing his curiosity. What the hell had she been doing in there? He pushed the door open and walked into the bathroom, peering into the stalls with a vague smirk that disappeared instantly the second he saw Roger.

"Shit." He was in the stall with Roger before he knew it, not even stopping to wonder how he recognized him so fast despite not seeing much more than his back and his ass. If asked he'd claim he never forgot an ass, but that wasn't it.

Dropping to his knees, he reached for Roger, resting a hand on his back. "Roger..."

[one__song]

Roger's retching covered the swinging open of the door, but not the footsteps, and he was getting so lightheaded that he didn't notice they were heavier than the previous ones.

"I said get out, Claire," Roger hissed, and then when the hand fell onto his back, it felt familiar, and though he didn't want to admit it, he knew who it was.

He coughed and spit again, then took a deep, trembling breath, his whole body sore, eyes and nose dripping. He propped an arm against the seat and rested his head on his arm... but he didn't pull away.

"Brian..."

[queer_as_brian]

Brian's hand moved slowly over Roger's back, trying to calm him, although his own heart was pounding now. The effects of the alcohol were quickly fading as adrenaline went through him. He had to swallow a few times and wet his lips before he could ask "Do you need a doctor?" in anything approaching a calm voice. It sounded pretty good to him when he managed it, although inside he was anything but calm.

[one__song]

Another cough threatened to bring up more of the contents of his stomach, but he curbed it and just spit once, instead. That seemed to help.

"Not AIDS-related," Roger said, and he spit once more for good measure. Then, he was against the stall divider: these were the only two positions he could manage at that time.

"Well. Not really." He snorted cruelly and his stomach reminded him that was a bad idea.

[queer_as_brian]

Brian moved over to sit next to him, easing an arm around his shoulders. "You okay?" he asked quietly. He knew the answer was no, but it was a good way to get into what was wrong. Maybe he wouldn't have to ask anything else, maybe Roger would just tell him.

He wasn't betting on it, though.

[one__song]

There was virtually no fluid or nourishment left in Roger's body, and his arms lay limply at his sides, neck bared with his head back, eyes half-closed, pulse beating away in his temples almost visibly.

"I'm..." He coughed over his answer and rolled his head a bit miserably. "I smell like shit." He could feel his eyes getting heavier.

[queer_as_brian]

"Yeah," Brian agreed with a faint smile. "Puking'll do that. So what happened?" He was still watching Roger with grave concern, but his tone was forcedly light. "Did you take advantage of the latest craze and conjure up a few too many?"

[one__song]

Roger was surprised that Brian wasn't shying away like... well... like a queen around puke, but Brian was no ordinary queen... and Roger was willing to bet that Brian was keeping his shoes a safe distance away.

"Claire..." The world lurched a bit and he groaned. "Cut herself. Fed a vampire..." This part he was OK with. Weird fuckin' shit.

[queer_as_brian]

"...Oh for fuck's sake," Brian muttered. Christ, he hated this place sometimes. Still, it didn't explain why Roger had thrown up. "I never took you for the squeamish type," he commented idly, his hand moving up to stroke Roger's hair without even thinking about it. Just like he would have done if this had been Mikey.

[one__song]

The hand through his hair didn't go unnoticed, but it did go un-spoken about. Roger had discovered the formula: if he talked about it, it stopped. He didn't want that, so he didn't speak of it.

"No. It's... she cut her wrists," Roger said, sniffing. "No scars. She... regenerated it or something." For a moment, he was sure he was going to be sick again, and he leaned forward, so tired of the motion, and tired of the way his muscles ached. "My girlfriend couldn't regenerate tissue."

[queer_as_brian]

Brian's free hand briefly pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to follow what Roger was saying, but it wasn't really making any sense. "All right, never mind that," he decided. He didn't really need to understand what happened. The important thing was making sure Roger was going to be okay. "Just...what do you need?"

[one__song]

It didn't even occur to Roger that what he was saying was seemingly nonsensical, and he spit into the toilet and finally flushed it when he was sure he was done.

"A toothbrush?" Roger asked idly, head rolling again in that same miserable way.

[queer_as_brian]

Two days ago, Roger would have been shit out of luck. But as moronic as he felt using the wand he had tucked into the back of his jeans, it worked. It'd kept him contentedly supplied with top shelf liquor and real cigarettes, and he didn't even think twice about sitting forward and pulling it out, conjuring up a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. "Come on," he said, tucking the wand back into his pants and pulling away so he could help Roger to his feet.

[one__song]

Roger felt annoyance twinge in his gut. Whatever the fuck was wrong with that week was what had gotten him to where he was, in the first place, and even Brian had fallen victim to it. Roger didn't think of Brian as one to fall victim to anything. He was too strong, too proud... too much better. And as it was, Roger remained immune to the allure of the magic. In fact, he hated it.

Once he was hauled up and at the sink, Roger carefully and weakly brushed his teeth, spit, drank some water, and then leaned against the cool tile of the wall. He was still sweaty.

"Thanks," he said softly.

[queer_as_brian]

Brian didn't see it as falling victim to anything. It was simply using the resources he was provided to their fullest extent. If that meant he had to wave a wand for half a second to have some of the comforts he'd been missing, well. Everything had its cost, didn't it?

He didn't respond to the thanks, pretended to not even hear it. He grabbed a washcloth instead, running it under cool water and then wringing it out before standing in front of Roger, his eyes fixed on Roger's forehead as he began wiping his face gently. "You should probably lie down, you look like shit," he commented quietly, but there was a note of concern in his voice that he couldn't quite cover up.

[one__song]

If Roger hadn't been in victim-mode, himself, if he had been on his game and alert and tuned in, he would have been angry, but he wasn't. He could deal with it later, the fact that he knew Brian had uttered the same words to Prior. But right then, Roger needed stasis and strength and Brian was providing that.

"Yeah," Roger remarked, taking a moment to revel in the fact that his mouth didn't taste and feel like ass. "I don't want to... to go back to my room. Don't wanna explain to Hunter."

Fucking coward, Davis.