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5-4-3-2-1	By : Aja Category: 1 through F > Boondock Saints Views: 1411 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Boondock Saints, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-5-4-3-2-1
- 1
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Warnings: Twincest
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, Troy Duffy does. I'm just playing with them, make no profit from this work of fiction.
Summary: Five drabbles about kissing, four drabbles about prized possessions, three drabbles about habitso dro drabbles about secrets and one drabble about a question. This set is Connor-centric.
Note: For anyone who's having a bad month, and everyone else as well.

Five: Kisses

five.

Connor watches Murphy turn over in his sleep, stares at his back for a while. With his eyes, he traces the contours of muscles, bones, shadows, and tries to imagine how sculptors might capture such perfection. No, nobody could. A car goes by outside, the light from its headlamps sweeping the room, distorting Murphy's shape into harsher contrasts for a few seconds. Connor catches sight of the edge of Murphy's saint tattoo, and sighs. It should be too sacred to kiss, to mar with bruises and bites. But it's one of the places his lips always seem to wander to.

four.

"Connor, what in God's Holy name are y'doin' now?"

"Shut up, would you? I'm tryin' to concentrate." Connor eyes Murphy's hip speculatively.

"Aye, I c'n see that." Murphy lowers his hand and strokes Connor's hair affectionately. Gasps a bit as Connor's mouth closes low on his hipbone, squirms when Connor's tongue starts to draw tiny wet circles on his skin. Oh, Murphy thinks, the jolts running wild through his blood making his cock twitch, God.

"Thought so," Connor whispers.r />r />
"Thought what?" Murphy asks.

"Just knew you'd like that."

"Aye, keep kissin' me there," Murphy begs, breathlessly.

"I will," Connor promises.

three.

Murphy is sprawled on his stomach, arms folded and tucked beneath his pillow. He faces Connor. He's smiling lazily while Connor's fingertips drag a line of shivers down his spine. They're happy, adrift in the aftermath of their lovemaking. And it was making love; fucking is for the days when all else is blood and fire.

Connor's lips curl into a smile to mirror his twin's, he bends to kiss the very base of Murphy's spine. He loves the taste of it, afterwards, when there's a gathering of sweat and the distinct flavour of sex pooled in the soft hollow.

two.

Connor tries his best to be an attentive lover, to pay attention to the little things; where to lick, where to nibble and where to bite down. He likes to turn Murphy into a mass of live nerves, likes to be able to feel him actually crackling with it.

It's when Murphy's entire body is vibrating, thrumming with sensitivity, that Connor crawls back, unleashing all that he has left on Murphy. And though it always ends with a twisted rip of a cry, a painful tugging of Connor's hair, it always starts with this; a gentle kiss to Murphy's cock.

one.

Mouths are strange things, when you get right down to it. But they taste so fucking good. At least, Murphy's does.

Connor loves kissing Murphy, especially if they've just had a cigarette. It's the nicotine addict in him, he supposes. There's the acrid taste of the smoke, and then Murphy's saliva which always, for reasons Connor can't fathom, tastes faintly sweet. Not like straight up sugar cane sweet. Murphy sweet. Which is stupid, isn't it? Not that Connor cares. He only cares that Murphy's mouth always opens under his own, that Murphy's tongue fights back when Connor's slides against it.

Four: Prized Possessions

four.

Murphy doesn't go out alone often, but when he does, Connor always does the same thing. Takes their one photo album out, lights a cigarette and sits at the window to look through old memories.

It's a tatty old thing, with tissue paper separating each of the pages. There's a photograph at the front of their parent's wedding. Connor sees Murphy in their Ma, himself in their father. There are others, all in the grainy colour that Connor associates with nostalgia, with their youth. Murphy would call him sentimental if he knew. Which is why Connor looks at them alone.

three.

Connor kneels in the narrow space between the pews, runs his fingers over the beads of his ro. T. They're worn to a shine from his constant rubbing, warm beneath his fingertips. He whispers 'Amen' and lifts the cross to his lips, kissing the sweet-smelling wood. There's a deep scratch in one side, which he strokes his thumb over carefully. The scratch doesn't offend him; in fact, he treasures it. It reminds him of that psycho with the knife, it reminds him how lucky he is that Murphy is always there to protect him. It reminds him that he's still alive.

two.

"Wait!" Connor almost falls over himself to get to Murphy. He snatches the jeans from his brother's hands and frantically searches the pockets while Murphy stares at him, bewildered.

Finally Connor's fingers close around what he was looking for. He sighs. "Don't want this laundered."

"What is it?" Murphy asks, peering.

Connor blushes. "Nothin' really."

"Fuckin' important nothin'. Come on," Murphy's almost whining. "You can tell me."

"You'll laugh."

"Won't."

"Will."

"Nope."

"Fine!" So Connor shows him.

"Y'fool." Murphy smiles, pulls a matching ticket from his own pocket. That ball game last week; hot night, insect bites, their first kiss.

one.

Connor's had enough of her. Paula, Pauline, whatever the fuck her stupid name is. And Murphy's polite reciprocation is driving him insane. So he gets up, maybe a bit too fast, and walks in an almost straight line to the jukebox to try and cool off.

He slides some change into the slot and sighs at the choices. A few minutes later, there's hot breath on the back of his neck, a sneaky hand curling around his waist, beneath his coat.

"Don't be jealous."

Connor's voice comes out as a possessive growl. "You're mine."

Murphy kisses his nape. "I know."

Three: Habits

three.

"Did y'not have enough to eat at dinner?" Murphy grins.

Connor looks at Murphy blankly. "What?"

"Your nails, Conn. Tasty, are they?"

Connor drops his hand, looks at his fingers. The thumb in particular looks sore and red where he's chewed the nail and the surrounding skin. He hadn't even realised he'dn don doing it. "Aye, delicious. Y'twerp."

"Ma says y'shouldn't bite your nails."

"Oh, an' you do everythin' Ma says, do you?" Connor pokes his tongue out and turns his attention back to the book in his lap. Murphy just laughs as, moments later, Connor's biting his nails again.

two.

"Connor, I'm go to to kick you out of this fuckin' bed in a minute!" Murphy hisses, pulling the covers back over himself.

Connor grunts and rolls over, waking moments later with a groan. "'m cold," he grumbles.

"Get another blanket then, will ya, an' stop stealin' this one!"

"That's the only fuckin' blanket there is." Connor grabs the edge and yanks it towards him.

Murphy sits up, his stare icy even through the darkness. "You always do this. Every night! Fuck it, I'm buyin' my own damn blanket in the mornin'!"

"Why don't you just move your arse closer then?"

one.

Connor has this thing about checking over Murphy's body after a job.

They'll stumble in, high on adrenalin and damp with sweat and, usually, blood, and Connor will insist on sitting Murphy down and undressing him. He'll run his fingers lightly over flushed sklooklooking for even the slightest nick or bruise. And if he finds one? Well, he patches it up, or spends some time "kissing it better."

Murphy just lets him do it now. Doesn't put up a fight. He's usually too tired to anyway and besides, Connor's hands are always gentle, warm enough to make Murphy shiver.

Two: Secrets

two.

There aren't many things that Connor doesn't tell Murphy. So when Murphy turns to him, the night of their 21st birthday, and says Tell me something that nobody else knows, Connor has to think long and hard before he comes up with something. The alcohol seems to have loosened his tongue a little too much, though, as he tells Murphy about the time he kissed a girl called Ruth -

"Not my Ruth? While I was still..? Y'dirty thievin' bastard!"

- and then he can do nothing but laugh. Because it was such a stupid thing to keep a secret.

one.

Murphy probably already knows, but Connor will never confess to him or anyone how terrified he is of losing him. It's not his place to be afraid of death; his or Murphy's.

Just... Sometimes, he lays awake at night, watching Murphy sleep and wondering just what he'd do if he ever woke up to find an empty space beside him. He's quite certain it would drive him mad. Like those people he sometimes sees in films, on TV, who are locked up behind thick doors and peered at through tiny windows.

But these are the thoughts he keeps to himself.

One: Question

one.

"Murphy?"

"Aye?" Murphy looks up from fiddling with the radio. "What?"

Connor sits down heavily, like there's a weight on his shoulders that he needs to offload. "I want to ask you somethin'. And I don't want you to laugh."

"Well, what is it?"

"This... This thing." Connor stares at his hands, obviously nervous. "I want to do it properly."

"What are y'on about?"

Connor takes two slips of card from his pocket and lays them on the table.

"Baseball?"

"Aye. Why should we start this, whatever it is, any different? I just-"

"Like a date?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." Murphy grins.

END
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5-4-3-2-1