Here I am, with another bit of Boondock Saints goodness. [Well, hopefull goodness, anyway...]

Like last time, this was written simply because I was bored[go figure], and the idea came to me. This one is a bit slashy, meaning twincest. If that bothers you, feel free to hit the back button. It won't hurt my feelings, I swear.

Anyway, enjoy, and please ignore my pathetic attempt at writing accents. -hangs head in shame-

"Connor…"

Connor looked up from his book, a tattered paperback with yellowed and water-damaged pages that he had found on a park bench one day and decided he might as well take home and read. Who knew? Maybe God meant for him to read it. Doubtful, considering the main character had already helped kill a few people and seemed too attached to his mother, not to mention a little schizophrenic.

"Yeah, Murph?"

Connor watched from his bed as Murphy stood in the middle of their motel room; home for now, bouncing on the balls of his feet, an almost pained, anxious look on his face.

Murphy huffed out a frustrated sigh, blowing some too-long hair away from his eyes.

"I'm bored…," he whined, a frown on his face that could almost be categorized as a pout, but not quite.

Connor snorted.

"You're always bored."

Murphy's eye narrowed slightly, and he very nearly stomped his foot.

"But I'm really bored. Entertain me."

"Get a book. Ya always used to enjoy readin'." Connor looked back to his book, trying to find his place on the page. He had to find out if Harry really killed his friend or not.

"You've got the only book, ya retard. How am I supposed to read somethin'?" Murphy protested stubbornly.

Connor shut his eyes and wondered silently if Murphy really was that childish or if he just enjoyed annoying Connor by being difficult.

"Well, I don' know what to tell ya, brother. Just… find something to do."

Murphy shot his twin an incredulous look, and flailed his arms about, exasperated.

"Like what?!"

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to just breathe, and not strangle his beloved brother.

"Fuck, I don't know! Watch TV, draw somethin', you haven't done that in a while, clean your guns, make up a rhyme, I don' care. Just quit your bitchin' and moanin'."

Murphy seemed to perk up a little, but then he frowned again.

"A rhyme? But I was never good with all that poetry stuff. Whenever I think of rhymes, all tha' comes to mind are prayers."

"Well then make a rhyme out of a prayer, like we used to do in Sunday school. You remember that, right? Here, I'll even start ya off. Um… okay, here's one. 'As I lay me down to sleep, I hope you rot in hell, you creep.' Sister Bridget would've smacked me good for that one. Now you try."

Murphy scrunched his face up in thought, trying to put together the right words, to make them flow. But, try as he might, the words never came.

"I got nothin'."

Connor sighed.

"Okay, let's see… 'Bless me Father for I have sinned, surely this sin makes me cringe.' Shitty, I know, but a lot of rhymes are anyway. Just keep thinking and you'll get one, brother."

Murphy frowned in thought again for a short moment, and then a small smirk formed on his face that had Connor a tad bit suspicious.

Bouncing around like a giddy little school boy, he ran over to and pounced upon Connor's bed, leaning over his twin's lithe form.

"I think I've got a good one now," he murmured, the softness of his words not hiding his sudden and ridiculously hyper excitement.

"Do ya now? All right then, let's hear it," Connor replied just as softly, staring up at his oddball of a brother.

Murphy smiled.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned," Murphy leaned down and caught Connor's lips in a playful kiss. "But this sin makes me grin."

Connor laughed at the shit-eating grin on his brother's face, and shook his head.

"Only you would come up with somethin' like that, Murph, ya pissant."

"Aye, exactly. Now, are you going to put that book away and pay proper attention to your poor bored, lonely, considerably horny brother, or do I have to keep rhymin' at ya?" Murphy's eyes glittered mischievously.

Connor marked his page and put the book down on the bedside table with a mock sigh, though he was smiling. Harry would just have to wait.

"If I must. Anything to make you stop whining…"

Needless to say, the two brothers were far from bored for a good long while.

So, there you have it. The "Forgive me Father for I have sinned, but this sin makes me grin" thing I borrowed from my friend who made it up. And the book that Connor was reading is called "Portrait of a Young Man Drowning" by Charles Perry, which they made a movie [starring Norman Reedus3] out of, called Six Ways To Sunday. Great book, good movie, I recommend both (unless you're easily disturbed.)

Anyway, enough of my rambling. Hope you enjoyed, reviews are always welcome. Goodbye.