There wasn't anything in this world he wouldn't do for his brother. That didn't mean he understood it, though.
The first time they'd done this had been incredibly awkward, and he'd been so distracted that it took him forever to get off, despite the fact that bareback felt so damn good. It was a bit easier each time, but it still disconcerted him.
Once they'd found the right woman, it had gotten better. He'd have her suck him hard and then he'd spend the next hour or so working through the Kama Sutra. He always ended in the missionary position, though. Any other way would defeat the purpose.
He still had trouble finishing now and then, and who could blame him? It wasn't just that Murphy was sitting right there watching; he could handle that. He could probably even handle Murphy joining in, but he couldn't swear to it because that had never happened.
No, it was that Murphy just sat there in his clothes and smoked one cigarette after another while Connor fucked her. In the beginning, Connor had tried to find any sign his brother was enjoying this. But Murphy just sat there, legs crossed, chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm one has when watching a boring TV show, and the smoke obscuring any secrets his eyes might betray.
As soon as he was done, Connor would roll off her, carefully extracting himself from her so as not to spill anything outside her body. He'd grab the washcloth sitting in the cooling basin on the night table and wipe himself down, then turn his back to them and doze off.
Only then would Murphy stand and shed his clothes. He'd get between her legs in a mimicry of Connor's last position, then savagely drive himself inside her freshly-fucked body.
He never lasted long; the sensation of Connor's release coating him and the shame of loving it were overwhelming, the urge to touch the broad expanse of Connor's back too strong. When he finally gave in, when his arm met the sweat-slicked skin beside him, his orgasm ripped through him. Every time.