Bleed It Dry

Chapter 1: Animals

It's not a sin to fuck yourself. That's what Murphy's been telling himself for far too long, a justification to his actions so that he can continue to live with himself throughout the days. And it's true, masturbation isn't a sin. But what he's been doing isn't masturbation, and it's most definitely a sin.

He's used the excuse since he was about fourteen, when he and Connor first started their physical affair. He can't really remember how they became what they are now; he just remembers how soft Connor's lips felt against his own, how the pleasure welled up inside of him until he couldn't contain it any longer, Connor's name tumbling from his mouth in a harried cry of ecstasy as he came.

Connor has always been a part of him, his other half, the bearer of his soul. So the excuse seemed to fit well enough when they started coming to each other more regularly. It's not a sin to fuck yourself, and Connor was one with Murphy; in a way Connor was Murphy's self, as Murphy was Connor's self. He stopped feeling guilty about their relationship a long time ago.

He uses the excuse now as Daryl Dixon bucks his hips up into Murphy at a frantic pace. Murphy knows he's close to coming, and he focuses his eyes onto Daryl's face, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut and his brows knit together, almost as if he's embarrassed by his own pleasure. He knows that face well, because they've been doing this for a while now, a few months at least; it is the same face he makes when he falls off the edge.

It's not a sin to fuck yourself, and Daryl looks so much like Murphy that they practically are the same person. It's like looking in a fucking mirror every time they pass each other by, every time they come together and let the other tear them to pieces.

Daryl looks like Murphy, right down to the beauty mark above the left corner of his mouth, the stoic blue eyes that tried so hard to hide all their emotions, the wispy locks of hair that fell into his face and framed it oh so perfectly. The only differences are that Daryl has a thick southern drawl where Murphy has a light Irish brogue, Daryl is tan where Murphy is pale, and Daryl's muscles are rock solid, his body toned and packed full of the hard, corded muscle, while Murphy is much more lean and lithe. Murphy is fluid motion while Daryl is solid stone.

But both of them like it that way. Daryl like Murphy's "softness", as he calls it, and Murphy's always enjoyed looking at a nice, fit, tanned body. In a way, Daryl reminds Murphy of Connor, simply because their body types are so similar. And, of course, Daryl reminds Connor of Murphy, and there's no question as to why.

Daryl's back arches under him, his skull pushing into the slim prison pillow beneath it, and his fingers latch onto Murphy's hips, the nails digging in deep. Murphy loves the bite of pain, wants to tell Daryl to make him bleed with those nails, but Daryl is about to come, and Murphy isn't far behind.

Daryl makes a pretty picture when he falls apart, his lips parting slightly as he bares his teeth and clenches his jaw around a cry of pleasure, just barely managing to hold it in. His eyes remain closed, the edges crinkling as he squeezes them even tighter, his brows almost connecting at the center. Sweat beads his forehead, soaking into his hairline, the wisps around his face falling flat onto the pillow.

It's easy to see why Connor so enjoys positions like this, ones where he will easily be able to see Murphy's face, rather than doggie-style, which Murphy prefers. Because seeing Daryl completely collapse this way has Murphy coming, too.

Daryl eyes open just slightly as he finishes, releasing Murphy from his grasp. His hips and back rest on the bed once more, his chest heaving with panting breaths as he regains his composure.

Murphy knows the time has come for him to leave. He slides himself off of Daryl's softening cock and grabs one of the redneck's spare rags that he's always carrying around, cleaning himself up before silently handing the little towel over to Daryl. He pulls on his boxers, then his blue jeans, then his black t-shirt, and finally his pea-coat, the same things he's worn for too many years to count. He picks up his boots and just holds them, not in the mood to deal with putting them on.

Murphy turns to leave the cramped cell, his bare feet quietly slapping against the concrete floor as he moves.

"Hey," Daryl calls from the bed.

Murphy turns back to see Daryl propped up on his elbow, his hair falling into his face and damn near covering his eyes. But Murphy can still see his eyes just clearly enough to see the unspoken emotion raging in the blue waters. A lump catches in Murphy's throat, and he swears Daryl is about to say something they'll both regret.

But then his eyes clear and he ducks his head slightly. "Thanks."

Murphy just nods and then quickly exits the cell, heading back to the one who truly owns his body, back to Connor.

Connor is rough with Murphy, a rarity for their lovemaking, and Murphy has to remember to keep his cries quiet. Part of him wants to tell Connor to slow up a little, that he's being a little bit too rough and that it's hurting a little too much, but another part of him is enjoying this far too much to try and put a stop to it.

Connor is usually so gentle with Murphy, so afraid that his brother will break under his fingertips if he uses even a breath too much pressure, but that isn't the case tonight. Connor is all grabbing hands and thrusting hips and biting teeth; Murphy is going to be sore come morning.

Murphy knows that Connor is only acting this way because he knows that Murphy was with Daryl earlier in the day. Connor is jealous, though of him or Daryl, Murphy isn't sure. Either answer is just as likely, just as probably, and Murphy figures it's best not to dwell on which one of them is in the forefront of Connor's mind right now, figures he'd be better off just enjoying the ride. They can talk things out later; they always do.

Connor's teeth latch onto Murphy's shoulder, biting hard enough to break the skin, and when Murphy feels Connor's tongue swiping over the area he just bit into Murphy knows he's bleeding. Something about that just seems to throw him right over the edge, and he quietly whimpers Connor's name as he fists his cock, pumping himself roughly.

Connor mumbles Murphy's name into his skin, gripping him tightly around the waist and pulling him back for one more good, deep thrust before he comes.

They are doing it doggie-style this time, Murphy's favorite. Murphy vaguely wonders if Connor was trying to appease him because of how rough things got. Give the boy his favorite position, then make him regret why he loves it so much in the first place. Sounds about like something Connor would do.

Connor damn near collapses onto Murphy's back, and Murphy definitely collapses underneath him, his stomach hitting the thin mattress with a quiet "oomf." Connor lays on top of Murphy, both of them enjoying the closeness.

Connor kisses Murphy's shoulders and the back of his neck, having to push up the scraggly ends of his hair to reach it. Murphy smiles into the mattress, basking in the afterglow of a good fuck and enjoying how tender Connor is being. Murphy always did enjoy being cuddled, and Connor is oh so good at cuddling. Part of Murphy wonders if Daryl likes cuddling, or if he'd be any good at it; he makes a mental note to find out sometime.

"Love ye, Murphy." Connor's whispered words tickle against Murphy's ear.

Murphy's body floods with warmth, the heat radiating outward from his chest and flowing into his veins. He's heard Connor say those words thousands of times through the course of their lives, but he can never get used to the simple sentence. It still causes butterflies to flutter through his stomach and a blush to rise into his cheeks.

Because, at the end of the day, Murphy is utterly in love with Connor.

Connor rolls away from Murphy, onto his back beside his twin. His eyes never leave Murphy's face, and he cards his fingers through the man's too-long hair.

"I fucked Daryl today." Murphy spits the words out, his eyes falling away from Connor's. He needs Connor to know, needs to make sure there are no secrets between them whatsoever.

"I know." Connor replies, his jaw clenching.

Of course Connor already knew. That's why he fucked Murphy so hard just now. But Murphy needed to make sure, needed to lay all the cards out on the table. Connor is upset, as Murphy knew he would be, but he doesn't say anything more, just keeps running his fingers through Murphy's soft hair.

"Are you jealous?" Murphy asks, lifting his eyes to his twin's face, trying to gauge his reaction.

"A bit." Connor's face has slipped into a mask of practiced neutrality, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Of Daryl or me?" Murphy bites his lip. He knows he owns Connor's heart, but still he needs to hear him say it, needs the confirmation.

So Connor's answer takes Murphy completely by surprise. "I don't know."

Author's Notes: I don't know if this is just going to be a one-shot or if I'm going to continue it. I don't know if I should continue it, or if I want to, or what. I like the idea I have here, and I like where I took it so far. I think it could easily stand on its own as a simple one-shot. So I guess I need some opinions on this. Should I continue it, or leave it be?