Nicholas: Ah, here is another challenge of Becki's creation and my execution. I like this one, but I have this strange feeling that it didn't fulfill the requisites of the challenge...I hope it did, anyway. Connor's so funny...

Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't sue me.

Rating: M...language...sexual content/reference

There's a lot o' things that set me apart from me brother. Our hair is different shades. I seem ta have a permanent darkness to my skin while he can't tan past fair. An' then there is that one little natural decoration on his face that I can't help but adore. His beauty mark—as it sits so precariously on the left side of his upper lip—just seems ta scream out "I'm fuckin' cute, praise me!" Yes, I mean the mole. I think it's a fuckin' birthmark, but I love it ta bits. Wish I had a sexy birthmark…No, I just gotta dark spot on me arse!

Anyway, back ta what I was goin' on about in the first place. There's a lot o' things that set me apart from me brother. Fer instance, if I were lost while driving 'cross the fuckin' country, I'd stop an' ask fer directions. Murphy…not so much.

"Pull over, Murph."

"I en't pullin' over, jack ass. I know exactly where we're goin'."

"Well o' course ya know where we're goin', r'else I wouldn't let ya drive! I know where we're tryin' ta get, ya just don't know how ta fuckin' get there." He looked sideways at me, takin' his attention away from the empty, road in front of us.

Ever found yerself distracted when yer talkin' ta someone? As much as ya want ta pay attention ta what their sayin', ya can't take yer eyes off a certain thing about them. Guys know what I'm talkin' about, whenever they speak ta a woman with a cup-size bigger than "B." Whenever I'm talkin' ta Murphy, it takes a bit more self-control ta keep my eyes off his mouth than ya'd think.

The way his tongue flicks just over his upper lip for a split second b'fore he even says anythin'. Then he starts ta talk an' it's like a dance. An' there's always that little mole tucked away in the crease just under his cheek that, as it moves, makes my mind wander slightly. I start ta think about what it must be like ta have a mole, an' then I start ta remember what it feels like ta have his under me tongue. Then o' course I think about the situation that requires my tongue on his skin an' it makes my stomach jump with delight fer a moment an' my blood rush straight South.

It probably seems strange, right? It's a bit hard fer ye ta understand why I love it so much. In fact, I'm not even sure sometimes whether I understand or I'm kiddin' meself. Whatever way, I love that mole so much fer the simple fact that it's there on me brother's face makin' him different from all the rest. Even from me.

"Were ya listenin' ta me at all just then?" His raised voice snapped me outta me thoughts. I shrugged awkwardly, feelin' that familiar heat in my face bein' that he'd once more caught me starin'. "Well, Jesus fuckin' Christ! Yer the one complainin' about my navigational skills in the first place. The least ya could do is listen ta me tell ya ta piss off."

I smiled lightly an' turned ta look out the windshield at the steadily darkenin' evenin' in the Midwest terrain about us. "Yeah, but where would be the fun in that?" I felt him reach over an' push me shoulder playfully. "So when're ya gonna admit ya got us lost in the middle o' nowhere?"

"Gimme a few more miles," He muttered, leanin' on his hand on the driver's side door.

"Alright then, but do it quick, we're runnin' outta gas."

"Oh shite, yer right…" His face fell, an' even tho' I couldn't see the fuckin' mole as he looked straight forward out the windshield ta make sure we didn't run off the road, I know exactly what it would've looked like.

"Am I? I'm right? This is just damned amazin'!" I was only slightly worried about our current predicament. If we had ta stop, someone was bound ta pass by sooner er later an' we had an ice chest o' beers and sandwiches, we were set!

"Shut the fuck up! I mean about the gas thing. I still think I know where I'm goin'."

"I'm sorry ya lie ta yerself like that." I couldn't help but laugh at him when he swatted at my head. I barely dodged that one this time; damn he's gettin' fast!

--

Silence. Sometimes it's the sweetest fuckin' thing ta hear. 'Specially when the only reason there's silence is 'cause the other person is not wantin' ta admit defeat. So I just sat there, with my arms crossed over me chest, feelin' damn good about meself, while Murphy pulled off ta the side o' the road. It was too dark ta see much farther than the ground that the headlights showed. We were runnin' on empty.

Awkwardly, Murphy scratched his nose, just next ta the mole I love so much. A bit of a smirk tugged at the corner o' his mouth. "Okay…" he began quietly, obviously already regrettin' his next words, "we're lost." I could tell it hurt his pride ta say it, so I tried not ta rub it in too bad.

I think I managed a good sneer that put the cherry on top of all that is asshole-ism. "Thank ye," I said with a resoundin' "I told ya so" air.

"So what d'we do now?"

An excellent question, isn't it? I suppose we could take our duffle bags and ice chest outta the trunk and trek it backward 'till we get ta that last station we saw—about sixty miles in the direction o'…I have absolutely no idea. Or not… "I have an idea."

"O goodie." Fuckin' sarcastic monkey.

"Shut the fuck up, ya git." He turned towards me with a grin that officially crowned him as king o' the shit-eaters. An' God damn if his mole didn't seem ta be hidin' as the crease on his face deepened as it always did when he smiled. I was distracted again.

I acted on me impulse this time—bein' that I had the option without the danger o' causin' an accident. I gripped his chin lightly an' kissed his upper lip. Then I licked just so softly up to that little, dark bump that I adore so much. Maybe it's the way it feels under my tongue…it's a bit adictin'. Well, I acted on one impulse.

What I really wanted ta do was fuck him. An' no, I don' mean make love ta him—that's fer nights at home in a bed. I wanted ta fuck him 'till he screamed me name with every thrust. His mole makes me think things like that. Is that weird? I think that's weird.

"What was yer idea?" Murphy had a genuine curiosity now, an' I knew exactly why. I know very well that he is fully aware o' my innocent, little fetish. "Don' say walk it."

"O Christ no!" I put my lips over the tiny bulge in his skin an' let the little hairs o' his unshaved mustache scratch me slightly. "I get the blankets, ye get the beer an' we meet up on the roof o' the car."

"One o' yer better plans."

"T'fuck's that s'posed ta mean?"

His chuckle wrapped around me in the form o' his hand claspin' on me shoulder and pullin' me closer, ever so much closer. My tongue touched his as they had done many times b'fore an' I once more felt that rush as tho' it were the first time. My unoccupied hand automatically went ta me jeans where a very not-so-subtle lump was formin' that made my pants tight. Yeah, I get horny off of a fuckin' mole, but only Murphy's.

"Okay," he said, his mouth just a half-inch away from mine. "Bein' that we're gonna be here fer tanight, let's get settled in. Ye get the beer, I'll get the blankets."

"What-the-fuck-ever!" I grabbed him this time, both hands on his shoulders pullin' him against me. I kissed him in various places—mostly my most favorite spot on his face—an' completely ignored that we had somethin' ta do.

--

When we finally did get around ta gettin' out stuff outta the trunk, I found somethin' very interestin' that might be considered as somethin' else that sets me apart from me brother. I unburied it from the confines o' Murphy's open duffle bag an' smiled. It took him a few seconds ta notice. When he did he glared at me.

"Really Murphy, ya bring this thing wherever ya go."

"I don' wanna hear it, hand it over!" He reached for his precious, stuffed rabbit. O' course, I stepped back an' held the toy just outta his reach. "Conn, don' fuck with me!"

I put the bunny in front o' me an' waved it's little fabric paw at me brother. "'Oi, Murphy. Come play with me!'" He gave me a deadly glare an' I admit I wasn't lookin' at anythin' that makes a facial expression a glare. His beauty mark had all o' my attention.

"I'm not playin' around, Connor. Give over the fuckin' doll!"

"Now that's not a nice way o' talkin' bout yer dear little Mr. Bunny-kinnsm now is it? C'mon an' get it if ya can?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"Has ta be challengin' fer it ta be a challenge." He sneered unhappily an' reached out ta grab Mr. Bunny-kinns. I pulled it outta his reach once more an' stepped back. "See? What'd I say?"

"I'll make ya eat yer words, boy. I've done it b'fore."

"'Boy' he says! 'Boy!' I'll make ya eat somethin' else, but I don' think that talk's appropriate fer childhood memorabilia." I hit the last straw when I dangled the rabbit just a bit too close to his face from him not ta react.

The next thing I knew, I was runnin' fer me life inta the middle o' nowhere that was call the Midwest. It's really hot at night 'round here, so I lost my breath quickly. Apparently he didn't. I hit the ground, not very gently at al, mind ya, with all o' Murphy's mass tumblin' down on top o' me. Outta impluse, I immediately hugged the dear stuffed animal ta me chest so Murphy couldn't get it. Brotherly fights are the funnest thing, ya know? Except that they hurt.

"Ow!" I only managed ta breathe out that exclamation. Then I felt a fist slam inta me side. "Ya little bastard!"

"Gimme the bunny!"

"Not on yer life!"

In the midst o' twistin' an' hittin' that was just as confusin' as stoichiometry was in Sophomore year, he had me on my side an' was tryin' ta wrench my arms open. Not happenin'! Like he could win that easily. "OW, ya mother fucker!" He bit me! "Fine, take yer fuckin' thing!"

He bit me on the fuckin' arm! I heard him snicker victoriously as he grabbed that stupid bag o' fluff. Still sittin' on me, he looked down with a grin. "See? This is why ya don' fuck with me, boy."

I squirmed awkwardly an' finally lay on me back—with a nice amount o' rocks an' shite stickin' inta me back. I'm not sayin' me brother's bigger'n he should be, but Jesus fuckin' Christ he's heavy. "I still have no idea who ya think ya have the right ta call boy," I began lightly; I rubbed the sore spot on me arm, "'Least I en't as tiny as ye."

"'Tiny,' ya say?" I began ta get a bit nervous when my tauntin' did nothin' ta phase him. He kept on smirkin'. God damned that fuckin' smirk with that mole. I wasn't lookin' in his eyes again an' he noticed. Oh-so-fuckin'-coy, he leaned forward on me chest. "Connor let's examine this situation, shall we?"

"I'd rather not—"

The mole inched it's way upwards as his shit-eatin' grin stretched his face. "Ya rely on yer little off comments that're blatant attempts ta compensate fer somethin'. Then, whenever I reply, ya don' even bother ta look away from this." He pointed out that little black mark on his lip an' the motion was just too sexy with that smirk. "What I don' get is what's so great about it that it makes ya harder'n a steel pipe."

I admit with a bit o' grudgin', I blushed then. Even in the little bit o' light that was comin' from the car's headlights, I know Murphy saw it. "I have another idea."

"No changin' the subject."

"Changin' it anyway! Ye get the fuck offa me an' I go back over ta the car, drink half the beer we brought an' fall inta a drunken stupor so's I don' remember ya just said that."

His eyebrows raised just slightly, but he didn't get off. "Or I could take total advantage o' yer little fetish an' bend ya ta my will."

"S'that a literal bend?"

"Yep."

"I'm strangely comfortable with that."