A/N: I'm at home being sick. So guess I'll be updating now. My misery will gladly be your gain. By the way, have I ever mentioned that I'm very bad at typing? ~MacDixy

Disclaimer: I don't own the Boondock Saints or any related hullabaloo

Warning: dirty language, sexual stuffs, silly twincesty boys.

The MacManus That Live Together…

Chapter Two, Murphy's Trust and a Wicked Plan.

I really wish my brother would stop moping, it gets on my nerves. Don't get me wrong I love my other half through and through to the grave. Hell, I'd asked Conn to marry me one time, not that he would remember. We'd only been toddlers but I meant it then and I would mean it now. If only he felt the same way as me, I'd marry him in a heart beat. Of course we couldn't get married, we were both men, and brothers- twins- at that.

It was the thought that counted, always had been. Like, in my high school ceramics class when I had made us a pair of rings out of cheap clay and had given him one. I remember how hard I worked on those rings, molding the resistant yet pliable material around my artistic fingers. I remembered carving the tiny knots into their sides, making the rings nearly identical, the knots symbolizing our unbreakable bond.

I remember exactly how his face looked when I blushingly handed him the ring and mumbled some shite about a brothers bond. He couldn't believe that I'd made something so delicate without crushing it. He had been amazed, his baby blues eyes so bright with love and hope. Really all I wanted to do was get down on my knee and slide the little circle home properly.

To me the rings claimed him as mine and I as his. But to my Connor they only symbolized out twin-hood and power as a team. I didn't like pretending that the rings were between two brothers and not something more but it was made easier when he'd worn the white clay circle every day for years until it crumbled from the abuse, just as mine had.

We had been nearly eighteen when his ring broke into tiny pieces. He didn't seem to care that he was a grown man, he came home blubbering like a child, holding the little bits of my creation in his hand. In his mind I guess it seemed like he'd broken our relationship. He'd run sobbing to me apologizing in several languages. That night I had held him close and let him cry into my chest as I rubbed his back and mused his hair. I couldn't quite remember ever seeing him so pained. I liked being able to comfort him when he was usually the one soothing my mood flares. It felt cruel to enjoy holding his crying form to me and liking it.

To stop his crying when I couldn't handle it anymore I'd promised that I'd get new ones, make them, buy them, anything, I just didn't want to see him cry anymore. So that bittersweet long forgotten minute was over along with Connor's frightened sobs and clinging fingers. That night we had learned that we didn't need mere inanimate objects to maintain our link.

Seeing my brother cry like that had been awful. Being the one to comfort him while he cried had been wonderful. I had once long ago felt disgust towards the wrongness of my feelings toward my twin, but now all I could be was happy. I had to be the luckiest man in the world to be born with this saint at nearly the same time. I'd had the privilege to grow up with him go through changes with him, comfort and be comforted by him.

Connor was my everything, as essential to my life as the food I eat or the air I breath.

My one sadness in life though came from the man that made me happiest. He didn't feel like I did, he wouldn't understand. My brother was so strong in him conventions and so very religious. I'd follow Conn into the blazes of Hell since wherever he went was always a little bit of Heaven, but if my brother ever tried to convince me that what we felt wasn't right, I would punch him in his face. Sure in theory loving my twin brother is icky, vile, whatever, but Connor was my deity, and I was a bit of a zealot. It was selfish, crude, and wrong, but I wanted what I wasn't supposed to have and as he sat there just moping I decided I would have it.

I could risk it all, couldn't I? I couldn't just do it outright, molest the poor, innocent, gorgeous man smoking broodishly at the table. I'd have to be sneaky and weasel my way in. I knew this would sadly be a one time thing, I didn't know how far I was willing to go, but I desperately craved getting there. As long as some part of him were inside me, I'd be happy. And thus started my grand, evil plan: seduce my innocent twin.

I knew I'd have to get him drunk that was easy enough but no way this would work with him being sober. Maybe I'd get him to drink so much he wouldn't remember what happened the next morning that would make the exploration of waking up cuddling much easier. If he thought we did anything more than cuddle I'd blame it all on the booze. I was the younger twin after all - though I'd never admit to it- little brothers were meant to make mistakes and break things, Connor would forgive me, surely a mistake we had drunkenly made together.

The plan sounded good to me, and I was fairly certain Connor would go for whatever sex thing I did to him. He hadn't gotten much action lately, for reasons unknown to me, girls were always clinging to my charming brother but recently he'd been refusing to go home with any. Fine by me since every second he spent away from me stung like a bitch. A few days ago my confusion on the subject came back and I asked him about it. At first he'd brushed me off, but I managed to get him to admit to, "meaningless sex is just fuckin' cold," and that was that. Which gave me an excuse for this lovely little plan of mine.

My Connor didn't want meaningless sex, but sex with me held all the meaning in the world, so really wasn't I doing charity? We'd both get laid after a long, long dry spell and my twin would get out of this funk. Maybe the warmth of Hell's fire was what my Conn desired. Sexual frustration was a bitch, after all.

I realized our strange role reversal just then and laughed. Connor was the one with the crazy elaborate movie style plans, not me. I was the one usually brooding and staring at nothing. In a time of crisis our role reversal was necessary, but I'd be damn happy when I can hear one of those dumb plans of his again. After all, brooding is my job, remember that Connor.