Title: How Harry Got His Groove Back
Disclaimer: I wish.
Summary: It's not you, it's me.
"I want to see other people," Harry blurted.
Thomas stared at him evenly for a moment then finally asked, "Are you dumping me?" in an incredulous voice.
"Just for a little while," Harry said apologetically. "It's just that I was really close to getting this woman's phone number yesterday, but one of your customers walked in and recognized me—"
"Which one?" Thomas interrupted, still reeling from the shock that his brother, for once, was taking a proactive approach to dating instead of his usual tried and true method of waiting until a random woman flung open the door, hit him over the head with a baseball bat and dragged him off to dinner somewhere. Then usually tried to kill and or maim him, but Thomas was pretty sure that was just Harry's peculiar brand of bad luck.
"Uh," Harry paused. His face scrunched up as he tried to remember. "About this tall," he gestured somewhere around his waist, "blue hair, huge sunglasses, and diamonds worth more than my entire life savings on her fingers."
Thomas waved his hand at the last part. "More than that, though that's not saying much," he said. "That's Mrs. Sheffield. She comes in every second Tuesday of the month to get a manicure and the latest gossip."
"I'm thrilled that you have such a close relationship with her, but she walked up to me in front of the woman I was flirting with and started chatting to me. In the course of our conversation she revealed that she thought you and I were the cutest couple she had ever seen. She also implied that the sex must be fantastic."
Thomas winced. "Yeah, she has a kind of lewd sense of humor—"
"Oh, no," Harry held up a finger. "It gets better. She asked if we had ever considered having a commitment ceremony, because her niece has a friend who's a wedding planner who does absolutely adorable work if we ever wanted to have one."
"I can see how that might have been a problem," Thomas admitted. "But I need you as my cover."
"I think they believe you are well and truly gay," Harry said blandly. "Any more cover and you'll have to tattoo a rainbow on your ass and listen exclusively to showtunes and Barbara Streisand."
"I do like Judy Garland," Thomas mused aloud.
"Who doesn't?" Harry shot back. He wandered into the kitchen and started half-heartedly washing the dishes piled in the sink. "I could just use a little space, you know?"
Thomas let out a loud, martyred sigh. "Alright, fine. I'll allow myself to be dumped," Thomas pointed a finger at Harry, "but only because you're my brother."
"That sentence is wrong in so many ways," Harry said. They scrubbed at the dishes, the companionable silence only being broken by the occasional clinking noise as they put them away in the cabinets.
"Well, this is it, then," said Thomas after they finished and were sitting next to each other on the couch.
There was a pause, then Thomas said, "I've never been dumped before."
Harry let out a disgusted snort. "It's something we mere mortals have to deal with occasionally. Also, strictly speaking, you have to be dating first in order to be dumped."
"We dated," Thomas protested in an offended tone.
"No, we didn't."
"Yes, we did. What do you call all those times we went out together?"
Harry stared at him as if he had suddenly announced a burning desire to renounce sex altogether and become a missionary in Belize. "Fleeing death? Fighting bad guys? Averting inter-dimensional disaster?"
"I meant the other times," Thomas said with a wistful expression. "Those times we went out to nice restaurants, ordered some champagne, flirted over filet mignon…"
"We've never done that," Harry pointed out.
"Oh, that's right, we haven't." Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Harry. "You're a terrible boyfriend. It's no wonder I'm dumping you."
"Hey! I am the dumper here, you're the dumpee!"
"I have a reputation to uphold, Harry. What would it say if I allowed myself to be dumped?"
"I have a reputation, too, you know," Harry said crossly. It came out more sulky, much to his annoyance.
Thomas sighed. "I don't see what blowing things up and burning buildings down has to do with dating. Besides," he preened a little, running a hand through his hair and shaking it out in a way models only wished they could imitate, "dating me is an upgrade for you."
"Oh, please! You leave clothes everywhere, you forget to pick up milk, you're physically incapable of doing housework—" Harry trailed off when he noticed the horrified expression Thomas was giving him. Out of habit, he checked behind him, but saw nothing but Mister lounging on a bookcase and Mouse gazing mournfully at his owner over his empty food bowl. "What?"
"Harry," Thomas said in shocked realization, "We're not dating, we're married!"