S'mores, Sex, And Rick's Cologne

Chapter 1: The Last Fight

Murphy realized halfway through cooking dinner that he had an uncontrollable hankering for s'mores. He began rifling through the cupboards, hoping to find the items needed to make the treats, but there was nothing to be found.

"Connor?" Murphy called from the kitchen, taking a moment to stir a pan full of frying potatoes.

"Hmm?" Connor replied from his perch on their ratty couch, taking a drag off the cigarette between his fingers.

"Would ye mind runnin' to the store real quick? I wanna make some s'mores later."

"Why can't ye go git the damn things yerself if ye want 'em s'much?" Connor's words sounded harsh, but he wasn't trying to be mean to his brother; he was just lazy.

"I'm cookin' yer fuckin' dinner, asswipe. Can ye jus' do this one thing fer me?" Murphy huffed his frustration at his twin, stirring the potatoes hard enough to send one flying behind the stove.

"But this is a good episode a' Spongebob on right now. I don' wanna get all dressed up ta get ya a pack a' fuckin' marshmallows." Connor, picking up on Murphy's annoyed tone, rose his voice to match.

Murphy put his fingers to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he blew out through his mouth. He was in no mood to deal with his brother being his usual lazy self today, and he really wanted some fucking s'mores.

"Fine, finish dinner yer fuckin' self then!" Murphy abruptly turned away from the stove and grabbed his black coat from where it dangled on the back of a chair. He grabbed his wallet, taking the time to count the bills inside to make sure he had enough money to get what he needed, then laced up his boots and made his way out the door, slamming it behind him.

Connor immediately regretted just letting his brother go like that. Murphy didn't ask him to do much in the first place, and there was no real reason he couldn't have just gone to the store and gotten the three fucking items necessary to make s'mores. But he didn't; instead he blew his twin off for some stupid cartoon show, and now Murphy was angry with him and dinner was burning.

Connor pushed himself off the couch and hurried to the kitchen, arriving just in time to move the potatoes around the frying pan before they stuck to the bottom.

There was no reason he couldn't do something nice for Murphy now, at least, as an apology for when he got back. Connor decided that he would finish dinner and keep it hot for his brother, then take the time to pick up the mess around their loft (which, if he were being honest, was 95% his mess in the first place). Then when Murph walked back through that door Connor would kiss him softly, apologize in his most genuine tone of voice, and hopefully they could spend the rest of the night cuddling or having make-up sex.

Murphy strolled up and down the aisles, throwing in cheap boxes of graham crackers and packs of chocolate in his basket, mumbling to himself along the way. His anger had ebbed slightly during his walk over there, though he was still pretty pissed at Connor. He regretted just storming out, though; he should have at least stuck around long enough to make sure dinner got cooked properly, since Connor was liable to burn the whole apartment down now that he was left in charge of it. Damn boy couldn't cook for shit.

He took a moment to go down the frozen section, and threw in two TV dinners that they both enjoyed, just in case dinner was charred beyond recognition by the time he got back.

All that was left now was to grab the marshmallows, pay for the items, then walk the few blocks back home. Murphy rounded the corner to where the marshmallows were, his hand latching onto the last bag of Jet Puffed Jumbo on the shelf, when another hand shot out and grabbed the other end of the bag at the exact same time.

Murphy rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look at the stranger who had dared to touch his marshmallows. "Look, boyo, I'm havin' a shitty day. Would ye mind just lettin' me have this damn bag a' 'mallows? Ye could always take the smaller ones."

As he finished talking Murphy finally let his eyes light on who was standing before him, and the breath blew out of him in a woosh. The guy was gorgeous in the tell-tale navy blue of a cop's uniform, his clean-shaven face soft and sharp all at the same time, his eyes a perfect piercing ice blue. Murphy nearly dropped his end of the bag, sheer force of will the only thing keeping his fingers curled over the plastic.

"Well, y'see, the small ones are a bit of a problem for makin' s'mores. They burn too easily, and I can never position them properly on top of my chocolate." The guy grinned then, showing his straight white teeth, and Murphy could swear his knees had started to shake. That beautiful face lit up with that smile, making him even more handsome than Murph would have thought.

Murphy couldn't think of what to say now to get this guy to give up the marshmallows, but somehow he didn't think he'd mind turning them over to the dashing officer of the law who stood before him.

"Maybe we can come to a compromise." The guy was talking again, and Murphy struggled to concentrate. "Looks like we're both makin' s'mores, so how 'bout we share the bag?"

"What d'ye mean share?" Murphy raised one eyebrow.

"Well," The guy paused for a moment, a cloud of nervousness passing over his face, and brought his free hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there awkwardly. "Y'could come back to my place and we could pool our s'mores supplies and make 'em together."

Murphy was hit with the realization that this very attractive man was hitting on him, and had this been a cartoon his jaw might have dropped down to the floor. But he had to play it cool now; couldn't show this guy how awkward he really was yet.

"Sure, I'd love ta." Murphy put a smooth smile in place on his own face, letting the guy slip the bag of marshmallows into his own basket. "M'name's Murphy, by the way. Yours?"

"Name's Rick. Rick Grimes."