EVERYTHING TO LOVE
by Collapse Overture
Disclaimer: I don't own the Boondock Saints. That pleasure is all Troy Duffy's.
A/N: I ... wanted to write 10 'facts' -- I guess you could call them that -- for the Brothers MacManus. I'm not sure if this is any good seeing as it's now 3:30 in the fuckin' morning and I JUST finished, and I don't have a beta so I'm sorry if it's crap, but I wanted to post it. It only took me about four hours to write. I dunno if that's good er bad, but I'm on a roll. I really should stop rambling. I'm just worried it didn't meet good enough standards, but ... Enjoy!

1. Some nights—especially on cold nights—Connor would find himself sneaking towards Murphy's bed for warmth and comfort from the cold. On the same night, Murphy would wrap his arms possessively around Connor's waist and hold tight to the shivering, tanned body, keeping him firmly against his paler chest. The way Connor would mewl to every small touch and tingle Murphy left on his slowly heating skin, the dark-haired twin would smile to himself and plant feather-light kisses to the blond locks adorning his brother's head. Because of nights like that—being able to wrap up together with his brother, his twin, his lover—Murphy loved the cold and every shiver and chill it brought with it.

2. Somewhere along the way, the brothers had graduated from hand-kisses to full-on touchfeellove kisses. The night it happened was all too sudden in Connor's eyes. Murphy had come to him one night after they finished a killing by God's will and looked as if he was intent on covering Connor's pretty little mouth with his gloved hands…but just as he neared his brother, Connor had no time to react when Murphy's hand 'accidentally' slipped and their lips locked together for a brief moment. The blond's eyes widened for a fraction of a second and he stared heatedly at Murphy.

"What th'fuck was that fer, Murph!" he had shouted indignantly, but as he turned from Murphy and the smirk the darker twin held, he realized that he, too, was smiling.

3. When Connor slept soundly in his own mattress, Murphy couldn't help but wake in the middle of the night to watch him sleep. The faces that his brother made were far too innocent to belong to the person of that calibur that Connor was each day. Connor killed with God's permission, in God's good faith, alongside Murphy, but Murphy couldn't help but wonder—did he really deserve Connor? Silently, Murphy watched as his brother's face changed from peaceful, to serene, to stressed and pained until he finally turned over and faced his back to Murphy. The fair-skinned twin had to bite back a whine as he lost his viewing pleasure—Connor's innocence. But there was always tomorrow to watch.

4. Connor hated to be alone, waiting for his brother to return. Murphy had gone for cigarettes around the corner, muttering something about it not taking two brothers to buy a pack as he walked out the door and left Connor alone to ponder. Connor stared at the clock on the wall, the incessant tick-tock, tick-tock was killing him to the point he wanted to get up and pace. It had been ten fucking minutes and he missed his brother already. Did it really take that long to buy a pack of cigarettes and walk back? It was fucking rediculous. If that fucking clock didn't shut up soon, Connor was going to make it shut up. All he wanted to hear was Murphy's teasing-taunting voice as he paraded back through the door.

"Connor, get th'door, would ya?"

And there it was. Connor groaned, bolted for the door, slammed it open and grasped his brother by the collar of his shirt. He not-so-kindly shoved Murphy into the wall and locked their lips in a heated and arousing kiss, the cigarettes and lighter falling discarded to the floor from Murphy's hands. Longest fucking ten minutes of Connor's life.

5. Whenever Connor was sick and writhing in pain in the chilly bed of their not-so-well-heated apartment, Murphy couldn't help but worry about him. Connor's eyes were whelded shut tight, fingers gripping the bedsheets a little too hard as he groaned. Murphy had significantly put on his coat to go out and seek some kind of medicine for his brother, but one look at Connor, one resounding whine from those dry lips kept him firmly in place on the blond's mattress. He wanted to be close in case Connor needed him—and fuck if Connor didn't need him.

Reaching slowly towards his brother's sweat-slicked brow, Murphy moved the hair that was sticking to Connor's forehead away, showing more of that face that he loved so much. Every time Connor's hair covered any part of his face, Murphy always had the need to push it away—he wanted to see that angelic face at all times, even when he was sick and panting.

"Murph, I—"

"Shh, s'alright, Conn. I'm here." Murphy's voice was soft and quiet, and he leaned down closer to his brother. Connor felt as much as the mattress sunk ever so slightly and he opened his eyes to reveal blurry sickness-induced vision, his eyelids trying to fall closed again at the pain the bright light brought. It didn't take a healthy-by-the-moment person to realize what it was the Murphy was trying to do. Connor had to protest.

"Murphy, 'm sick," he muttered breathily, voice slightly raspy. "Don'—"

But Murphy had already done it—their lips pressed firmly together for a few moments before the dark-haired twin finally pulled back with a grin that he knew Connor couldn't see. "I know. I was kissin' it better."

6. There were nights that Connor knew that Murphy couldn't sleep; he felt it even in his own sleep—it woke him up in the middle of the night. And on those nights, Connor snuck his way to his brother's bed and tugged the sheets up on one end so he could maneuver himself next to Murphy, softly-calmly so as not to startle him. Connor's arms made their way around Murphy's waist, pulling him closer into a loving embrace. Leaning down slightly, the lighter twin placed a soft kiss to the top of Murphy's head. Connor felt a tight grip on his forearms for a moment before that grip loosened gradually and the body he held tight to slowly slumped, weight dropping slightly. Murphy had fallen asleep. With a small, content smile, Connor slid down in the bed and fell into a fitful sleep, fingers locked together around his brother's waist still.

7. Murphy always had Connor's back, and visa versa, no matter where they were and when it was. If someone was shooting at his brother, Murphy was there to silence the mobster that they had come for intent on killing. Every time they finished their Latin prayer and strategically placed the pennies in the dead men's eyes, crossing their arms over their chests, Murphy would grasp his brother's wounded arm gently and press him into the wall, examining it. Connor would always protest, of course, but there was no saying no to Murphy—it was utterly and simply impossible, especially for Connor MacManus. But the only way to get Murphy to 'postpone his worry' was by saying that they had to flee the scene before anyone got there. Once they were home, though, there was no stopping a certain dark-haired Saint from worrying.

That dreaded fucking iron could be their worst enemy…or best friend at times. But it was always the after-effect of the cauterizing that made Connor allow the seething pain in the first place. Murphy always made it up to him nicely—never left tense skin unkissed when it came to Connor.

8. Connor often worried about his brother. If someone in a bar would touch Connor the wrong way, Murphy'd be in a brawl, beating the living shit out of the guy that dared touch his Connor—yes, his Connor—his brother belonged to him and him alone. The blond did not like to be the reason Murphy's nose and lip were bleeding, but he was there to catch his drunken brother before he hit the counter.

"Murph," he said in a worried tone. "C'mon. Let's go home." He didn't want the fight to go on anymore, so he dragged his darker twin from the bar and back to their apartment, softly lying him down on the mattress and stripping the both of them of their coats, shirts, shoes, and jeans. Their clothes fell sporadically across the floor in no specific order as Murphy's chilled fingers met Connor's heated shoulders, tugging him down. His nosebleed had long stopped, his leftover blood having been wiped unconsciously onto his shirt's sleeve.

"Conn," he muttered, pressing their lips together in a rough kiss before pulling back slightly and spinning them so that Connor was pinned under him. "That fuckin' cocksucker tried ta touch ye…" Connor nodded slightly and Murphy leaned back down to kiss him again. Connor's eyes closed and he gave in to the kiss, mouth opening to allow his brother whatever he may have wanted. Murphy accepted willingly and explored the blond's mouth with his tongue.

It was times like these that Connor worried the most. When Murphy got like this, there was nothing Connor could do but let him have his way to relieve his stress from the barfight. Most of the time, everyone desired Connor…but Murphy was the only one that Connor allowed anything for.

9. Murphy loved many things. He loved good beer, hard liquor, cigarettes, working with God's permission, fucking with Connor, his brother's enlightening smile, and Connor. Every little thing that his brother did set Murphy off. He would always react in either a positive way, a negative way, a forcefully dominating way, or a loving way. Connor was adorable, Murphy had to admit, and sometimes he just couldn't hold himself back when it came to him. That smile, the approving groans, the taste of his lips and skin always aroused Murphy to the point of no return—cold showers didn't even help most of the time. The only way to defeat his constricting pants was to claim Connor for himself over again, much like he had every night.

"God, Connor, I fuckin' love ya…" he moaned as their bare chests glided together with the sweat adorning their bodies. If he could tell Connor those words every second of his life, he would without regrets. And he knew Connor would, too.

10. Connor loved Murphy. He said as much every night as they lied in each other's arms in the afterglow of the sin they had committed moments before. As the blond lay peacefully and safe in his brother's grasp in the mattress they share on nights just like this, he pressed his ear to Murphy's chest to listen to his steadying heartbeat—the heartbeat that Connor knew went with his own. Everything about his brother Connor loved, right down to the way he spoke—the words he chose to use; his 'colorful' vocabulary. There was nothing of Murphy that Connor would change. As long as that identical heart beat for him every day, Connor was fine living in sin.

Hope you enjoyed! Review please. I'm curious to know opinions. But I'm so tired now. Beeeed time. G'night!