A/N: So this is what happens when you're five months pregnant, hormones are raging, you've just recently watched Boondock Saints and Googled wayyyy too many pics of Norman Reedus. Add to that the Chieftains' Christmas Album 'The Bells of Dublin', stir vigorously with a dash of whiskey and voila: Instant PWP. Total Murphy / OC smut. Not sure of the timeline… somewhere between the first and second movie, perhaps…maybe during the first? Or…whatever. It's a lovely holiday romp. Deal with it. I own nothing but Wren and Pamela and the use of the Bushmill's...
PS: I didn't drink the whiskey, but damn did I want to. My first BDS Fic. Enjoy, Happy Belated Holiday Season!
"You comin' to Mass with us then, Murph?"
Murphy MacManus looked up from the television and that stupid Rudolph claymation show to squint at his twin. Connor MacManus was already dressed in his wool coat, his arm draped causally over the shoulders of his latest interest, a leggy brunette named Pamela.
"Hrmph," was the only reply Connor got before his brother turned back to the television. Connor frowned and herded Pamela to the door. "Go on without me, aye? I'll meet you there."
Pamela's brown eyes wavered as she shot a wary glance over Connor's shoulder to his dark-haired brother, currently brooding and scowling at the television. "Is he all right?"
She asked gently, knowing all too well the bond between the boys.
Connor flashed a lopsided grin before kissing her lips quickly. "Aye, lass. He just gets like this at Christmastime. I think he misses mum and da – he is the baby after all." He raised his voice at the end and snickered, casting a glance over his shoulder at Murphy.
"Piss off, Conn. We both know that I'm the older one," Murphy growled, flashing his blue eyes at his brother before affording Pamela with a weak smile. "I'll be fine girl, I promise you that. Connor, go on, then, will ya? I'll catch up."
Connor sighed and looked back to Pamela who shrugged. "It's okay – it doesn't start for another forty-five minutes."
"Forty-five minutes?" Connor exclaimed with a roll of his eyes. His hands immediately went to the buttons of his coat. "I've got time for another drink – two, if not more!"
"Connor," Pamela droned with a chuckle. She reached into her purse and produced a shiny flask. "I've got it covered. Come on – we need to get hot chocolate."
Connor's face broke into a grin and he moved back to the door, looking to Murphy once more. "Aye, got a right smart one this time, didn't I, brother?"
Pamela jabbed him in the ribs for good measure. "Do you want us to get one for you, Murphy?"
"I'll get one on the way," he said, never looking up from the television.
He didn't hear them leave. After another fifteen minutes he'd finally had enough of Rudolph's post-nasal drip voice and the gay little elf that wanted to be a dentist. Murphy didn't really feel like going out, to Mass, or to anything else, but it was Christmas, and he always spent it with Connor. To tell the truth, Murphy had been feeling rather…down these past few weeks leading up to what had been, in his childhood, his favourite holiday. Connor said he was just jealous he didn't have a girl of his own, or that he missed his mum and da, or that he just needed to get right pissed on eggnog and whiskey, but Murphy couldn't say exactly what was bothering him. He heaved a sigh and stood, stretching before pulling on his coat and pocketing his smokes.
It had been snowing since seven that night and now, four and a half hours later, Boston was covered in at least four inches of snow and it showed no sign of stopping any time soon. Fat flakes swirled in the orange of the street lights, and Murphy turned up the collar of his wool coat against the slight chill. After lighting a cigarette he clamped it between his teeth and jammed his hands into his pockets, before bending into the snow and taking off up the block. Mogul's Coffee shop was just up ahead and when he arrived under the awning he pulled his hands free and shook his head back and forth, dispersing the snow that had gathered there. When his cigarette was finished, he barrelled inside and the smell of coffee and sugar hit him immediately, along with warm air, happy voices, and of course, Christmas music. The line at the counter shuffled along quickly and at last he was standing at the counter, glancing up at the menu board while ignoring the obviously bored look of the kid behind the counter.
"Whenever you're ready, man," the kid mumbled, leaning back onto the stainless steel counter behind him.
Clearly his tone said he had better things to do than be here, but Murphy wasn't going to take shit just because some teenager had an attitude problem. The Irishman relaxed his stance and sighed, and made a big show of trying to make up his mind. He already knew what he wanted, but he decided a little bit of fun should go along with it. And maybe one of those ginger cookies.
"Let's see," Murphy began dramatically. "I do know I'm going to have me one of them ginger cookies. Aaand…hmmm…" he rubbed his chin for good effect and then scowled helplessly at the menu. "What goes good with whiskey?" He flicked his eyes back to the kid behind the counter. "What am I doin' askin' you? You're barely…what, seventeen?"
"Eighteen," the kid growled.
"All right, calm down, no need to get in a twist, aye? It's Christmas Eve, shouldn't you be…I don't know, spreading Christmas cheer or something?"
The kid rolled his eyes. "You gonna order tonight? Otherwise it's gonna be Christmas morning soon."
"Black cherry hot chocolate," a voice piped up from behind Murphy.
The kid behind the counter widened his eyes and Murphy turned, cocking a dark eyebrow. "What's this now?" he said as his eyes settled on the girl behind him.
She smiled sweetly and brushed a hand through her wheat-blonde hair before fixing him with her dark blue gaze. "Black cherry hot chocolate," she repeated, "goes well with whiskey," she finished.
Murphy's internal temperature ratcheted up a few degrees as she set her eyes on him and her smile made his toes curl in his boots. "Does it now?" he asked gently, being sure to let the entire Irish brogue he could muster curl out of his lips. It did the trick – she blushed lightly but managed to maintain her dignity and shoulder him out of the way to stand at the counter.
"Two black cherry hot chocolates. Large – extra hot and…" she glanced over her shoulder to look at Murphy. "Whipped cream?"
His eyes narrowed on her mouth as she said those last two words and he felt a definite tightening in his guts. Just to be a shit, he said, "Hmm?" like he hadn't heard her.
"Do you want whipped cream?" she asked again.
Still his eyes didn't move from her lips, but he nodded enthusiastically. "Aye. I do." Then he noticed she was reaching for her wallet. "What are ye doin', girl?" He dug into his inner coat pocket and pulled out his wallet and nudged her aside. "I'll get it."
"It's okay," she laughed, handing the kid a twenty. "And I'll…uh…have me one of them ginger cookies, too." She threw a wink over her shoulder at Murphy and took her change from the kid at the counter.
When she turned back to Murphy she handed him the little paper bag with his cookie in it and then moved off to the handoff station to pick up her drink. Murphy obediently followed, his previously melancholy mood melting faster than the snow on the girl's jacket.
"Thanks," he said softly. He was usually the one buying drinks. This was a refreshing change.
"My pleasure," she assured him, handing him a lid and a cardboard sleeve.
"How do you know what goes well with whiskey?" he asked as they both popped lids on their cups and slid the sleeves in place.
She grabbed some napkins and handed a few to Murphy, who took them without asking. "I'm a bartender. I've tried just about everything. One day my boss asked me to come up here and grab him an extra large of these," and she held up her cup, "and when I brought it back to the bar, he dumped a third of it out and topped it with whiskey. He let me try it." She eyed him mischievously. "So, where are you hiding the whiskey?" she asked in a mock whisper.
They moved to the door as they chatted and he held it open for her before stepping under the awning. He held her cup for her as she buttoned her coat and tugged her ridiculous red toque with a giant pompom down on her head, and she held his as he turned up his collar and lit another cigarette.
"It's down at St. Michael's Cathedral," Murphy supplied, answering her question about the whiskey.
She gasped in mock surprise. "You naughty boy," she chuckled. "If Santa finds out, you won't get any presents!"
Murphy blew out a stream of smoke and rolled his eyes at her candidness. "A little old for Santa, don't ye think?" He began walking and she fell into step with him.
She shrugged. "Won't it make baby Jesus cry if you're drinking in church?"
At this, Murphy burst out laughing. "You've never been to a church in Ireland, have ye, girl?" He flicked his finished cigarette aside and dug his now free hand back into his pocket.
"Never been to a church before, period." Murphy stopped short and gaped at the girl. "I mean, other than weddings and funerals…" she trailed off with another shrug.
"Aye, is that so? Where ya headed to tonight, then?"
"To church," she replied, as if it was the most obvious thing. She started down the sidewalk again.
Murphy cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her receding back before he lengthened his stride and caught up to her. "Yer goin' to church," he pointed out flatly, clearly confused with her admission.
"What?" She smiled up at him defensively. "It's Christmas, I'm alone for the holidays so I figured…go to church. It's like a big family, anyway, isn't it?"
"Oh," Murphy said quietly. "Tis' that," he agreed with a slight nod. He'd never really thought of it that way before, but it made sense.
"Isn't that why you're going? To be with family?"
Murphy nodded and stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. He caught her sleeve and hauled her back to the curb as she started out against the light. "If I make it there in one piece, aye," he laughed. "Me brother is there."
"That's great – he's the one holding the whiskey, isn't he?"
Murphy nodded again and the light changed. "You can sit with us if ye like," he offered casually, hoping that she would say yes. When she looked up at him, her eyes were sparkling like the little blue lights that wound the window case of the shop behind her.
"If you don't mind…I may need someone to run commentary for me. Tell me when to stand and sit and whatnot."
Murphy nodded and he found his hand grasping hers. It didn't feel strange so he let it be. Tugging her towards the church, he grinned. "C'mon then. If I'm late for Mass, Connor will tell Ma." His smile fell as he felt her dig her heels in.
"Wait," she giggled. When he turned to look back at her, she shook her head. "Your brother's name is Connor."
"Aye," Murphy said slowly, wondering where she was going with this.
"Don't you think I should know your name? Maybe you want to know mine?"
He actually felt his cheeks heat up – he'd been so wrapped up in the warm feeling she gave him, he didn't think to ask her name. She didn't seem like a stranger; he felt like he'd known her for years. "Oh," he said sheepishly. "Aye, I suppose you're right." He pulled his hand free of hers and offered it to shake. "Murphy MacManus."
She clasped his hand tightly and shook firmly with half a smile. "Wren Abernathy."
Murphy felt his lips quirk into a grin. "Wren?" he echoed. "Like, the bird?"
"Yep," she said with a nod.
He didn't let go of her hand, but instead pulled her closer and as she tilted her head back to look up at him, he peered down into her deep blue eyes. "The wren is a powerful symbol in Irish folklore," he breathed. "Means luck and good fortune."
Wren winked and squeezed his fingers. "Well, looks like your evening just got better, Murphy MacManus."
"Aye," he murmured softly.
"Oi! Murph! What are ye doin' standin' there holdin' hands with…with…"
Murphy cringed as Connor's voice broke whatever moment he was having with the girl before him. He even growled a bit, but he didn't let go of Wren's hand as Connor's arm slung over his shoulders and yanked him roughly.
"Well, then," Connor breathed, looking Wren up and down. "Who do we have here?"
Murphy reluctantly let go of Wren's hand and wound an arm around Connor's neck, yanking just as roughly. "Conn," Murphy growled, "this is Wren. Wren, this is me brother, Connor."
Connor chuckled at Murphy's obvious discomfort and smirked at his brother's reddened cheeks before disengaging himself from said brother and taking Wren's hand in his own. "Pleased to meet you, lass. Wren, is it?" He cocked an eyebrow at Murphy. "An raibh tu fein are an beag?"1
"Ta," Murphy snapped. "Saoire h-aonar."2
Connor laughed loudly and let Wren's hand go before backing away. "All right, no need to get yourself in a twist." He gathered Pamela to his side. "Pamela, this is Murphy's friend, Wren."
"Hello," Pam greeted warmly. "Are you joining us?" She nodded towards the line filing into the cathedral.
"That was the plan – if you don't mind one more?" Wren asked, smiling as Murphy and Connor shoved each other back and forth like a pair of ten year olds.
"You're more than welcome," Pam gushed, hooking her arm through Wren's. "I hate sitting between the two of them – one is always egging the other on. You'll be a distraction for Murphy." Pam winked and Wren laughed. Noticing the cup in Wren's hand, Pam dug into her purse and produced her flask. "Can I top you up?"
Wren nodded, already popping the lid off of her cup. As soon as Pam was done pouring, another cup was thrust forward. "Yes, please, Pam," Murphy purred sweetly.
"Aren't you the charmer," Pam muttered with a sidelong glance. Still, she filled his cup and when everyone was ready, they proceeded towards the cathedral.
At some point, Wren's hand made its way back into Murphy's grip and he watched her closely as she took in the decorated church, the candles, and the warm air perfumed with camphor and evergreen. When she pulled off her toque, her pale blonde hair caught the lights of the candles bouncing off of the stained glass and it created a multi-colored halo around her. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold; her lips red from the heat of the hot chocolate. He was staring at her so intently that he didn't realize Connor was talking until his twin landed a sharp elbow between his ribs.
"Oi," Connor muttered. "Yer starin', Murph. Where did you find her, eh?"
"Mogul's," Murphy answered. "She bought me hot chocolate. And a cookie." A smug grin formed on his face as he glanced back to where Wren and Pam were busy shedding their coats and draping them in the pews.
"Is that so?" Connor asked lightly. He glanced at Wren and then back to his brother, who was once more staring at Wren. He gave Murphy a shot in the arm. "You're starin' again."
"Can't help it," Murphy shrugged. "I'm suddenly in the spirit of giving."
"Givin' what?" Connor snorted.
"Mind-blowin' orgasms," Murphy winked before moving to the pew. He slid in first, taking Wren with him. Before Connor could take up the spot on Wren's other side, Pam slid in with a narrowed glance in Connor's direction, and then grinned at his obvious frustration at not being able to sit next to Wren and grill her.
She was an apt pupil. She listened to Murphy's purring commentary of the entire Mass, smiling as he sang softly beside her, silently watching as he bent his head in prayer. She took it all in as a tourist, amazed with the ritual of it all, and when it was over, the four of them gathered their coats and walked down the road. It had stopped snowing during Mass, and a thick blanket lay over everything, but the air was mild. Wren and Murphy strolled ahead of Conner and Pam, and their hands touched from time to time, sometimes lacing their fingers together, sometimes not, like a pair of shy teenagers.
"Oi, Murph! Quit fecking around!" Connor called from behind them, a giggle on the blond twin's mouth.
Murphy shot Wren a withering gaze and took a deep breath, turning to give Connor an earful.
SPLAT!
Connor howled with laughter as the snowball he had thrown was now sliding down the side of Murphy's neck into the collar of his coat. Beside him, Wren's giggle broke loose. And then so did Pam's.
"Oh, aye, let's all have a good laugh at Murph, shall we?" He growled. But still, he was grinning as he suddenly bent and scooped up a handful and packed it together before letting it loose with the accuracy of a major league pitcher. It hit Connor square in the face and now Murphy guffawed, and Pamela's laughter increased tenfold.
"Forgot that I played varsity in high school, didn't ye, Conn?" Murphy called back between chuckles. Then he ducked gracefully as another one of Connor's snowballs sailed through the air.
"Shit!" came the feminine exclamation from behind Murphy. Oh, shit. He hadn't just ducked, had he? He was afraid to assess the damage but he cocked an eyebrow and took a glance over his shoulder in time to see another snowball, this one hurled from Wren, smack him the ear.
"Ah, Christ, that's m'ear!" Murphy howled.
"LORD'S NAME!" Connor and Pamela chimed in, and soon, it was a free-for-all, and snowballs flew from all four directions.
More often than not the snowballs missed their marks, their hurlers to busy laughing and pointing at one another for true accuracy. As they wound down, Murphy took a step forward to lunge at Connor but his boot caught on a slick patch of sidewalk. His limbs windmilled and he reached for the nearest thing – Wren. Of course, she was only 5'7" to his 5'11" and he outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. He took her down with him, but he managed to land on his back and pull her to sprawl on his chest, saving her from being crushed.
She landed with a small 'oof' and a giggle, and Murphy's hands caught her about the waist as Connor leaned down to inspect the pair.
"Oldest feckin' trick in tha book, Murph. Ye gonna kiss her finally?"
Pamela whacked Connor in the arm and pulled him up. "Come on. Let's go back to my place. You can stoke my fire," she purred, winking at him.
"Oh, aye. That I can," Connor leered back. He backed away and winked at Wren.
"He's shit at startin' fires and he steals the blankets," he called out as Pamela tugged on his arm.
"Murphy, come for dinner tomorrow? Seven o'clock. You too, Wren," Pamela called out as they retreated.
"Well, I don't have a fireplace," Wren said from where she still lay sprawled on Murphy's chest, "but I have whiskey. Do you want to come over for a drink?"
All it took was the mention of whiskey and Murphy had her scooped up and practically carried her from the church back to her loft. They rushed inside and she locked the door behind them. It was a flurry of wool and down as they peeled off their layers and kicked their boots to the side. Leading him into the main room she flicked on a few lights and then turned to him, slowly stalking across the hardwood to stand before him.
Pressing up on her toes, she caught the back of his neck in one hand and leaned up to his mouth, sliding her lips along his in a bold move that made his head spin. She took charge. It made his heart race, a feeling he wasn't sure of.
"I can't give ye want ye want," Murphy said in a choked breath as his lips broke from Wren's. He landed on her couch with a sigh.
Her mouth quirked up. "And what is it that I want?"
He rolled his eyes and flopped his head against the back of the couch. "You know," he sighed. "A boyfriend. A commitment." He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. A giggled bubbled out of Wren and he scowled, turning his glance to her.
She shook her head and crawled into his lap, her knees settling on either side of his hips. Slowly, her fingers combed his dark hair back from his eyes and she cupped his face in her hands. "I don't remember saying any of that."
"Isn't that what all women want?"
"I'm not 'all women', Murphy. I want only one thing – you, for an hour, the night, the day after…" her voice dropped into a husky whisper. "I just want you, Murphy MacManus, for as long as I can have you."
Her mouth covered his and her tongue slid along the seam of his lips until he opened up beneath her. Their tongues touched gently, tentatively, once and then twice, and then fell into a slow, warm rhythm. Murphy's hips rolled up on instinct and Wren rolled hers down and forward, groaning into his mouth as his hands glided through her hair and held her against his searching lips. She tasted like black cherries and chocolate, like whiskey and red wine, and Murphy was slowly drowning in her.
His hands trailed from her hair, down her back, and bunched the hem of her shirt up before he began tugging it upwards. Her mouth pulled away from his and she panted, staring at him with flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Slowly, she raised her arms and allowed him to pull her shirt completely off, leaving her in a tiny bra made of scraps of dark blue lace. He licked his lips and then pounced, attacking her neck and shoulders, her collarbone and throat, with his tongue and teeth. She moaned lowly, hissing his name and clutching at his sweater.
"Off," she mumbled, her hands groping the sides of the wool and pulling up.
Murphy happily obliged and shivered at the chill in her loft. Then her hands landed on his naked shoulders and slid down his chest to his belly, warm and inviting. Slipping one hand into the hair at the back of her head, he gathered her against his chest, his other arm wrapping around her waist. The lace of her bra scratched against his nipples and he shivered again, and groaned softly.
"Lord's name, girl," he murmured, looking up at her. He kissed her soundly and felt her melt against him with a sigh. When her hands landed on his belt he broke their kiss again, touching her chin softly with his lips. "Bed," he murmured. "I'm much better in a bed."
"Oh-okay," Wren breathed out shakily. She crawled back off of his lap and stood, watching as Murphy rose and towered over her.
He cocked a grin at her. "Lead the way, then."
They made their way slowly through the kitchen to the stairs leading up to her bedroom, and Murphy couldn't take his eyes off of the way the pale moonlight broke up the shadows on her skin. Her hair shone silver, her eyes were like the bottom of a lake at night, and he stumbled to grasp her roughly, putting her against the wall and pushing his mouth to hers again.
She kissed him back with as much fervour, and tugged at his still damp hair so that he moaned deeply into her mouth. "I thought," she panted, breaking away, "you wanted," and she paused, trailing her mouth down his throat to his collarbone, "to continue in a bed?" Her teeth grazed the thin skin against bone and Murphy howled softly in reply. She wasn't complaining; his eagerness spurred her own and she loved the way his hands gripped her, pushed and pulled her to his liking.
He fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her lips to his as he ducked his head, grinding his hips into hers. "Aye," he groaned long and loudly, "but yer killing me, girl!" His fingers fluttered over the waistband of her jeans and skimmed the buttons, smirking at the way her muscles danced under his touch. In a bold move, his hand cupped her roughly though the denim between her thighs and he growled in approval at the damp heat he felt there. "Looks like I'm doin' the same ta you, aye?" His hands slid back up and began to tangle in the straps of her bra.
Her head lolled back with a dull thud and she moaned as his hands skimmed over her body. In one smooth movement his fingers clicked the clasp of her bra open and his mouth landed on every inch of skin the lace revealed. When his tongue slid against one hardened nipple she sucked a breath through her teeth and whined, her fingers tightening in his hair. Humming in approval, he sucked at her, soft and gentle at first, then rougher, then pulling at her with his teeth and lips. He switched to the other breast, torturing her even more.
She surprised him, twisting her torso away from him and spinning out of his arms to shove him back into the wall where she was just planted. Murphy's breath sailed out in a gasp and he watched with wide blue eyes as Wren smirked and worked her way down his chest with open-mouthed kisses to his skin. She left a burning trail, her tongue sneaking out, wrapping about one of his flat nipples, and her teeth sank into his flank as her fingers kneaded his hip bones. Her nose followed the line of his sternum as she inhaled deeply, groaning at his scent. Her tongue dipped into his navel, then flickered over the dark line of hair below, and when it delved beneath the waistband of his jeans he cursed loudly, gritting out the lord's name between clenched teeth.
Her hands came up, palming him on either side of his straining hardness and his head connected with the wall behind him as his eyes squeezed shut. Her breath was hot and warm on his belly as she slowly pulled his belt open, and then worked on the button and zipper of his jeans. As her hands slipped inside of his jeans, he bit his lip, and practically drew blood as her fingers skimmed over the delicate skin of his thighs. The next thing he knew both his jeans and his boxers had disappeared and her lips had brushed against the sleek underside of his stiff length. A breathy groan left his lips and he quickly looked down to see Wren looking up at him from under long, dark lashes.
"I don't think we're going to make it to the bed," she purred before pressing her lips softly to the swollen head of his cock. Her tongue flickered out, wrenching a strangled cry from Murphy, and she hummed as she took the first few inches of him into her mouth.
"Ahh…fuck," he hissed tightly, before digging his fingers through her hair. He held her steady, staring down at her as he slowly moved his hips back and forth, searching for the right amount of friction. She hummed around him again and he groaned, nodding dazedly. He felt her hand circle him at the base and squeeze tightly before jerking up and down and his feet scrambled on the floor as a breath huffed out of his lungs. "Wren," he managed to choke out, while gently pulling at her hair. He needed her to back off or this would be over way before his liking.
Her tongue flickered and rolled against him as she let him slip from her lips, and she smirked up at him with sparkling eyes. Faster than he thought possible, he grasped her by the upper arms and hauled her up to her feet. His eyes searched for the closest available surface – she was right, they weren't going to make it to the bed – and swiftly deposited her on the table in her kitchen. He pushed the newspaper and a few pieces of mail aside with one sweep of his hand and tugged at her panties with the other, reconnecting their lips and grinding their lower halves together.
On instinct, his cock sought her centre immediately, pressing against the damp scrap of silk between her thighs and butting up against her clit, making her sigh and dig her fingers into his shoulders. His hand reached between them and he snagged her panties with his fingers and held them aside. One twist of his hips and bare flesh was against bare flesh, the first inches of him sinking past her tightness into soaked warmth. He felt her stiffen beneath him; heard her breath catch in her throat, and he looked down at her dazedly to see her staring up at him with wide blue eyes.
"Holy fuck," she whispered reverently, raising her hips.
Murphy's fingers tightened on her hips and he panted into her mouth as he felt her grasp at him. "Aye," he muttered, pulling his hips back and preparing to thrust anew. He sank deeper this time, and slowly, and her back arched up and into his chest, pressing her small breasts against him. Her teeth snagged his earlobe while her fingers tangled in his hair, but her legs squeezed his hips, holding him still. "All right?" he murmured gently against her throat.
"Condom," she panted, her lips tracing his jaw.
"Hmm?" Murphy grunted, pulling back to see her face. He looked down, watching her hands press back against his hips. Reluctantly, he pulled from her body and shivered at the loss of heat and pressure.
"Condom," she repeated, this time a bit firmer. "Upstairs," she continued, glancing up to the loft of the space.
"Feck," he muttered with a tight grin. "Aye," he agreed. "Good plan." He hesitated, enamoured with the way she was spread out on the table. Her hair was wild about her shoulders and her collarbone and breasts were flushed and smattered with small red marks from his lips and teeth. "Do you want to…I mean, should I…" he gestured to the stairs and then back to her, not sure if he was supposed to go get it, if she would go, or if they would both retreat up the stairs.
She groaned and giggled, hopping down off the table. "C'mon," she invited, already up the first step.
He leapt at her and she squealed, jumping out of the way, but he was faster and caught her ankle in one hand. He held her firmly in place and she had no choice but to sink down on the steps and watch as he crawled towards her, his lips pulled into a half grin. With a dark chuckle the hand on her ankle slowly slid up her leg, trailing over the inside of her knee and up her thigh to her hip. His other hand landed on her opposite hip and he hooked his fingers into her panties, sliding them down. She lifted her butt to help, pressing her knees together as he wound the fabric down her shins and then off of her feet. Flinging them over his shoulder, Murphy fixed her with a curious stare.
"Gettin' shy on me, girl?" he asked with amusement. His hands cupped her knees and he leaned up for a kiss.
"Hardly," she breathed on his lips. She kissed him back with fervour, tugging at his hair once more.
He smiled against her as he felt her knees fall open. His fingers worked quickly, trailing down the inside of one thigh until he ghosted them over her, finding her bare and smooth to the touch, and unbelievably hot. Pulling his lips from hers he looked down, groaning at the sight of her now open to him. She was wet, very much so, and hot, and as his fingers slid down between her folds she whimpered and panted and twisted her hips. He sank his middle finger into her swiftly, his eyes nearly crossing at how good she felt. His dick twitched in envy – he'd had a taste, but wanted more. Moving his thumb to the hard button of her clit, he stroked gently with finger and thumb, until her voice hit a new pitch. Withdrawing his finger, he quickly returned with two, and ducked his head to capture a nipple between his lips.
He felt her shudder around his fingers, and then open up for him with a rush of new heat and silky wetness. His groan was muffled against her skin, but hers was clear as day, a strangled whimper that echoed in the high loft space. Her hips began to buck, urging him to go faster, but he refused her silent requests and continued a slow and steady pace, building both of them up to a quivering, sweaty mess. He hadn't let her finish at all, merely backed off when she was wound up and eased her back down to some semblance of calm. But now she was gasping and her voice shuddered around his name over and over. Somehow, he managed to drag them both up the stairs, pausing for slow, wet kisses and stolen touches.
He landed on the bed, on his back, among soft cotton sheets and pillows. The moonlight coming in here was tenfold – the skylight was right over the bed and he watched with rapt attention as she crawled over him, trailing her lips from his ankle bone to Adam's apple, while her hand rifled through a drawer at the side of the bed. Seconds later he heard the foil packet tear and felt her rolling her fingers down along his length. Rising up on her knees she took a hold of him beneath her and pressed him steadily back inside. Her head fell back as he filled her and he couldn't help his hands that reached for her breasts, cupping them, rolling his thumbs over her nipples. Her hips wiggled back and forth in response.
Her hands then landed on his belly, curling against the hard, flat muscle there, steadying her as she began to rock her hips in a magnificent rhythm. Murphy held on, his hands sliding from her breasts to her hips, urging her on as he bucked underneath her. She tightened around him, and released, and then tightened again, pulling a soft cry from him. His head arched back against the pillows as his toes curled and his thighs tensed. She was burning him up relentlessly and he watched her smile grow as he moaned helplessly beneath her.
"Enjoyin' yerself up there?" he murmured, the brogue much thicker in a heady haze of lust.
She smirked. "Aye," she purred, sliding her hands back to grip his thighs behind her. Her whole body arched and shifted as she did so, causing him to drill deeply at a different angle. Her breath sailed out in a surprised gasp and she shook before her whole body stilled. "Yes," she hissed, before arching her hips again and sending his cock deep inside, brushing that part inside that was barely ever reached.
He licked the pad of his thumb and then brought it between them, stroking upwards against her clit every time she raised her hips. He felt her nails dig into the skin above his knees and her thighs clamped around his as she stroked shorter and faster up and down his length. With his tongue held firmly between his teeth, Murphy relaxed, tucking his free hand beneath his head, and watched with rapt attention as Wren rode him. She came quickly the first time, shuddering above him and soaking him to the belly, much to his delight.
"That's it," he murmured, watching as she came out of her haze and began her lazy stroke of up and down once more. "I want t' see it again," he whispered, sliding her clit between two fingers now and tugging up and down gently. This time her eyes never left his and her mouth opened in wonder as she jerked against him. "Aye," he praised, closing his eyes at the feeling of her clamping about him again. He hissed. "Once more," he urged, bringing his free hand down to cup her hip and pull her roughly against each one of his thrusts. Opening his eyes, he found Wren's dark blue ones staring back at him. "Come for me once more."
"Jesus, Murphy!" she gasped, slamming her hips down against his. She nodded frantically. "I'm gonna come," she murmured helplessly. He groaned with her as her hands cupped her breasts and her fingers plucked and pulled at her nipples.
She was still shuddering as she fell forward, her hands gliding up his sweat-dampened chest as she sucked in breath after breath. Tiny tremors ran through her as she sighed gently and Murphy smiled up at her euphoric expression. Her eyes returned to his and she answered his grin with one of her own before collapsing to the side with a groan and a giggle. Murphy went with her, stretching out on his side as she lay boneless on her back. His hand settled on her belly and he swooped in and caught her mouth in a sweet and wet kiss.
Her tongue languidly wrapped around his and her fingers slid through his thick hair again, but she stiffened and pulled her mouth away from his as his fingers trailed down between her thighs. "Give me a minute," she chuckled, pulling his hand up to cup her breast. "I promise I'll be good to go in a few."
He smiled slyly but nodded, and found her mouth again with his as his fingers firmly pinched and pulled at first one hardened nipple and then the other. When she was mewling into his mouth and he felt her hips begin to raise, his hand flashed down once more and he grazed her swollen clit with the tips of his first two fingers.
Her lips tore from his with a curse and she tried to push his hand away, failing miserably as he shushed her and drew maddening circles on her. Every other pass his fingers would dip down to her opening, drawing more moisture up and spreading it around her clit. "I can't wait, girl," he moaned, turning his hand and sinking his middle finger deep inside. She shrieked, her hips bouncing off of the mattress. Then, he was moving between her trembling thighs, pressing his chest against the stiff peaks of her breasts and guiding himself back into her sweet passage.
He buried himself completely with that first thrust and palmed her ass as it came off the bed to meet him. Propping himself up on his other forearm, he looked at her face to see her eyes closed and her brows and mouth drawn into a look that hovered between concentration and fascination.
"You feel fuckin' amazin'," he started, drawing out halfway and then pushing back just as deeply and firmly as the first time.
She cried out in response and pressed her fingers into his shoulders, tilting her hips up towards him.
"Fucking tight," he breathed brokenly with another thrust, "an' hot…Yer burnin' me up, girl." He couldn't have stopped the words tumbling out of his mouth if he tried – Wren had him tied up in knots and babbling with every plunge he took.
"Don't stop," she panted, finally opening her eyes and staring up at him. "Please, don't stop."
"Couldn't even if me life depended on it," he replied as he came up on his knees. He slid her ass up his thighs to meet him and gripped her hips, pulling her with each thrust. He drove her harder, and each time his hips met hers her breath shook out in short cries of ecstasy. He watched ravenously as her fingers glided to where they were joined and began slipping around her clit over and over. She chanted his name, tossed her head back and forth on the pillows as he picked up the pace once more, hooking her knees over his elbows. His thrusts turned to pounding, and his own voice matched hers, crying out with her, signing, moaning.
"So good," he heard her breathe, "your cock feels so good, Murphy." She sounded drunk, and most likely she was, on endorphins and oxytocin. A sharp pulse of pure pleasure spiked up his spine and his hips snapped against hers.
"Oh, fuck me," he growled. Then: "Again," he grunted. "Say that again."
Her nails dug into his forearms where she was holding on and she looked him deep in the eye. "Your cock feels so good in my pussy, Murphy."
That did it – those words, and the tight heat surrounding him, the smell of her, the feel of her all combined and sent his balls tingeing with release. She sensed it, she must have, because as fast as she suddenly strangled his cock, he was pumping madly into her, barrelling through a release that curled his toes and felt like it was tearing his balls out through his belly button. He howled roughly, and ground his hips into hers as he arched sharply up and back.
He slumped against her moments later, his mouth on her shoulder and his hands grasping her trembling, damp thighs. He shivered above her, the last tremors of his release surging through his frame. She was small, smaller than he was, and out of courtesy he rolled off of her, although he did it with some reluctance. She sighed and stretched, groaning languidly as she did so.
"That was…" she started softly.
"Feckin' incredible," Murphy sighed in completion from his back next to her.
The bed shook and then he heard her giggles. "That it was," she agreed placidly.
"Hmm," he mused softly, craning his head to kiss her shoulder. He then slipped out of the bed and padded to the washroom to dispose of the condom. "Goin' fer a smoke," he announced dazedly as he came to the side of the bed, looking down at her naked body.
"Mmm…there's a balcony there," she said, pointing across the room.
"Smokes are downstairs," he replied, already headed down. "Be right back."
He puttered in her kitchen for a moment, finding a glass and the pitcher of water in the fridge, and then found his jeans in a pile next to the stairs. He pulled them on, not bothering with his underwear – he was feeling lucky. As he headed back upstairs, he noticed the collection of bottles at one end of the kitchen island – and one in particular caught his full attention. He snagged the bottle of Bushmill's and took it and his empty water glass back upstairs.
He found her laying back against the pillows, her feet twisted in the sheets, her fingertips lazily running back and forth over the skin of her stomach. Unable to resist, he sank to the side of the bed and pressed his lips to her hip and watched her from the corner of his eye. Her lips twitched into a smile as her fingers came to rest in his hair.
"I hope you don't mind," he said, sitting up and holding out the bottle of whiskey.
"Get out of my head, Murphy MacManus," she laughed. She rolled from the bed and crossed the room to the patio doors, sliding one open and disappearing outside for a moment. She jumped back in seconds later, an old coffee tin in her hand and snow in her hair. She sauntered to his side of the bed and set the tin there, gesturing to it. "You can smoke in here," she shrugged. "Your shoes are downstairs and it's still snowing outside."
He was already digging into his pocket for his smokes. As soon as he pulled the pack free she took them from him and drew one out, placing it between her lips. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Ye smoke?"
"After sex like that, I do," she chuckled around the cigarette. "Got a light?"
He fished in his hip pocket, his eyes focused on her breasts as she leaned down in front of him waiting for him to flick the Zippo to life.
"Thanks," she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. She stood before him and snagged the bottle of whiskey off of the table next to the bed. Unscrewing the cap she didn't bother with the glass he'd brought and instead tipped the bottle to her lips, taking a healthy sip before handing it off to him. With his hands full of cigarette and whiskey, Wren crawled over him slowly, making sure to press her breasts against any bare skin she could, and then stretched out on her side facing him.
"So, what did you ask Santa to bring you this year?"
Murphy laughed on the exhale, expelling smoke and chuckle before taking another sip of whiskey. "Ah, good whiskey…good company," he shrugged, winking at her. "What did you ask for?"
"Mmm…a man to give me multiple orgasms. Seriously, how is it you're single?"
Murphy shifted, a little uncomfortable and looked down at his lap, pulling at an imaginary thread there. "Ah…work commitments."
Wren eyed him for a moment before taking the whiskey from him and having another sip. "Are you a cop?"
Murphy's shoulders shook at that. "Uh, no. Not a cop."
"But it's something dangerous," Wren summed up. "Something that keeps you from getting involved too deeply." When he didn't say anything, Wren frowned at her choice of conversation. "It's okay, Murphy. You don't have to tell me. Will Connor be waiting for you to open presents later?"
She was deft at changing subjects and he silently thanked her for it. "I think not," Murphy sighed. "He's no doubt eyebrow deep in Pamela as we speak. Probably won' be home til' St. Stephen's Day." He glanced at her and found her staring at him curiously. "Uh…that's Boxing Day here." He flicked his accumulated ash into the coffee tin.
"Stay for breakfast?" Wren asked, suddenly up and on her knees and crawling back towards Murphy.
"What's for breakfast?" He asked softly, watching with undivided attention as Wren straddled his hips and reached beside him to put out her cigarette.
"Cigarettes and whiskey?" she said lightly, shaking the bottle before his eyes.
He grabbed it and took another slug before pushing his mouth to hers and letting the flavours mingle.
Wren pulled back a second later, hissing at the burn of the whiskey and licking her lips. The way Murphy was looking at her had her panting again and the denim of his jeans was pressed almost painfully against her tender flesh. She blushed as a whimper left her lips and Murphy smirked, reaching to grind his cigarette out.
"Lay back," he murmured gently, already pushing her off and arranging her on the mattress next to him.
That mischievous streak was back in his blue eyes and Wren shuddered as he hovered over her, the whiskey bottle still in his hand. He took another sip and leaned down to her mouth, kissing her once more. She swallowed his taste and the alcohol, twining her fingers through his hair. He pulled back wetly and then tilted the bottle over her body.
She jumped as the first splash of golden whiskey landed on her chest but Murphy's tongue was there, lapping it up slowly as it slid all over her collarbone and between her breasts. Holding the bottle a little closer to her body, he splashed whiskey onto one pert and pink nipple and then drew it between his teeth, tonguing roughly until she gasped his name and pulled at his hair. He did the same to the other nipple, and switched back and forth, sometimes with the whiskey, other times just with his mouth, but each time his lips made contact with her he lingered longer and longer. Soon enough, his lips and tongue slid down her belly and across her hip, his warm, moist breath fanning across her electrified skin. Upending the bottle again he dribbled whiskey into her navel and curled his tongue all around, removing any trace of it from her skin.
His face appeared above hers suddenly. "More?" He asked with a grin, and one dark eyebrow arched dangerously.
Wren pushed up on one arm and snagged the bottle and took a healthy sip. Then, she pushed the bottle back into Murphy's hand, collapsed back on the mattress and pushed at his shoulders, directing him back down. "Yes, please," she purred.
Murphy didn't need to be asked twice. The whiskey rolled down over her hip and into the small strip of dark blonde curls at the top of her sex, and his tongue followed both paths, leaving Wren thrashing on the bed. He took one more sip and held it in his mouth, setting the bottle back on the bedside and returning to slip down onto his belly and nestle between her thighs. He pushed his shoulders under her thighs, raising her hips and opening her up completely to him. Glancing down her body she caught Murphy's gaze as he lowered his head and wrapped his mouth right around the distended pearl of her clit. His tongue swished through the whiskey in his mouth and lashed at her over and over, and his eyes slipped closed as he groaned in his throat.
He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and Wren, and then came at her once again with his tongue. The remainder of the alcohol there made her sensitive flesh tingle in sweet pain and her thighs shook as Murphy took more of her. He refused to let up, even when she was sobbing. When he backed away for a moment, Wren foolishly breathed a sigh of relief. Her breath caught when he returned, pushing his middle finger all the way in and flicking the broad flat of his tongue up and down over her clit. He hooked his middle finger and sawed it back and forth until stars burst behind her eyelids.
"Wren," he panted against her, "come." His tongue swiped greedily at her again. "Come in my mouth, girl. Let me taste ye."
She couldn't have stopped if she tried.
"We ye really headed to church this evening?" Murphy asked softly from where he lay propped up on a pile of pillows. He was looking down at Wren, stretched on her back, smiling sleepily with closed eyes.
She gave a half shrug and turned on her belly, facing Murphy and opening her eyes. "Sure," she answered. "No where else to go. Thought it might be fun. If I had known that this would be the end result, perhaps I would have become devout at a much earlier age." She smiled into the pillow.
Murphy chuckled and put out his cigarette, turning fully towards Wren and taking catalogue of her. He'd seen her front. He'd seen her upside down and sideways, but her back was new. He wondered if the skin between her shoulder blades was as smooth as it looked and so he reached out and traced is fingertips along her spine.
Wren hummed in approval and craned her neck, her hair falling to one side. The dark ink in Roman Copperplate script caught his attention and he leaned up on one arm to read the inscription there: "Carpe Omnius. Take it all," he translated easily.
"Mmm hmm," was her soft reply. She purred again as his fingers brushed over the letters. Then one eye cracked open and she traced her own finger down across his right arm, starting with the large Celtic cross on his forearm and ending with the Aequitas on his pointer finger. "Truth," she stated simply, her eyes rising to his. "Rather fitting."
Murphy instinctively drew his hand back. "What makes ye say that?"
Wren smiled at the way his accent tilted his question. "Because I believe everything I know about you. Everything I feel about you." Her brow furrowed with a curious smile. "I trust you, Murphy MacManus, and that's saying a lot. I don't normally invite men back to my bed after only knowing them for," and she craned her neck back to look at the clock on her bedside table, "four hours."
She closed her eyes after her explanation and Murphy's hand was back on her skin a moment later. He walked his fingers up her spine and across her shoulders and found the spot on her flank that made her shiver. Then his fingers danced back down and skimmed slowly over the firm curve of her ass. Here he paused, laying his palm down and squeezing gently.
"Jesus God in Heaven, girl, you have an amazing arse."
"Aye," she agreed sleepily.
And, of course, he was telling the truth.
1. 'You've found yourself a little bird' (Irish Gaelic)
2. 'Yes. Now leave her alone.' (Irish Gaelic)