sugar water
bds, connor/murph
by lilnee
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There he goes coughing again. The back of his hand flies over his mouth, he leans over the side of the bed, fingers like plant roots digging and winding their way into what they can reach. He sounds hoarse, beaten down, his insides wet with slime, his throat dry, raw from the clearing of it. Blankets, Connor's in particular, green and off white (because Murphy's always finding a reason to climb over into his bed: it's more comfortable, it has less lumps, it's softer), twist around Murph's legs. Connor feels too old for common colds, so maybe that's why he's never getting them and Murphy always is (the younger by that fact).
"Ya need to."
"No."
"Aye." Stern, flat, the bottle waving intimidation like a gun.
Murphy's eyes have gone glassy and deep, red-lined. Connor feels he needs to stress this even more, so he does, putting the bottle of cough syrup into Murphy's hands by force, even if there's little resistance, folding Murphy's fingers around it, secure. As soon as he moves away Murphy's thrown it at him, a thunk (and a twinge, maybe, if he'd been paying attention) off his chest. This means war.
"You little fucker."
"Not so little anymore." Smirking, grinning, happy at all once, and then coughing again and scraping his insides away. Connor thinks of hanging slabs of red meat, blood-fresh. Thinks meat hooks, jets of hot water blasting stained orange cement. He makes nice long enough to find where the green bottle rolled to.
"As fuckin' childish as fuckin' ever, wouldn't Ma like to know."
His brother's stare is dubious.
"Here." He twists the cap off and pauses, nodding toward him and then taking down a mouthful. The taste is enormous and flooding immediately. Down his throat and up his sinuses, he's feels like coughing, rolling out his tongue and gagging himself, but doesn't. He swallows several times, but not too many to lose the taste, to dissolve the purpose. The look's less dubious and more curious.
Murphy clears his throat, thickly, and Connor says then to open. Tip back your head.
Half a mind to just sock him in the stomach, as brotherly as ever, but doesn't. He finds Murphy's lips, open and dry, always a little dry until they've gotten started, and covers them with his own. Knows Murphy doesn't like the taste but swipes his tongue inside, further, puts his hands to the side of his head, holding, and kisses him. The groan in protest has Connor biting at his lip, swelling the skin. Once they've come tongue to tongue, again and again, he decides that's enough to coat down the hatch and shoves him back. He's got to be grinning because Connor can feel it pulling at his mouth.
"Tease," Murphy croaks, wiping his lip with his sleeve.
"Whiner."