
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/708302.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Boondock_Saints_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Connor_MacManus/Murphy_MacManus
  Character:
      Original_Characters, Annabelle_MacManus
  Additional Tags:
      Abandoned_Work_-_Unfinished_and_Discontinued, Unresolved_Sexual_Tension,
      Unrequited_Crush, Underage_Sex, Sexual_Content, Pining
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-04 Chapters: 1/3 Words: 5139
****** Comfort In These Lies ******
by Pseudosanity
Summary
     How they felt wasn't mutual.
Notes
     There’s a lot of Conphy fics where they’re secretly in love with each
     other, then it’s all happily ever after once they find out. I wanted
     to try something a little different.
     It has been reread and edited, so any typos are mine.
     Disclaimer: Just my imagination.
                                                   But if we walk in the light,
                                                         as He is in the light,
                                           we have fellowship with one another.
                                                                   — 1 John 1:7
       “I need to speak with you.”
Whatever they needed to talk about was serious. He could tell immediately by
the way Connor enunciated clearer, his fluid brogue lacking its usual bright
melody (then again, Connor did have the better voice as far as being understood
went). Murphy was curious, but his brother should know better than to attempt a
conversation more than serious than How fast does the world spin after your
twelfth pint?It was a pub after all, not a court room—serious had no place
here. They were getting shitfaced only because they no longer required fake IDs
to buy drinks; gracious IDs used since they hit sixteen. Thank God for early
puberty. Murphy had praised the first time it had worked and gulped his
whiskey, proud of the then-dampened whiskers that had bracketed his mouth and
chin. They could’ve had drinks safe at home, but there wasn’t any fun when the
law granted that permission.
Instead of pointing out their original goal, Murphy acknowledged Connor with a
small noise in his throat as he slowly raised a tall glass to his lips,
distracted gaze set over Connor’s shoulder toward the nice-looking girl a few
stools away. The woman was older, of course, but not by much. And since when
had age ever mattered to Murphy? His illegal drinking began when he was a wee
minor, so naturally sex hadn’t been too far off, give or take a couple of
years. She wasn’t exceptionally pretty, albeit contrary to a lot of male views
he didn’t like his girls model-attractive. Those types came with more problems
than a fat ugly chick—no thanks. Average or cute was the way to go. He liked
that she wasn’t shy either, having met his stares each time without backing
down. Occasionally she smiled—or was it a smirk?—a bit at him before continuing
about her business, but not for long. Eventually those shrewd brown eyes always
returned to his mischievous blue.
         “Damn it, Murph, fuckin’ look at me when I’m fucking tryin’ ta talk ta
y'!”
Strong fingers gripped his chin and jerked his head sharply to capture Murphy’s
undivided attention. Connor looked furious, though that could’ve been the
surplus liquor he had earlier putting fire in his glossy gaze. He refused to
release Murphy, a blatant demand that he should listen if he knew what was best
for him. Reluctantly, Murphy obeyed as his narrowed eyes painted his features
into a scowl.
         “What.” he snapped through clinched teeth.
Connor seemed very pleased with himself, mouth twitching into a brief smirk,
before he slid the hand that held Murphy’s jaw toward the back of his neck. As
his fingers clasped tight and his nails gently embedded skin, his lips pursed
slightly, creases wrinkled his brow, pinching his face into a rigidly solemn
mask, but Connor said nothing. Concern replaced the mild irritation that had
risen in Murphy, wondering what was wrong.
         “Connor?” he tried casually, ignoring his weak timbre.
It summoned his focus (barely) again; Connor melted back, his hand sliding off
and shaking his head too quickly to be assurance. “Nothing, it’s noth—I—Never
mind.”
         “Go on, spit it out. Tell me.” Frowning, Murphy leaned closer on his
forearm propped against the bar.
The sigh his brother exhaled worried Murphy further and he wanted to shake him
because he was taking too long to open up. Sometimes Connor got like that,
regardless if they’d been drinking or not. He’d simply shutdown, nary a word,
peer off elsewhere, deep in his mind, too pensive for Murphy to follow his
thoughts; a habit that scared the shit out of him yet he accepted because the
quirk was Connor’s. He’d always been able to bring his twin back anyhow
someway. Murphy only started noticing such behavior roughly three or four years
ago—hell, maybe five. He wasn’t sure if that was when it began or if Connor had
done his freaky zone out thing long before.
Finally he heard his voice again. “You’ll stay with me, right? No matter what?”
         “Aye, no matter what.” Murphy vowed, nodding.
         “Even if... if I say something hurtful ta y', do something y' wouldn’t
like, something unforgivable? Even if my core is too rotten for the Devil ta
keep—”
Murphy shook his head, hands waving to cut the direction his brother was
headed, and shushed him. “Stop it, don’ ya think such things. That’s the
Guinness talkin’, I know it. Ya listen ta me now,” He slung his arm over
Connor’s shoulder, pulling him close enough their foreheads almost touched. An
easy grin spread his lips, wanting to lessen the stifling mood. “Ain’t anythin’
ya can do I won’ forgive. You’re not rotten, ya hear me? Say it,”
Connor hesitated until Murphy cuffed the side of his head with another scowl.
“I’m not rotten.”
         “S’righ'. Dunno why ya’d believe such a thing either. You’re good,
Connor, your soul is pure—clean. If it wasn’t—which it ain’t!—doesn’t matter
anyway ‘cause you’re my brother. I love you. More ‘specially when ya piss me
off ‘cause you’re bein’ dense,” Murphy gave him a pointed look. The quip earned
him a chuckle like he intended: a good sign. “I’m with ya, Connor. You’re stuck
with me so get used ta it. Oh, an’...” Straightening, he patted his shoulder
with a heavy hand, “buck up, man. You’re killin’ m’ buzz.”
Laughing, Connor nodded while he drew a bottle to his mouth, swallowing the
remnants of alcohol. Murphy ordered him another and soon Connor was giddy
again; no dour comments tumbled from him. Once he figured he’d be fine his
sight diverted to his recent target. Her body language told him she was on the
precipice of paying her tab to leave for the night. Quickly, he polished off
the rest of his beverage, then turned to Connor. “Ya gonna be a’righ'? There’s
somethin’ I gotta take care of, but if ya want I’ll—”
         “Go before she changes her mind. I’m fine, honestly.” Connor smiled
brightly for his twin, a gesture Murphy returned. He saddled up to the twiggy
brunette sifting through her wallet and Connor’s smile steadily decreased as he
watched Murphy utter some words in her ear, earning him a slow smirk and nod
and what Connor thought was a “About bloody time.” Grinning, Murphy stepped
aside to let her up before he grasped her hand to guide her to a back door.
He should’ve looked away sooner—no, he shouldn’t have watched in the first
place, but it was too late to erase the image of his beloved brother, head
angled down, inching his mouth closer to that bitch as the door carefully
swayed shut.
He waited. Don’t get up, don’t get up, don’t get up. Stay where you are.Yet the
mantra was futile since Connor crossed the bar toward the exit moments later.
He didn’t go out, only leaned against the wall, his head resting against cheap
plaster and aquatic gaze hidden behind tired eyelids. Absently he noted the
tattered door hadn’t fully closed thanks to faulty hinges and its worn frame.
When Connor strained his ear he heard sounds that he guessed were her pleas and
gasps coupled with Murph’s tiny grunts and brazen curses. He knew exactly what
those rhythmic, muffled thuds that vaguely shook the wall were.
Torture was what he was doing to himself. Who in their right mind would
eavesdrop on two people having sex? Inside the pub of the alley they occupied
was next to, no less. Despite the jealousy that boiled within his veins, he
felt himself responding to the idea of Murphy in action, slender hips canting
in sultry precision to reach ultimate bliss, elegant hands digging into shivery
skin as they coaxed heated flesh undone. Connor swallowed down a moan when he
launched from his perch and vanished into a small bathroom for much needed
privacy.
         God forgive me.
                                     * * *
That hadn’t been the first time, nor the last, that Connor witnessed Murphy go
off with some manky woman. Murphy had reached sexual awareness at a young age
(“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking fourteen, carryin’ around like some master
lothario. Congratulations, want a fucking medal, y' ape? Thick as a brick, y'
are—you’re still just a kid for fuck’s sake!” “ ‘Mfifteen, damn ya! The both of
us as of t’morrow! Plenty grown ‘nough ta do as I please without ya breathin’
down my neck. Why don’t ya get off m’ fuckin’ back, Conn, an’ get ya'self some
tail. Maybe it’ll break the stick shoved in your ass. Jesus.”)and he’d taken
full advantage of appearing older than he really was. Connor, on the other
hand, was a gimp in comparison despite being well practiced by now, though he’d
waited until he was sixteen.
Yes, Murphy was quite open about his promiscuity, indelibly unashamed
regardless of the disdainful glances he received from adults and youths alike.
Sometimes, just to be a bastard, he winked at them or slowly licked his lips,
maybe both if he felt particularly generous. His only saving grace was being
smart enough to wear protection and get frequently tested. The Lord was surely
with him since every time his brother stepped out ‘negative’ as well as no
surprise children popping up. Neither did Murphy care where he got laid so long
as it happened. Usually with fellow classmates he went to her house after
school because she tended to be too paranoid of getting caught (such wasn’t
always the case considering Connor had turned down one too many corridors to
find Murph and his latest conquest crammed in a nook somewhere). Then there
were the wretched times he brought his “girlfriends” to their house for a
session on the sofa. Always when Ma was away unless he risked going deaf from
her imitation of a banshee.
Those were times Connor hated the most.
He could handle Murphy’s escapades elsewhere—they were public or pseudo-
private, which never crossed into his domain. Home was Connor’s sanctuary, or
as close to it as he’d get in their Catholic town with all the inbred iniquity
that plagued his mind. It was rare for Murphy to disrespect the MacManus abode
by bringing slags over, but he also thought more with his cockhead than the
head attached to his neck, rationalizing it was okay if nobody was there when
he’d invited them. Alas, he failed to comprehend not seeing didn’t equate to
not knowing.
Connor’s sagacity was keen enough that he’d figured out what occurred before
he'd unlocked the front door. The vibe was just... different. A sense of
botched equilibrium would saturate the air, leaving behind an ominous cloud
that intruded throughout the house wherever he stepped.
Not this time. Maybe sports had gradually hacked his nerves (Connor had been
part of tennis then basketball at the start of the school until switching over
to hurling and sticking with it) and today’s practice had been grueling. But
not one to admit defeat, Connor pushed it aside as easily as he pushed open the
front door and shut it behind him.
         “Murph, I’m back,” he called, dropping his coat on the wall hanger.
“You here too, Ma?” The lack of a response was the best answer.
Connor poured a glass of water before climbing the stairs two at a time, eager
to collapse on his bed and grateful there was no homework to be done. The
resounding peace made perfect sense yet in the back of his mind he thought it
strange the place was so quiet since Annabelle MacManus hadn’t arrived from her
own personal happy hour.
What didn’t make sense was entering his shared bedroom to find it occupied by
someone other than just Murphy. School bag tumbling from his hand, Connor stood
immobile, mouth agape, fingers squeezing a death grip on his cup, as his
confusion morphed into vindictive betrayal. The girl was a familiar face that
had accompanied Murphy lately (“It’s serious with Aisling.” ), but he’d never
seen her delicate features churned by the intense throes of passion. With her
head tossed back at an alarming degree that mimicked the bow of her spine, her
cascade of long inky waves brushed her white-knuckled hold on his pale thighs,
her bottom lip trapped below her teeth so hard she might tear it off as high-
pitched whimpers wrenched from her throat with every rough thrust Murphy drove
into her. His hands resembled claws clutching the curves of her waist, his
fingerprints already bruised on blushing skin, hauling her back on his cock
when she rose so high she nearly dislodged him. Underneath the poor lamplight
sweat glistened their skin, adding an oddly sleek grace to their primitive
motions, yet both remained ignorant of the onlooker whose stomach knotted
further and further the longer he watched, powerless against the squalid
montage and cacophonies that charred his psyche.
For a split second he didn’t recognize that lurid sob as his own when he
dropped his water. A burst of them gutted his vocal chords, deafening the
commotion of startled shouts and bustled blankets which resonated from the bed.
Dimly he heard a sweet rasp of “Connor?!” ruined by a feminine “You told me he
wouldn’t be here!”
It was too much to handle. Silver grooves continuously scratched down his
cheeks as he scrubbed his despondent tears with the heels on his palms and
clumsy feet stumbled when he tried backing away, out of the tarnished bedroom.
Two insistent hands clamped over his biceps, yanked him inside, close to the
furnace of Murphy’s naked skin. He wanted to resist the automatic comfort,
especially since he knew whyMurphy was so warm, but Connor had exhausted
himself fighting the urges his brother seized deep within him and he collapsed
into a bare chest, eyes screwed shut as his nails clutched Murphy, pressed into
the rope of muscle stocked along his shoulders. Hapless tremors racked his
frame, only partially subsided by precious arms that wove around Connor, and a
redeemed hand petted his tawny locks.
         “Hush now, Conn—I’m here, I’ve got you.” Murphy soothed, voice quiet
next to Connor’s ear.
         “What the hell is wrong with him? He sick?”
Connor broke. Shoving his brother aside, he barged toward the girl and thrashed
against the abrupt restraint of Murphy’s arms. “Get the fuck out! Leave, y'
worthless cunt!The likes of you aren’t wanted here!”
The look on Aisling face was a warped mix of affronted embarrassment and
expectancy that her boyfriend would jump to her rescue. Until Murphy actually
did contribute. “Yeah, you should go.”
Her jaw dropped. “You can’t be seri—”
         “Christ, would ya jus’ fuckin’ get the hell outta here already?”
Murphy chucked Aisling her clothes. “Can’t ya see he needs me?”
Aisling huffed as she tugged her garments on with haste. An uttered “Fuck you
both.” reached them as she passed the brothers on her door-slamming exit.
Murphy rolled his eyes. Give her a ring later. he reminded himself, an abstract
decision, while his full attention resumed on Connor. A grimace set hard on his
mouth.
Connor slowly tipped his head back, running his hands down his face.
“Unbelievable... She just about does your head in. Lord have mercy, Murph, what
is it that y' see in her?”
Murphy knew what his brother doing, so he indulged him for a little while.
“She’s got great tits an’ makes me laugh.” Connor didn’t get the joke, simply
turned around like he was about to go somewhere. “Oh no, don’t ya fuckin’
move!” He hurried to block an escape, arms outstretched, glaring.
         “Step aside, Murphy.” His twin looked so tired.
There was no way he was budging now. “What’s your malfunction?”
         “Not now, man.”
         “Yes now. Speak, damn it, or so help me I’ll kill ya.”
When Connor merely shrugged—shrugged like his life meant nothing—Murphy
attacked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw a punch or embrace him, but
whatever his intentions his trajectory accidently knocked their foreheads
together and they veered to the side, grousing curses at the collision of first
a dresser, then the jab of the doorknob. Both eventually sagged against chipped
wood. It took a moment to get their bearings, although Murphy didn’t have time
to figure out what that thing was in his brother’s pocket, poking him.
         “Y' fucking idiot, what’s wrong with you!” Connor barked as he rubbed
his sore hip.
         “I’m not the one sproutin’ waterfalls one fuckin’ minute an’ goin’
Incredible Hulk the fuckin’ next!” Murphy grabbed his shirt and gave him a good
shake before pinning him to the door. “Ain’t gonna fuckin’ ask y' a-fuckin’-
gain, Connor: what—the—fuck—is—wrong—with—ya?”
Silence. The kind that staggered dangerously between regret and courage due to
words not spoken. They stared at each other without blinking: one seething for
reasons because the person dearest to his heart refused to let him in; second
praying to go numb so he’d cease the maelstrom of emotions that threatened to
gush free at any moment because he was denied what he should never want.
         “You brought her here.”
Murphy almost hadn’t heard his brother, his whisper too quiet. “Huh? I didn’t
catch that. Speak a li’l’ louder, Conn.”
         “I said you brought a useless girl in here!” Unshed tears, angry now,
stung his eyes as Connor raised his voice. “Here, in ourroom. Y' brought her
here and soiled everything! No one but us is allowed in our room, that’s what
we agreed on, remember? We shook hands in that very spot there,” Connor pointed
at a narrow area that spaced their beds apart. “You broke your promise,
brother. Broke it for her.” He spat the word with such disgust it made Murphy
flinch.
Gaping at Connor as guilt twanged inside his ribcage, he slowly relinquished
the fabric of a team jersey, nodding gravelly. “Shit, I’m sorry, Connor, I’m so
sorry. I’m a prick, a'righ'. Forgive an’ forget? I promise it won’ happen ever
again, I mean it,”
Connor started to smile.
“I won’ bring ‘em ta the house from now on.”
The smile evaporated.
Murphy found himself tripping over his feet and falling on the ground when he
was viciously shoved. Once more his wide eyes regarded Connor, astonished and
confused, as he tried to solve what he’d done or said to warrant the assault.
“What the hell! I told ya I wouldn’t bring ‘em here anymore!”
         “Jesus fucking Christ, y' don’t get it, do you? You’re a fucking
imbecile! Fuck.” Connor seethed, hands clenching his wild hair too tightly.
         “Stop that unless ya fuckin’ wanna go bald.”
         “You’re not listening!”
         “Well, ya think if ya would stop havin’ mood swings an’ inflictin’
pain on ya'self, maybe I’d concentrate better?”
         “Y' honestly don’t get it.” He was incredulous.
Murphy grew tired of the cryptic bullshit. “What am I not gettin’, man? I’m
missin’ somethin’ so I need ya ta enlighten me, please.”
         “You’re a retard, that’s what,” Connor frowned. “But I guess I am
too.”
When he turned to leave, Murphy didn’t get up to stop him. Instead something
dawned on him while he watched Connor depart: suddenly he became aware during
their entire argument he’d been naked and that so-called unknown thing poking
him hadn’t been in Connor’s pocket.
 
                                                                               
                                                  Love does not delight in evil
                                                   but rejoices with the truth.
                                             It always protects, always trusts,
                                               always hopes, always perseveres.
                                                              Love never fails.
                                                         — 1 Corinthians 13:6-8
Murphy ended it with Aisling five days later. He stopped having not-so-secret
meetings with eager girls and older women. An epiphany in disguise occurred
where he paid extra attention to his brother. They needed to discuss so many
things, but where the hell to start was lost to him. Before Murphy thought he’d
done a good job solving the riddle that was Connor MacManus, but apparently
not. He’d simply scratched the surface.
What a wake up call that was.
Although he still wasn’t sure if he’d wanted one or not. What if he had let
that call ring for the answer machine to catch and deleted it without ever
hearing a word? Would their interaction be so different as it was now, would
Connor still give him the cold shoulder whenever he was nearby? Murphy wasn’t
sure, but he hoped not. The silent treatment murdered him bit by bit. It was
how he really knew Connor was pissed at him and no matter how contrite Murphy
was, regardless of the countless attempts of breaking the ice, a brick wall had
replaced his brother. There weren’t any ridges for him to stick his fingers and
toes on to climb over either; he just fell on his ass with scraped palms only
to try again that same day.
When he got fed up Murphy began leaving notes, putting them in places he knew
his brother would find, but not Ma. At first they were just ‘Sorry’ and
‘Forgive me’ before it progressed to ‘Please I’m desperate’ and ‘Don’t do this
to me Connor not you’ and ‘Tell me what I should do to make it right between
us’, then ‘How long will this last?’ to ‘I’m not fucking giving up you bastard’
when it neared the end of a week. He scribbled another note a few hours later
and waited.
‘Are you even getting these Connor? Feels like I’m writing to a ghost. But
ghosts leave signs behind for people they love, messages that they’re there.
It’s the dead that’s mute. Have you died Connor are you dead? Am I the ghost?’
His handwriting was a bit shakier at the finish (he never wanted to put deadand
Connor in the same sentence), but he refused to redo it—couldn’t.
Three days into the second week he received an answer.
‘No, Murph, I’m not dead. I’m sorry that I put you through Hell, I am, I just
didn’t know what to say to you. I’ve treated you so poorly these last couple of
days and I don’t really have any excuses why and you probably hate my guts
right now because I can’t give you a better answer, but... I’m sorry. Will that
be enough?’
Murphy was too relieved to think much about the quizzical response, merely glad
Connor no longer ignored him, had written back, but he didn’t want the paper
barriers between them anymore. It was starting to get ridiculous.
‘Quit being daft. I’m the one that’s supposed to be apologizing. But if you
want my forgiveness there’s something you can do for me.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Talk to me. Face to face. Please. I miss your voice Connor.’
There weren’t any more notes following that one. For a brief moment Murphy
feared he pushed too soon, but what sense did it make for someone to write back
if they didn’t want to be heard? He told his nerves to shut up, but they didn’t
listen because it was a weekend and even on weekends Connor had practice early.
Jesus fucking Christ, I hate sports. Murphy didn’t leave the house all day,
even did the chores Ma told him about without complaint, and the one time
Connor called to inform them Coach Malone was making them stay overtime for the
upcoming game Murphy had been using the toilet. Rather than cuss his mother out
for not getting him, he lied about having a stomache and stomped up to his
shared bedroom.
No sooner had he collapsed face first on Connor’s bed did his lights go out. He
was roused back to consciousness with gentle shakes on his shoulder and soft
murmurs in his ear. Gradually the voice became distinct, instantaneously
noticeable.
         “Open your eyes, my dear brother. I’ve come home.”
He flipped around so fast Connor startled yet Murphy clamped his arms around
his neck, pulling him down into an impenetrable lock surrounding his twin’s
heavenly silhouette. “What the hell took ya so damn long?” The laugh that
erupted irritated him. “Ya know you’re a bastard, don’t ya? Bastard. Bastard,
bastard, bastard!”
         “Aye,” Grinning, Connor slipped his arms along Murphy’s back, then
rolled them both on their sides, noses inches apart. “The Bastard and the
Baby—my favorite fairytale.”
         “Oh, I’m so glad you’re makin’ jokes, Conn. Meanwhile over here in
Shitville I’ve been drivin’ m’self fuckin’ crazy thinkin’ I done somethin’
wrong again ‘cause ya didn’ give me a proper answer. Have I mentioned how mucha
fuckin’ bastard ya are?”
         “Mm, y' have, aye.”
         “It bears repeatin’.”
         “I showed up. Here I am. That’s not a proper enough answer for y',
Murph?” He raised an eyebrow at the glare, although a frown ironed his lips.
         “For now.”
Murphy drew closer to his other half, tucked his head beneath Connor’s chin,
and sighed long and slow, content. Connor squeezed him a little tighter as if
trying to absorb him into his body and he had to admit it felt wonderful
knowing his brother still wanted him in his life. Murphy pondered if he ever
stopped wanting that for even a millisecond. Sliding a palm over an identical
heartbeat, Murphy concluded no, Connor would never want such lunacy.
Minutes ticked by in amiable quiet, the two focusing on the musical exhales
each produced. Awhile passed before Murphy’s tongue tingled with a question
that had nagged his brain.
         “Are ya gonna tell me?” he mumbled.
A tiny drowsy noise emitted from Connor. “Sorry, what was that?”
         Shuffling near to comfort themselves and in case the other boy
retracted his hold, Murphy eyed a grass stain on Connor’s shirt. “The reason ya
broke down an’ wouldn’t talk ta me afterwards. Will ya let me know what it was
about?”
As predicted Connor tensed, but didn’t lurch away. “It’s not impor—”
         “Bullshit, Connor. None of that now, I mean it. Tell me what it is
that’s plaguin’ ya. Lemme help.”
         “... Y' can’t, Murphy, you can’t.”
         “Liar. Why not?”
         “It’s between me and God.”
         “Connor!”
         “Will y' jus' let it go, please?”
         “There’s nothin’ God knows about ya that I don’t already, ya
insufferable fucker! We came outta the same womb—t'gether—or did ya forget?”
         “ ’Course not—it’s part of the problem!”
Murphy jerked back to gawk at him, wounded. “What’re ya sayin’?” His whisper
was a raspy chill, a chuff of astounded bewilderment. He wouldn’t allow Connor
to stay silent as he slapped him hard across the face, immediately getting
attention that shouldn’t have been diverted. “Answer me.”
         “I... I... You have ta u-understand that I...”
         “Connor,” He paused. “Is this 'bout how ya feel for me?”
Connor’s eyes were huge pools of terrified blue.
Murphy stayed silent.
         “That’s it, isn’ it?” he urged.
Connor sat up, shock draining the color from his cheeks, as he gazed without
blinking at his hands resting in his lap. “... How?” he croaked, then cleared
his throat. “How d’you know? When’d y' figure it out?”
He copied his brother’s position, sighing. “I pieced it t’gether not ta long
ago honestly. Ya were—well, ya were excited, Conn, when we—uh—durin’
the—y’know, our fight,” Murphy awkwardly scratched the angle of his jaw, mouth
twisted to one side. “I jus’ thought it was the heat of the moment, but I mean
we didn’t really tussle much, eh? Kinda stood there blatherin’ at each other
an’ then I remembered when we were at the bar, it was like ya were confessin’
ta me ‘bout somethin’ ya ain’t ever done before, so I... Well, the point is
that I know an’ I don’t care, a’righ'?”
         “You what?” Connor pivoted toward him, eyebrows screwed in disbelief.
Murphy shrugged with a kind smile. “Ya heard me. It’s no big deal.”
         “How the fuck can y' say that?” he hissed, angry that his twin
couldn’t see the sin for what it was. “Shit, man, we’re blood, Murphy. God
punishes those that prey on their own kin.”
Murphy’s eyes rolled. “Oh, sorry, I musta forgot when ya held me down against
m’ will an’ raped me.”
The swat to his arm shouldn’t have surprised him, but the strength behind it
did. He winced with a sharp “Jesus, fuck!” stinging the air. “It’s not a
fuckin’ joke, damn y', this is serious!”
Growling, Murphy hit Connor upside his head. “ 'M bein’ serious, ya retard.
Fuckin’ relax a minute, will ya, or I’ll knock some sense inta ya. Looket me,
Connor,” Murphy squeezed his shoulder and gestured two fingers at his own eyes
that had become hard and relentless. “D’you love me, brother?”
Connor stared at him, puzzled, as if it was a stupid query (which it was).
“Yeah, of course.”
         “Say it.”
         “I love you, Murphy.”
         “An' what does that mean ta ya?”
Connor thought over a suitable answer, but even when he decided on one he
didn’t think it covered everything. “It means I want ta be right besides y'
always, make sure you’re happy when you wake up and when y' go ta sleep. I
wanna protect y' from any harm that tries to befall y'—doesn’t matter I know
that you can protect yourself; I gotta do it too. I want... I want ta see what
you see, hear what y' hear, think your thoughts, and tell you how brilliant y'
are every day, not just with words but my actions too. With a smile or a kiss
or your favorite meal and maybe even a rub down ‘cause I know how sore y' can
get. When y' get inta fights I’ll ‘tend your wounds while swearin’ vengeance on
the motherfuckers that did that ta y'. I want ta be your solace whenever you’re
upset or pissed and spittin’ fumes, especially if I’m the cause, though I hope
never ta be—at least not permanently. I can’t give you the world, Murph, that’s
impossible, but I can give y' m'self; I can make a world for us, jus' us two. I
need you with me, more than you’ll ever need me, this I’m certain of.”
A slow smile decorated Murphy’s features as he gently pet golden hair away from
the precious worship radiating in his brother’s eyes. “I’ll always need ya,
Conn,” he chuckled softly. “Now... can ya tell me which part of your definition
of love deserves any punishment?”
After a brief moment he shook his head, entranced by the sweetness of Murphy’s
faintly gruff tenor, calmed by his easy acquiescence.
         “Yeah, I reckoned ya couldn’t. Seems ta me us bein’ related ain’t a
sin at all, it’s sacred. You’re my blessin’, Conn.”
         “... Aye. And you’re mine, Murphy.”
Connor closed his eyes when a chaste kiss landed atop his forehead. Its warmth
lingered long after those perfect lips withdrew.
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