Nicholas: I am probably more proud of this fic than any of my others. That could be total bullshit of a delusional author, but I like it, anyway. It is dedicated to A Hotter Kiss a Better Touch, whose penname it LONG!!! (hint hint, wink wink). Anyways, I hope you enjoy this, Becki. If you have a request of me, just ask and I'll CONSIDER doing it.
Disclaimer: Don't own it...don't sue me, please. I have other shite to deal with.
Rating: M...sex...language...dominance...and that beautiful, twincesty slash we've come to know and love.
Murphy came home with a pack of cigarettes and a brand new bruise. Connor met him in the hallway with a newly purchased blanket wrapped in tissue paper and what looked like Saran Wrap. Note that the blanket is newly purchased as opposed to new. With a slight smirk, Murphy motioned for Connor to open the door. Connor obeyed quickly, knowing that look in his brother's eyes.
"I ran into that girl, Becki, today," Connor said quickly, putting his package on the bed closest to the door. It happened to be his, but these days he could hardly tell the difference. "She said she, uh, 'missed you.' Runnin' around without me, there Murph?"
The quiet snap of the door closing seemed a bit sharper tonight and it sent chills up Connor's spine. "Wouldn't dream of it," was the only reply.
The apartment was dark—once more lit only by the street light that came in through the windows and the sudden flare of Murphy's lighter as he lit another cigarette. As always, Connor attempted to ignore the sounds; one would commend his valiant and defiant efforts—especially the ending bravado of failure. Still, the only image in his mind was the memorized movement. Murphy's right hand held his cigarette and the left moved the flame of the old lighter to the paper tip. Then the dark-haired brother would be a masterpiece of beauty as he smoked sweet death from paper-wrapped poison.
"I haven't seen her in about a year an' a half," Murphy went on, seemingly oblivious to his twin's silent contemplation.
The lighter flew past Connor onto the mattress and a telltale wisp of smoke meandered about in the air, catching the little amount of light and keeping it prisoner. The lighter is what set it into motion tonight. Sometimes it was different, but this old lighter was a veteran. "Woops," Murphy chuckled lightly, "my bad."
He took careful steps up to his immobile brother and gracefully bent just enough to reach around him for the little box of fluid and fire. Ever so gently, he brushed against the other, and ever so attentive, he felt his brother tense.
Tonight was one of those nights. They were both in a damn good mood and before there was a time when they'd ruin it for each other. Way back when, one couldn't stand the other being just so happy. It was a bit of a brotherly competition that ended in a fistfight or an annoyed, aggravated silence. No one likes that, now do they? So they found their outlet.
The lighter in Murphy's hand traced tenderly along Connor's coat before slipping underneath it to press against his side. The blond brother let himself fall back just a bit against his twin's warm, welcoming embrace. "Clumsy Murphy," he stated with a bit of a giggle.
"Aye," Murphy breathed into the back of Connor's ear. Without protest, the jacket came off. "I do have the tendency ta make things hit the floor…" His hands searched along Connor's body for comfortable positions. "…yer clothes fer instance."
Even as Connor elbowed him for the remark, there was that smirk. As Murphy's left hand slipped downward and gripped Connor's crotch tightly as punishment, there was a grin. Connor's was sweet, Murphy's was snide. Connor's disappeared amidst a pained hiss and quiet moan. Murphy's widened and brushed ever so lightly on Connor's tanned skin. A click sounded as the lighter fell to the floor.
The smoldering cigarette in Murphy's pale, right hand was brought up to the other's lips. Thus was the fatality they shared; they began life together, they'd end it together; they sinned as one to suffer as one.
In the mixture of darkness and dim, streetlight, the smoke played along to the ceiling and the broken window at the top of the wall. Gray fingers made mute music on a keyboard that wasn't there and then tugged gently at the glass before escaping into the open air to fly away to the heavens…
Connor whined just slightly as Murphy was laying him out on the mattress. The tissue paper package crinkled loudly in protest on it's way to the ground. Of course, it was ignored as both twins had a better occupation than minding the welfare of a second-hand blanket. They had better conversation in tiny space between their lips. Said space quickly disappeared and Connor moaned a bit louder this time, his leg slipping surreptitiously up Murphy's.
Murphy always took things a bit slower than Connor would have liked. He was very much a tease—intolerably so at times—and it made him feel so wonderful to have Connor begging for more of him. A tiny grin gave his face the grace of its presence. Murphy stole his lips away from Connor's and licked idly and lightly up to the blond one's ear.
Connor never went by his impulses. He was the levelheaded one; he always thought things through. Still, the maddening dance of Murphy's talented tongue made that level tip slightly. He gripped Murphy's shoulders and head, trying to make him lick harder—make the contact more…well, more.
"Settle down, boy," Murphy muttered gleefully. He let the tip of his tongue slick down to Connor's neck; he avoided the inked form of the virgin. Some things you just don't blaspheme.
With a disgruntled sighed, Connor pushed himself back into the soft, over-worn mattress and glared up at his brother. The mirrored eyes met instantaneously; blue irises looking into blue irises. "We'll get there."
"Yeah, well I'm impatient tonight."
Playfully, Murphy dipped his head down and licked the tip of Connor's nose. "Oh fer pity's sake, let me have me fun." He brought his hips down against Connor's and held that position. "I'll give ya yers."
Almost immediately, Connor's attitude changed. He smirked hopelessly, but then bared his neck for Murphy to have at him. Oh and how Murphy did. Connor didn't expect him to go for what he was offered and so he didn't. Instead, Murphy pulled his brother's shirt off and took to laying down a trail of chaste, light kisses that Connor could barely feel just below the jut of his collar bone.
"Fuckin' tease," Connor breathed in his slightly erratic gasps at Murphy's feather-like touches.
"Maybe…the torture of it is: ya know ya fuckin' love me."
"Aye, well…" And then Connor was silenced. Murphy's lithe tongue-tip had circled and looped and found it's way to Connor's right nipple. With a flicker of inspiration in his eyes, Murphy breathed on it and tongued it playfully.
"Oh, fuck me!" It was meant completely as an exclamation, and Murphy let the underlying assumption go unnoticed because he knew damn well what his little actions were doing to his brother. "Murphy, just what the fuck're ya doin'?"
"Just…" The dark-haired twin pecked at the hardened nipple and then smirked timidly, innocently…the dirty faker, "experimentin'."
"Well, Einstein, I'm not yer guinea pig."
The coy expression that snaked across Murphy's face made Connor regret that statement. Coy soon turned to smug as Murphy gripped Connor's wrists and pushed them down to the bed, a bit roughly for being intimate. "I beg ta differ, luv." For just a moment, Murphy set his teeth into Connor's chest, eliciting a sharp groan. "Now behave like a good little brother."
"Th'fuck're ye callin' 'little,' ya bastard?" For all of his attempts, Connor couldn't shake Murphy off of him. "Yer the one who can't take it down his throat."
"S'that so?"
"Aye."
Murphy's eyes went alight with mischief. "Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" He lifted himself awkwardly and then pushed his knee between his brother's, spreading Connor's thighs. He could hear a bit of a startled gasp. "This is what ya wanted, right?"
"Th'depends. What're ya plannin' in that thick skull o' yers?"
"I'm gonna prove once an' fer all that yer full o' shite an' I'm the older brother." His voice had a bit of an indignant pride to it.
"Aye, ya sound real mature there, Murph."
"Oh, piss on ye, Conn."
"Sorry, but I don' go fer that. Yer welcome ta get back ta whatever it was ye were doin' before. Now I'm curious."
Tonight the clever pillow talk was swiftly ended. Connor wanted action so, when all of his provoking turned up fruitless, he went to manipulation. Murphy was a shameless tease and Connor was about as bad as a lawyer with his ability to bend Murphy to his will (pun intended some times). He played along just long enough for Murphy to get back into his original state of licking, and then he made his move.
He moved his hands at just the right moment and quickly dragged Murphy's mouth away from his chest to his own lips, crashing them together zealously. And that was just the catalyst Connor needed. He felt Murphy's hands suddenly release his wrists and change their occupation to groping him. "Wait, I thought ya liked ta 'take it slow.'"
Just as Connor expected, Murphy took the bait. The dark-haired one liked to be defiant. He liked to have his way and he automatically wanted to spite Connor's words, so ironically Connor got exactly what he wanted through reverse psychology. Clever little bastard, he was.
The springs of the mattress creaked dangerously as Murphy adjusted himself over his brother. He yanked on Connor's jeans sharply before undoing the stubborn button and unzipping the fly.
Murphy had Connor completely naked in the next three seconds—a record by Connor's almanac. When Connor attempted to mention it, Murphy silenced him with a rough, almost angry kiss. He gripped Connor's erection mercilessly and relished in the whimper he received. His tongue thrust in and out of Connor's mouth as if an allusion to what was to come later.
Connor liked it better this way. Murphy had had his fun, so it was his turn for a bit of pleasure. He bucked his hips up abruptly, trying to get a bit of friction, but he was distracted by Murphy's mouth. There was a battle of epic proportions going on between they're twin tongues, and neither would let up until he'd conquered the other.
The constant clash of their breaths let a fuzzy steam fill Connor's head. For a moment, he thought about just giving up this war he'd instigated, but he knew what pride that would put into Murphy's mind. So he gave it his best. He wrapped his arms tightly around his brother's neck and pulled at the back of Murphy's shirt as though the fabric was offensive or criminal.
Their mouths separated for just as long as it took to rid Murphy of his T-shirt and then the kiss resumed with ten times the desperation and zeal. The blond one pulled his arms tighter around his lover until their chests were touching; the contact of skin on skin burned with all the fire of hell and then some. Even Murphy, with all his composure and collected-ness, had to fight himself for control of his actions.
'Oh, sod it,' he thought eventually. He regretfully pushed Connor's body just slightly away into the bed so he could reach between them an undo his jeans.
Seemingly impulsive, Connor grabbed his brother's wrists and broke the kiss. He pulled Murphy's hands away and placed them on his own hips. "Let me do it," he demanded quietly. The look on his face said something both insistent and desperate.
Idly running his thumbs over Connor's paler flesh, Murphy let his twin touch him and even suffered Connor to kiss him a few times—breaking their usual system to pieces. The graceful choreography of Connor's hands snaked over the old leather of the well-worn belt. Taking his sweet time, the blond gingerly tugged Murphy's midsection down onto him before actually undoing the buckle. "Pop" went the button from the denim and the zipper slid down without a problem. The whole process seemed terribly long and drawn out.
"Call me a fuckin' tease," Murphy snickered into his brother's hair.
Connor smiled innocently. "Whatever d'ya mean, Murph?" With a quick laugh—sending shivers through Murphy's sensitive neck muscles and tendons—he reached up, dragged Murphy's head down by the hair and began to kiss the delicate, pale skin that stretched taut over the base of the other's skull. "Two can play at that game, good me brother."
Murphy thought Connor's hands were akin to a craftsman's, rough and worn but with careful, thoughtful fingers. Genteel, lingering digits that ignited and stirred the raging emotions in Murphy's stomach. They left a trail of hellfire in their wake as they slithered down Murphy's abdomen. It took one fell movement for Connor's heavenly hands to shove down Murphy's pants and shorts.
With a sigh, Murphy let his form drop just so slightly onto his tan twin. With their bodies pressed together, both knew it didn't matter anymore. Dominance and sibling rivalry became outcasts and gave way to friction and the grinding of Murphy's hips into Connor's. They moved together, in sync, trying to join as one with harsh contact and rough kisses that chased rationality and logical thinking out the fifth-story window.