I'm woken at dawn the next morning by Murphy crawling over me, murmuring something about mass, and then again a couple of hours later by Connor and Murphy snuggling against me, their skin freezing against mine. There's some sleepy but intense groping from each side before the boys fall back asleep.
Much to my disgust, however, I am now fully awake. I hate waking up early.
I'm still muzzy from lack of sleep (I think I passed out about an hour or so before Murphy got up), so I decide to go out for a walk to clear my head. I leave a note for the guys and manage to dress and slip out of the apartment without waking anyone.
As I stroll through the freshly fallen snow, I let my mind drift over every little thought and worry that's plagued me the last few weeks. Connor and Murphy and I have definitely gotten a few things straight; I should feel more secure with us, and I think on most levels I do.
It's just those stupid dreams.
I don't think I'm going prophetic or anything. I'm fairly certain it's just my deep seated fear of abandonment (can't imagine where that comes from, or what sparked it recently) that's making my brain act so irrationally. I know Connor and Murphy are completely sincere with the promises they made. I pause on the sidewalk, my gaze dropping to the ring on my left hand. They meant every word they said, and I know they were genuine when they apologized.
But if this month has taught me anything, it's that you don't see the curveballs coming. Would I still feel this way if I hadn't had those dreams? Or if Connor and Murphy hadn't pulled their disappearing act? Except I did, and they did, and now I'm doubting the future of our whole relationship because of it.
Goddammit.
Realizing I'm just thinking in frustrating circles and my head is even further from clear than when I woke up, I turn and start back to my place, following my footprints in the snow. It's only when I'm halfway between the third and fourth flights of steps that I realize it's been five years to the day since the last time I spoke to my parents.
I guess this is a good week for revelations.
When I get back to my apartment, everyone is still asleep, so I take some time to freshen up in the bathroom while it's still free and toss together a simple breakfast casserole to stick in the oven. While I'm waiting for it to finish, I remember I still need to wrap everyone's presents. I'm not sure I see the point, as they'll just be ripping the paper off within a couple of hours, but I know Connor at least will appreciate the gesture, so that's reason enough for me.
After I stash the presents under the tree, I start some coffee and dive in to washing the dishes from last night. I'm tired of being the only one awake, and if coffee and clattering dishes don't wake the guys up, not much will.
Murphy is up first, and he heads straight for the coffee pot. Connor and Rocco follow not long after, and soon we're all sitting around the living room watching A Christmas Story and eating breakfast. I finish my casserole not long after the kid nearly shoots his eye out, but I'm not paying attention; I've never really liked this movie, and I'm too excited about the guys opening their gifts.
"Okay, so how does this part work? Do you guys open them all at once, or do you take turns and show them off?" I'm bouncing in my seat a little, and Connor laughs at my enthusiasm. I dive off the couch and grab the presents, handing one to each of them. Rocco looks surprised as I hand him his package, then pleased, then he abruptly smacks his forehead.
"Totally forgot, hun, gotcha somethin', too." He retrieves a box I hadn't noticed from the table by my front door. Connor and Murphy immediately start in on him, teasing and whining about where their presents are, but before they can really get started he shuts them down with a, "Knock it off; I gotcha a nice bottle of scotch. Doc helped me order it; it's some really good shit, and it'll get here by New Year's." This shuts them up pretty effectively, as they weren't actually expecting anything from Rocco.
"Okay, everybody's got a present now! Open, open!"
There's general ruckus and confusion as paper goes flying, and I watch as Connor's face lights up first.
"Th'Eiger Sanction! I haven't seen dis one yet! T'ank ye, lass!"
I knew I shouldn't have been worried; it's Clint Eastwood, after all. "The guy at the movie store recommended it. Said there's lots of stunts and action and plotting, so I thought it was right up your alley. And he told me Eastwood did most of his own stunts for the movie, so if you liked that sort of thing this would be the perfect movie for you."
Rocco is just as excited over his copy of Tombstone, and he hugs me around the neck before ripping into the shrink wrap. He's been on a little bit of a cowboy kick lately, even going so far as to buy some cowboy style boots (which, I will admit, actually suit him), so I figured this movie would be perfect. As he and Connor squabble over who gets to watch their movie first, I turn to Murphy, who is glancing from his present to me. A smirk is dangerously close to erupting across his face.
"Track two, aye, lass? Ye sure ye wanted me t'open dis in front of everybody?" he asks, holding the CD up so the title catches the light. Bon Jovi's New Jersey Special Edition hangs in the air between us, and my face heats up as I grin.
"If it was the whole present, I probably wouldn't have, but the actual outfit is in my closet, so...y'know, whenever you feel like putting the song on, let me know so I can...get dressed."
Murphy leans over, somehow nearly setting me on fire with nothing more than a brush of his lips to my cheek and a quick wink.
"Gotta open yer present from Roc, or ye'll hurt his feelings," he reminds me.
"Well, quit distracting me," I laugh. I tear off the paper and open the box to find…"An alarm clock?"
"Yeah, I saw you didn't have one anymore. Found the old one smashed in the trash can when I was here one day not too long after you got back from the hospital, so I figured you needed a new one," Roc calls from near the front door where he's digging through his coat pockets for something. Connor and Murphy turn questioning looks my way, and it hits me suddenly that because of everything that happened that night at McGinty's, they never got the full story of my behavior in the bar that night or what had happened after I left them at the diner the night before.
"Um...I, uh. I had a...the night you guys pissed me off at the diner, the night before everything happen, I...um. After Rocco walked me home and left, I...oh, look, the movie's starting!"
I make my escape as Connor and Murphy glance at each other, completely baffled, and start in on the dishes I abandoned once everyone was up and eating. My face is absolutely flaming, and I bite my lip, fighting a powerful, giddy urge to start giggling. I'm not quite ready to share that story with them; honestly, I probably would've done my best to never share it with them. I know that somehow they will find a way to make it come back and bite me in the ass. I need to avoid them if at all possible, because they can definitely get me to talk if we're on our own. Maybe they won't push too hard as long as Rocco is here and I stay in the same room as-
"Hey, guys, I'm outta smokes. You got any?"
My head snaps up, and Connor and Murphy look straight at me.
"Nah, Roc. How 'bout I give ye a tenner, an' ye get us some," Connor drawls, his face intensely and deliberately blank as his eyes burn holes into mine.
Rocco, who is still patting down his pockets, nods and replies, "Sure thing. Gonna go to that convenience store that's attached to the Chinese take-out place. Only one that's open today, I think. You guys want anything?"
"Beer, smokes," Murphy says, handing Rocco some bills from his wallet. "Maybe some take-out for lunch, aye? Eggrolls, noodles, all dat shit."
"I'm gonna be a while if you want me to get all that," Rocco says, glancing up. He looks from me, standing stricken at the sink, frantically shaking my head at him, to Connor and Murphy, who are both staring at me like cats watching a mouse. It takes a second, but he finally catches on to the tension stringing across the room between me and the boys.
"I'll be back after a while." He scuttles out as quickly as he can, shrugging on his coat and slamming the door behind him.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
"Ah...Now, what was dat ye were jus' sayin', lass?" Murphy asks, a suspiciously innocent expression pasted across his face. He strolls towards me, overly cool, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans. I have a sudden, ridiculous mental image of a jaguar stalking its prey through the jungle.
"Izzit hot in here?" Murphy asks. "Maybe ye got t'heat on too high, lass; yer pretty red in th'face. Come t'think of it," he adds, a devilish gleam in his eyes, "'M pretty warm m'self. Should get more comfterble." And with that declaration, he pulls his t-shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly down as he continues to saunter my way.
My eyes are immediately fastened to his bare torso, following the light dusting of dark hair down his sculpted stomach to where the trail disappears beneath denim. I swallow hard, my fingers suddenly itching to trace the dents showing just above the top of his low-slung jeans, and I want nothing more than to peel those jeans off him an inch at a time, tasting every bit of him as I go. But that would be giving in to defeat, and I will not give in.
Dammit, I won't.
I suck in a quick breath through my nose, clamping my lips resolutely shut as I raise my eyes defiantly to Murphy's. His head dips ever so slightly as he smirks across the room at me. He's reading my mind again.
God in Heaven, I need a drink. Or an escape route.
"I...um...need to...grab something from my bedroom. I'll be right back," I sputter, backing hastily towards the door to my possible sanctuary.
"Aye, yer bedroom sounds like th'perfect place t'continue th'conversation," Murphy purrs as he casually pursues me across the apartment.
I notice warily that Murphy is doing all the talking while Connor remains conspicuously quiet. I glance to where the light side of the Force was a minute ago only to find he's vanished while I was distracted by Murphy's strip tease. My pulse ratchets up, beating a staccato in my ears. I should've reached my bedroom door by now, and my hands stretch out behind me, groping for the handle. I know better than to take my eyes off Murphy, even for a second. My tongue darts out to dampen my parched lips, and my eyes widen as Murphy closes the distance between us.
My back hits something with a dull thud, something hot and hard that immediately grabs my wrists, sliding hands up my arms. I let out an alarmed squeak as Connor pulls me into my room, walking us backwards towards the bed. He laces my fingers together and locks them behind his head as he backs onto the mattress on his knees.
"Keep yer hands where I c'n feel 'em, girl," he growls into my ear, and I choke out a strangled assent as I follow him back until I'm sitting on the edge, leaning against his chest. He's as bare from the waist up as Murphy, and the heat of him seeps into my skin through my shirt. Murphy steps into the room, closing the door and bringing the darkness with him. It's almost the middle of the day, but my curtains are shut tight against the cold outside, so what little light there is in my bedroom is tinted a deep crimson.
Connor sweeps my hair to the side, dragging his nose up the side of my neck as he inhales deeply.
"Ye want t'tell us what was makin' ye blush so?" Murphy asks. His voice is dangerously soft, and I moan as a jolt of outright lust flattens me against Connor.
"I...I had...a dream...that night," I stutter, breathless and anxious as Murphy drops to his knees in front of me. My fingers loosen as his hands slide from my knees maddeningly bit by bit up my legs, when Connor bites suddenly into the juncture of my neck and shoulder, shocking a pointed exclamation from me.
"Keep 'em tight," he snarls, laving the sore spot with his tongue before I can react. I'm panting now, shallow breaths that are not very conducive to storytelling, but Murphy glances sharply up at me from the floor when I stop talking.
"Y'were saying?" Murphy asks as Connor's fingers sweep feather light up my stomach, catching and carrying my shirt in their upward trajectory.
"Dreamed...that...you two...came here in the middle of the...night to...to apologize for being jerks at the diner."
"Izzat all?" Connor's question is punctuated by his deft removal of my shirt and bra, relieving my fingers from their position only to replace them when the offending garment is gone. Murphy continues his own upwards progress until he reaches the waistline of my pants, his fingers flirting along the edges, sending chills trickling down my spine. He slips his thumbs inside the waist of my slacks as well as my panties and peels both garments off. Chills spread over my entire body until I'm trembling with need.
"You two...apologized...really well?"
Murphy's tongue tickles its way up my sternum while Connor attacks the corner of my jaw. I turn to Connor, catching his lips with mine just before he pulls back.
"Doesn't tell us why ye smashed yer clock, lass. More t'de story?"
"Jesus, I...Murphy, please, can you please just—"
"Why'd ye smash th'clock, lass? Why'd ye blush so when Rocco brought it up?"
Connor's hands slide down my belly and trace dizzying patterns across my skin even as Murphy scrapes his teeth down my collarbone. My head is swimming with overstimulation, and I'm starting to lose track of who is where and doing what. I lurch up a couple of inches, very badly needing Connor to keep moving south.
"Stupid...fucking clock...went off...before we could...finish, please, please finish!"
"Calm down, girl," Murphy breathes against my shoulder before sinking back to his knees. "Roc said he'd be awhile; y'got plenty o'time t'tell us exactly how we apologized in yer dream. Seems t'me we might still owe ye some apologizin' anyway. Aye, Con?"
"Dat we do, Murph," he replies, his breath cooling the line of moisture he's just traced down the edge of my ear. "We were right arses, an' ye should tell us t'best way t'right our wrongs, lass."
Oh, God, they want me to talk NOW? I can't even see straight, much less think straight.
"Connor...was...God, can you please move your hands just...oooohhh, yes…"
"Lass," Murphy's voice still manages to come across as stern even though it's currently muffled by the inside of my knee, "ye got t'focus. Dis is important information we're needin' from ye."
"Can we...get more on the bed, please?" I gasp. "This position's not...as...as good on my ribs."
"Why dontcha tell us what position t'try, lass?" Connor suggests, prying my fingers from his hair and lowering my arms. I groan at the loss of his hands from much more pleasurable regions, but my ribs sigh in relief.
"You were...lying back against my pillows," I finally say when I've caught my breath. "I was straddling you."
Connor smiles, brushing a kiss over my cheek, "We've been in dat position a t'ousand times b'fore, an' I love dat ye still turn red as a rose when ye speak of it. But mayhap we could try a different way dat's a little easier on yer leg an' side?"
Connor slides further on to the bed, shucking his remaining clothing as he goes. He turns and stretches so he's lying on his side with his back to the wall, propped up on one elbow. I start to roll over to crawl after him, but Murphy's hands on my waist halt my movement. He pulls me closer, inch by inch toward the edge, his eyes devouring me as he drags me closer, until he's got my knees over his shoulders and only my back rests on the bed itself.
I automatically reach back to grab the bedspread, and Connor catches my hands, drawing them over my head gently so as not to disturb my ribs. Connor deftly applies his teeth and tongue to the pads of my fingers as Murphy kisses his way deliberately up the top of my thigh.
"Murphy, can you-"
"We're askin' t'questions here, love. What happened next?" His words are punctuated by a series of quick, sharp nips to my lower belly, each one moving further down, and I can only be thankful that I finally took the time to shave yesterday morning before we went out. Connor squeezes my hands, urging me to breathe and relax.
"Murphy was...You...were behind me. You got the lube from my bedside table, and...Murphy, would you...I need you to-"
"Ye need me t'what, girl?" he asks, running his chin up the inside of my thigh. The light scruff ignites every nerve ending from my toes to my sternum, and I jerk against Connor's hold, gasping Murphy's name like a mantra.
"So tense, girl," Connor purrs next to my ear, holding my hands tight. "Calm yerself, wontcha? Only tryin' t'tell ye how sorry we are."
Oh, are they ever sorry…
"Murphy, I-" but my plea is cut off as he leans forward, his tongue running up the length of my slit before his lips fasten on my clitoris. My hips rise involuntarily against his mouth, and Murphy repeats his action until I'm a quivering, moaning mess. He stops for a moment, his eyes meeting mine across the plane of my torso, blue coals burning in the dim light.
"Fuckin' gorgeous, ye are," he murmurs. "Make s'more o'dose noises fer me, girl." His tongue begins to move again, circling and plunging with perfect precision, and I am swirling along with it, sinking closer and closer, and so, so close-
"Murph, yer distracin' our girl. She can't get a word in 'bout what we did next. Gotta give 'er time t'think."
Shut up, Connor!
But Murphy backs off, leaving me sobbing with tension, and rises from the floor while sliding me further onto the bed. Still holding my gaze, Murphy takes his time undoing his belt, opening his fly, and slowly sliding his jeans and boxers from his hips. Before he joins us on the bed, he turns, opening my nightstand drawer and removing my bottle of lube. Without breaking eye contact with me, Murphy tosses the container to Connor, who, of course, catches it deftly and gently tugs on my hips, guiding me until I'm stretched out, facing away from him.
"Ye want t'continue yer story now," Connor says in my ear. My back is pressed firmly against his chest, and my nerves singing with overstimulation. I can't help the breathy wail that escapes my throat as his fingers slide over my belly.
"Connor," I strangle out, my voice shaking uncontrollably, "if you want...to leave this bedroom with all your parts intact...you...you will get me off now...before I have a chance to say anything else about that damned clock!"
"Only needed an invitation, lass," he says, sinking smoothly into me from behind. I freeze against him, almost coming right there. Then his fingers move between my legs, catching my clit and rolling it exactly right. My head snaps back, smacking against his shoulder as my breath locks in my throat, every muscle in my body drawing taught before melting. Connor's breath hitches, whistling softly through his teeth as I spasm around him, shaking and moaning as air finally reenters my lungs.
As I am floating blissfully in my paralyzed, post orgasmic state, Connor slides gently from me, and I hear the snap of my lube container opening. Before I have time to feel his absence, Murphy is in front of me, cupping my face and kissing me hard as he plunges deep inside me. I take him in with a low groan from the depths of my chest, my fingers twisting into his hair and locking him in place.
As he did last night, Murphy moves slowly and deliberately, but his strokes are hard now, his hip bones snapping against mine. I find myself flashing back to the first time we slept together, the first time he took me like this with these slow, punishing strokes. I sling my leg around his waist, holding him close as he grinds into me, and my lips leave his as my head lolls back against Connor's shoulder again.
As Murphy's tongue dips into hollow at the base of my throat, Connor's fingers ghost down the cleft of my ass, coming to rest on the tight ring of muscle there. His thumb, well-lubed in advance, presses gently at first, letting Murphy's motion carry me back against his motionless hand. With every thrust, though, Connor presses a little harder. I whine greedily as his thumb gradually slips further inside, stretching me and urging me to open wider for him.
"Did th'apologizin' go somethin' along dese lines, lass?" Connor murmurs, his voice strained. "Or didja need me t'-"
"Yes!" I gasp, as Murphy hits a new depth with a particularly hard stroke. "Fuck, Connor, yes I need you to!"
Connor's thumb is gone with Murphy's next thrust, and he moves so the head of his cock rests against my ass as Murphy presses me back again.
"Calm it down fer a minute, Murph. Let 'er back easy," Connor says.
Murphy curses, the tendons in his next stretched tight under my fingers, but he eases his efforts, lengthening his strokes and gentling his thrusts. Slowly, so slowly that I can feel every centimeter, Connor enters as I press back against him.
There's a moment where I'm so utterly filled that my head spins, and if I weren't already lying down, I would definitely need to. Then Connor's fingers are brushing through my hair, Murphy's fingers are massaging my ribs, and the two of them bring me back to earth while taking me higher than I've ever been.
Both of them speak to me, filthy promises and tender words, their voices soft and flowing and overlapping, urging me to twist or squeeze, praising everything about me from the heat of my lips to the curve of my throat to the tightness of my legs wrapped around Murphy's waist. I lose track of where their hands are, where my hands are, hell, where we all are. I have no idea how long we twist together, grinding, slipping, and blazing hot. And I finally, finally, get out of my head and absolutely lose myself in them both.
They promised me as long as I want.
I'll take it.