There are some bonds that go far beyond blood, and there are some bonds that blood is strengthened by. Connor and Murphy McManus were blessed with both. They had spent their whole lives together, raised by a single mother who taught them all she could. With no father to look out for them in the hard slums of Boston, they had looked out for each other. When their mother died, they left school and began to work full time at a meat packing plant. Together, they found a home in an Irish neighborhood, the sort of housing that wasn't listed as a real address.
It wasn't too long after that they both found their first girls. Both of them were strict Catholics, but a little fun on the side didn't mean much. The women didn't either. They never stayed the night and rarely ever called back. Something about the other brother being around in the loft always bothered them. The girl could usually ignore Connor watching television while Murphy played with her or vice versa, but whenever he went to bed on the mattress right beside them, she would leave.
Eventually, the brothers made a game of it. They would tease and rib the lucky brother, commenting on the length of the sex and assuring the girl that they were the superior McManus brother. Actually getting to the sex part of night became nearly impossible, but they couldn't give up the game. It hurt when the girls left afterwards, though Murphy and Connor never talked about it. The game was their only defense.
On the rare nights they both managed to get a girl, they still competed with each other. Those girls still went home, satisfied but very weirded out by the handsome, rugged, and oddly intent brothers.
And so it continued night after night until they were called. And then there was no more time for women and nowhere to bring them if there was. Night after night, sexual lust was passed over for a different lust, blood lust. Then it was all hiding, back with their father in Ireland. They couldn't find girls, much less bring them back to the little cottage where their father was.
When they were called again, they didn't even think to find girls. Members of the fairer sex were no longer objects of desire, they were only players on the board. Until her.
Connor and Murphy had known they had a following, had known there were a lot of people who saw what they saw. Some of those people were even willing to do as they did. They were symbols, instruments, and saints for these people. Some were willing to go even farther, however. She was.
She was destined to find them, it seemed, for she had simply walked into their church while they prayed. When they stood she was behind them, standing in the aisle, looking at them. She was a tiny thing, only an inch or two over five feet, dark hair swinging around a face that bore the unmistakable trace of Native American ancestry. A full skirt and a cream colored sweater covered her thin frame. She was holding a silver rosary.
"Santos," she whispered. They glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. Her face broke into a smile and she asked them to wait for her a moment in Spanish.
"Si," Connor told her. She knelt, crossed herself, and began the rosary.
"Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem…"
They listened to her voice rise and fall gently in the Latin as she prayed. It was impossible to miss when she stopped the rosary and began speaking, this time in English.
"You have sent me to them as You have sent them to us all. I understand what You would have of me and accept it as Your will and thank You for making it so easy on me. Please forgive me for what I must do to carry out Your command. Amen."
When she stood, the brothers did not conceal their puzzlement. She smiled brightly at them, unconcerned.
"Would you take me home?" she asked. This time Murphy was the one who responded to her.
"Where de ye live, then?"
"Not my home. Please, take me to your home with you."
The brothers looked at each other, unsure of what to do with her. A muttered debate took place. Connor didn't want to take her. They didn't know who she was or what she really wanted. She could be a plant by the mafia to find them or even kill them. Murphy wanted to ask her. At last Connor agreed.
"Why de ye want to come home with us?" Murphy asked. She looked at them both and continued to smile.
"You are the two they call the Saints. I have seen what you have done for Boston. These bad men have been making it dangerous for those of us who only wish to live in peace. You are not killers, you are executioners of evil, but even you have need of help. There are those who can help you do the duty you were called for. I am not one of them. God has asked me to help you in another way. You are still human. You still have bodies and hearts. That is what God asks of me, that I care for his Saints' bodies and hearts. My name is Maria."
"So… de ye mean te clean our home and such? Cook food, shop, like a housekeeper?" Connor asked. "We don' need tha'. We get along fine wi'out it."
Maria continued to smile, but shook her head.
"I will be happy to care for your home like that if you wish, but I meant that you need a woman. In your beds, I mean."
Murphy grinned and nudged his twin. The stirrings of their old game began to make them more intent, more interested. They could feel their blood pumping in their ears, their muscles bunch and shift, their skin brush against the cloth of their clothing.
"Ye are offering te sleep with one o' us? In church?" Murphy thought she would back down, become shy or flustered. Instead, she stepped closer to them.
"No, not one of you. Both of you, unless you do not want to. I feel no shame in this, not even in church. God has asked me to do so and you are good men."
The sanctuary was so silent after her words that the sudden entrance of one of the priest was shocking. The brothers looked at each other, unsure of how to respond. They didn't know her, couldn't say for sure she was what she claimed to be, but there was something oddly compelling about the earnest gaze of her brown eyes. Somehow, they couldn't just leave her.
"Come wi' us for a drink, then. We can talk at the bar," Connor told her.
They took her to McGinty's. Tucked into a small booth in the back, away from prying eyes, the twins began to question her over the three beers.
"Who are ye?" Murphy began.
"I told you, my name is Maria. I was born in Arizona and left on the doorstep of a church, where I was put into an orphanage run by the Order of the Visitation of Holy Mary. When I turned eighteen, I came to Boston with one of the nuns who taught me, Sister Isabel. She had wanted me to take the vows, but God did not call me to the cloistered life. For six years, I have worked and lived here, knowing that this is where God needed me. Now He has revealed why."
"Te have sex with us? Why would He ask ye te do that?" Connor broke in.
"God knows when His children are in danger, even when it is only their hearts, not their souls or bodies. Can you tell me that your hearts are not bruised from your duties, from the hard life you have led? You won't say anything, but you know that they are."
"And ye will ha' sex with us to save us because we are tha precious Saints, called by God?" he asked sneeringly. She smiled at him.
"Yes. You are good men. God was very kind, though. You are also very handsome." As the brothers stared at her as though she spoke in tongues, she took a sip of her beer and continued. "So do you want me?"
It was impossible to deny that she was attractive. Her hair was dark and smooth around a slanted face with full lips. She was tiny, with high, small breasts like peaches. Nearly ten inches shorter than them, there was nothing intimidating about her except her unnerving confidence. If her story was true, she was all of twenty four years old, more than ten years younger than them, and probably a virgin, given she had been raised by nuns. Yet she stood up to them without fear.
"Ye are pretty, but…" Murphy told her. "'Tis no our choice te make."
"Then ask God, for I know what he will say."
The brothers looked at each other and then stood. Offering her a hand, Connor helped her from her seat. They led her up the stairs, nodding to Doc as they slipped away to the room he kept hidden for them. Doc had raised his brows at the McManus brothers bringing a girl to the bar and even more when they disappeared with her. Still, a smile played around his lips. A girl would be good for them.
Pallets and sleeping bags had been set up on either side of the pool table that dominated the room. The top of the table was littered with ash trays, shot glasses, and extra clips, scenting the room with stale whiskey, cigarettes, and gunpowder. Connor knelt before the pallet on the right and Murphy knelt at the one on the left, leaving Maria in the middle. She remained standing behind them, hands folded, while they sought the answer of what to do with her.
"Well, fuck," Murphy breathed as the brothers turned, crossing themselves. Their eyes met hers, full of wonder. Serenity filled the room for a moment in perfect stillness and then both brothers launched themselves at her, catching her around the waist and lifting her between them.
Together, they began to kiss her face, lips brushing her cheeks, forehead, and eyelids before settling at the corners of her smile, the scratch of their slight beards teasing her skin. Keeping a hand each locked around her, holding her off the floor, they let their other hands wander down her, relearning the wonders of the female body. Cupping small breasts, which they suddenly realized were not covered with a bra, and stroking her back, they hauled her up onto the pool table, shoving the mess onto the floor.
Murphy took the first real kiss from her mouth, slanting his mouth over hers and letting his tongue bury itself in the sleek heat of her mouth. It was Connor who slid lower, pulling the sweater out of the way to find dusky, rose colored nipples waiting for him. His facial hair scraped against the tender skin as he bent to tease them with his teeth. He watched her eyes widen and then flutter closed as she made soft, helpless noises.
"Tell us, lass, just what ye want us te do," he whispered to her.
"I don't know. I've never…" she gasped.
"Thought so," Murphy murmured, drawing back so she could see he eyes darkened with arousal. He knelt, ducking under the long skirt and tugging her underwear off. Settling himself between her dangling knees, he cupped her backside in his palms, drawing her close. His tongue slipped over damp folds, quickly finding the bud that would make her come. Conner, seeing her open her mouth to moan in pleasure, quickly covered it with his own lips to stop anyone in the bar below from hearing. Maria shuddered underneath their mouths, hands roaming through Murphy's hair and over Connor's broad shoulders. They didn't stop until she went limp.
After hauling himself up onto the pool table, Connor pulled Maria onto his lap, turning her to face him. She wrapped her legs around him and rocked gently against the obvious bulge in his pants. Murphy came up behind her, brushing her dark hair out of the way and beginning to nibble gently where her neck met her shoulder. Connor bent over the other shoulder, biting harder. Trembling, her hands managed to undo Connor's fly, diving inside to bare his cock.
The skin was soft and velvety, slightly darker than the rest of him. Maria curled small fingers around it as Murphy tugged his own free and rubbed it slowly against her from behind.
"Are ye sure, lass?" Murphy asked gently.
"Yes," she whimpered.
"Are ye ready?" Connor said, punctuating with a thrust. This time, she just nods madly.
He lifted her, positioning her over him and slowly pressing her down onto his cock. Maria bit her lip, holding very still as he pushed inside her, stretching her and sliding in her natural wetness. It didn't so much hurt as sting and even that passed rapidly. Connor laid back against the green felt, letting her settle on top of him. Unwilling to miss out, Murphy clambered up onto the pool table with them, knocking more things to the ground. Kneeling above his brother's head, he drew Maria's mouth towards his groin. She smiled up at him and slowly took his cock into her mouth.
The brothers rocked gently into the soft, silken wetness of Maria's body. They were waiting for her to start in earnest and soon she was pressing against them, trailing her delicate fingers over their skin. One hand was clutching Murphy's butt through his jeans, pushing him deeper into her mouth, the other was wandering under Connor's shirt. Soft pants and then more frantic moans escaped her mouth. Her slim hips began to rise and fall more rapidly until at last Connor began to thrust wildly beneath her and Murphy was gripping her hair tightly to hold her against him.
Connor caught one of her nipples as her breasts swung slightly over him, tugging with his teeth. With his free hand, Murphy claimed the other one, matching his brother's rhythm. Connor's own hands slid lower, finding the small nub and rolling it between thumb and forefinger. Maria jerked, pressed against him, and then cried out as she climaxed again. Below, people at the bar looked up, befuddled at the noise, while Doc covered a smile.
"Lass, can we..?" Connor asked, desperation clear on his face. Unable to pull away from Murphy, Maria simply nodded vigorously. Both brothers groaned and increased their pace. When at last they came, all three of them collapsed into a tangle.
Later, they asked Doc for an extra pallet and blankets. Stuttering and swearing, he brought them up with an entire bottle of whiskey to celebrate. Maria spread her new bedding underneath the pool table and that night she slept surrounded by the Saints as Connor and Murphy curled around her, arms looped over each other's waists.