I don't own The Boondock Saints, etc, etc, etc.
"Telling you all to calm down isn't going to do a damn thing, is it?"
Stripes' words were more of a statement than a question as she looked around the group of McManuses gathered before her. Equally raised eyebrows from the younger two and a level look of anxiety from the older answered her easily enough. Sighing, she leaned back against the pew she'd sat in.
Da, whom she had greeted with a large hug only moments earlier, articulated their thoughts, "No, it isn't lass. We've got a job to do and any fuckin' person who decides to try and kill you is part of our business. Start spilling, Chloe."
"All twenty-five, too, Stripes," Conn added as she went to open her mouth, an incredibly cold, stony dimension to his voice. She recognized it. She'd heard his voice like that twice before: once when Checkov's goon had grabbed her and again when Nicky had been looming over her, about to put a bullet in her brain. It was his scared livid voice.
"That'd be a waste of time," she protested gently, pulling her knees up to her chest and looking up at the three of them standing above her. "Twenty of them are already dead. The other five are amongst Papa Joe's guys somewhere, though three of them won't be paying for any prostitutes any time soon. I'll guarantee their balls aren't up for it."
She played her words off as simple, casual things, but the three of them weren't fooled. Recalling Smecker's words, Murphy glanced to the still present FBI agent and then back at her, "Tell us about Alexi."
Green eyes narrowing immediately, Stripes glared over at Paul, "You had to fucking mention him? Really?"
Suddenly wondering if he wasn't going to get hit by more people than Conn, the man managed to shrug, "They're already back and they're already going to be doing a lot of killing. I wanted to make sure Conn wasn't going to be putting a bullet through my brain because I'd let three Russians almost kill his girl and then lied about it."
Pale and for once unbruised face suddenly becoming a mixture of exhaustion and irritation, she ran a hand back through her hair and stared diligently at her knees, "What exactly do you want to know about Alexi? He's dead. I shot him at point blank range in the back of the head. I watched as his brain matter spattered all across the windshield. What more do you need to know about? His fuckin' zodiac sign?"
"Who were the other two?" Da asked gently, not commenting on the tears now running down her face or the bite in her tone.
"I don't know. One of them was named Viktor. They would've just killed me in my apartment, but he wanted to take me back. They dragged me out a week after you left. I'd been camping out at school the entire week, missing you, and when I came back they jumped me. They'd been watching us for a long time. Alexi was going to kill me right there, but Viktor wanted to take me. I was stuck in the back with Viktor for a few blocks before Alexi decided to finish it. He pulled into an alleyway and…I don't know, I just moved. I got Viktor's gun and shot Alexi and the other guy in the head. The car crashed into a dumpster and I ended up shooting Viktor in the throat. After that I went home and packed everything up. If the Russians knew where I was, then I couldn't stay. I tried to go…home, but I-I couldn't. So I came here. I've been fighting people off ever since."
As Connor's mouth went to open, likely to protest and beg her to say more, she interrupted, "I don't want to explain anything fuckin' else. There's Russians and there's Italians and they try to kill me. None of the extra details are going to make you kill them any extra so why make me say them? I love you for caring, I do, but what's the point? Explaining isn't going to make them less dead so you can kill them for me, no matter how much you want to. Go kill some mobsters because they're bad, because they're evil, not because they tried to kill me."
Silence filled the large sanctuary. Taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes for a long moment, Conn finally knelt down before her, resting one of his hands on her knees. He had to squeeze it a few times before he could speak. "Stripes…I promised you that a certain thing was never going to happen to you ever again. It-It didn't, did it?"
At first she didn't understand, until she remembered that first night they'd stayed with her. When she'd needed it, after breaking down and sobbing, getting snot all over his chest, he'd promised her no one would ever try and rape her again. No man would ever get that close with that bad of intentions. He'd promised, though not in so many words, to protect her.
Bringing her legs down to lay beside her, Stripes promptly placed her hands on either side of his face and silently assured him that it hadn't. No, she hadn't been raped. No, nobody had gotten close enough to try. She didn't say the words but he understood, although the knowledge didn't make the fire in his eyes die any. She got the feeling that whether it had happened or not, he was still angry with himself because he hadn't been there. In a way it was incredibly sweet.
Smiling finally, not realizing that Da had been speaking to her as she just lost herself in Conn's eyes, she whispered, "Conn, ye know I'm not a princess that needs to be saved every other minute right? I've got my ball kicking to keep me safe."
"Aye, ye're my fuckin' princess and any princess of mine is going to have me to do the ball kicking for her. Just because ye don't need it doesn't mean I'm not doing it, love."
Oh yes, definitely incredibly sweet. She couldn't help but smile at the new term of endearment she'd been given. She was also suddenly having trouble breathing the longer she held that grey stare.
Softly punching her shoulder, Murphy commented lightly, "Aye, but ye have gotten kind of bad ass since we left though, Stripes. We should rename ye to fuckin' Xena."
Physically recoiling, she glared menacingly at him, "Call me that again and I'll start practicing my ball kicking skills, Murph."
"Ye love me too much, Stripes."
Her glare didn't waver, "Don't fuckin' test me." As he continued to merely grin at her, her face morphed into the tired but happy ball of emotions she'd become. She'd been so used to just switching between scared to death and absolute nothingness that all this happiness was tiring her out. Covering a yawn, she looked up, "Did you guys pick up my guns?"
"Aye." Da reached into his jacket and produced her two pistols, holding them out for her to see with an air of hesitance given how much she'd hated even looking at them the last time they were around. He hadn't seen her in the alley. "What are ye going to do with them, lass?" Da queried warily, not about to even entertain the idea of her coming with them.
"Sleep, Da. I can't without them." She'd tried, but when the two weapons had been stored on the bedside table, she'd only spent the entire night staring at them. The moment they went under her pillow she'd fallen asleep. She'd cringed at her new reality in the morning.
Trying to not dwell on that truth, which would only make them angrier, she quickly leaned down and kissed Connor deeply on the mouth. Then standing, she gave Murphy, Smecker, and Da all hugs before taking her guns. Each hand closed around the grip with a practiced air, despite the trembling that immediately followed, and her thumbs unconsciously checked the safeties. Yawning fully this time, she gave them a real smile, "Good night, be good, don't get hurt. I just got you back, don't do anything silly. I'll grab stuff for you to sleep on when you come back. I love you."
Where there should have been an irritated 'Aye Ma' from at least Murphy, there was silence. Yawning again, Stripes turned and padded down the aisle. The guns held at her sides seemed like the most natural thing in the world to her. The shaking was the only sign of how uncomfortable she was.
The three McManuses stared after her, the anger they'd done a decent job at restraining blooming dangerously. Snorting bitterly, Smecker commented, "I told you she's different."
Grabbing the agent by his lapels, Connor hauled him to his feet and snapped lividly, punctuating each word with a shake, "She shouldn't have to be fuckin' different. She shouldn't have to be fuckin' strong. She shouldn't fuckin' have to! Ye were supposed to take care of her!"
"Conn, let the nice man go," Murph said quietly, laying a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. Smecker hadn't made a move or sound.
Despite wanting nothing more than to just lash out at fucking anyone, Conn growled angrily before shoving the man back down onto the pew and taking a step away, "Smecker, where the fuck are they? I need to fuckin' shoot someone."
Murphy and he exchanged a look and identically deadly smirks appeared on the twins' faces. "Aye, Smecker. Give us something good. Papa Joe needs to know we're back."
Da inclined his head in agreement, looking to Smecker, "Any ideas, Paul?"
Fairly recovered now that his personal space was back, Smecker took a few moments to think and pull out a pen and paper. "Yeah, I know of some people."
He began shifting through the information in his brain, trying to think of who would make them feel better, who would've been the most connected with Chloe's brushes with death, which target would do the most good to be rid of. He could come up with a few guys, a bit lower on the food chain, who he knew had the job of sending minions out on hits. However, even as he wrote them and their suspected addresses down and handed the list to Da, his train of thought always ended up stopping in the same station.
"Papa Joe's trial is the day after tomorrow," he blurted out suddenly, despite knowing that he'd already given them that date.
The Irishmen paused where the three were all readying and rechecking their guns, clearly anxious to get started. "Aye," was Da's reply, his voice calm despite the tension. "Fuck, ye're right."
He and Smecker made eye contact, both coming to the same conclusion.
Nodding slowly once again, part of the FBI agent couldn't believe the next words that came out of his mouth, "I can get you in. He'll never fucking hurt anyone again, least of all Chloe."
"Can ye come back here tomorrow, Paul?" Da asked, cogs in his head already whirling at full tilt.
"I'll be here at noon. Good night." Smecker turned to leave before he could change his mind, trying to come to grips with what he'd just suggested. Helping the McManuses out with cleaning up the streets was one thing. That's exactly where they were, the streets. He'd just said he could get them into the courthouse, into a trial, into the heart of the justice system… He knew he'd rather help them in, help them kill Papa Joe, than even allow the legal system the slightest chance to fuck it up and let him walk.
Perhaps what bothered him was that he'd lost faith in the system.
Either way, he'd made his decision. As he exited the church and made his way through the rain, Agent Smecker began weighing the possibilities. They could do this. Vigilante or not, Papa Joe deserved what was coming through courtroom doors fully armed to him.
TBS TBS
Conn was unable to get the smug sense of satisfaction out of his brain as he shut the dead Italian's eyes for the last time. He'd hit twenty-four. While he still hated himself for leaving Stripes, allowing her to get hurt, his anger had been lifting the slightest bit with every kill that brought him closer to twenty-five. There was an odd sort of balance to it that he couldn't explain but just made him feel a little better with the world he'd left her in by herself. Feeling the emptiness of his pocket, he swore.
"Fuck. Murph, I'm out of pennies."
Not looking up from the dead man he was knelt over, Murphy reached down into his pocket and grabbed the few remaining he had and passed them to his brother. "Here, this is all I have left. Da, do you have any?"
"No, lad. I'm out of bullets, too. Hand me a magazine, please, Murph." The older McManus nodded toward the duffle bag they'd brought with them.
"Aye, I need one, too." Connor's voice was still hard, still angry. Neither Murphy nor Da had mentioned it or told him to calm down. Why should they tell him to calm down when they sure as fuck weren't calm? "How many places are left, Da?"
"Two."
He didn't care if he had to walk in and hit people over the head with his fucking shoe, he wasn't fucking done. They'd cleared out five mob houses that night alone. He just wasn't quite done yet. Though he knew it wasn't going to work entirely, he wanted to get as much of his anger out of his system before he went back to her. She needed him to love her, not be angry at what she'd gone through.
But, the fucking bastards had tried to fucking kill her. They'd scared her to death. They'd made her world scary and unsafe. They'd forced her to change. He couldn't exactly explain it, because in lots of ways she was the same Stripes. She just wasn't as…hopeful, optimistic. He hadn't been able to protect her. He was so fucking mad at himself that he wasn't going to be done until he stared down at Papa Joe's dead fucking corpse. It was oddly comforting to know that Murphy and Da felt the same way.
God had given her to them, to him. He couldn't condemn Conn for punishing the evil assholes who'd tried to take her away from him permanently. God wouldn't do that.
The glaringly loud click of the doorknob of the sumptuous mob apartment made the three men freeze and Conn's thoughts of revenge retreat into the background for that moment. The only one with a gun with bullets, Murphy had just enough time to get a handle on his guns and kick the duffle bag toward his brother before the door swung open.
Heavily drunken laughter greeted them but almost immediately cut off. For a single moment, everything was still. Murphy's guns were aimed at the three Italians and the three Italians merely stared at their dead comrades on the floor.
"The fuck…?"
The tallest of the three was immediately silenced when he was the first to break the quiet, one of Murphy's bullets slicing right through his skull. The other two returned fire, though were quickly on the ground within seconds, adding more blood to the carpet.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Conn had to crack a small smile as he and Da stepped forward to drag the bodies completely inside, "Fuck Murph, ye're getting slow.
Glaring, the darker-haired twin retorted, "Fuck ye." Groaning, he holstered one of his guns before shrugging off his coat. "Fuck, Stripes is going to fuckin' kill me."
Da and Conn both looked back to see him holding a hand to his shoulder where blood was blossoming up through his shirt. "Da," Conn stated, suddenly much more like his normal, non-vengeance driven self, "can we save those two places for tomorrow?"
"Aye."
TBS TBS
Crucifixion had to be painful.
The thought suddenly occurred to Stripes as she sat upside down in the front row's pew. She's been absently not seeing the words on page 2 of her book on the Viking invasions of Ireland for the last four hours. Jesus in the throes of death was filling her out-of-focus line of sight at that moment.
She was worse than she remembered.
At least the last time the McManuses had been with her, she'd been able to do things when they weren't around. Of course, there had always been one of them still with her. Despite the fact she knew they'd had plenty of business in New York to take care of, it was suddenly different now that they were back with her. All she could think of were the numerous mobsters she'd encountered, all the ways their colleagues could be better shots and better killers.
She had managed to sleep for a little bit after she'd left them in the sanctuary and retreated to her room. A small, apparently delusional part of her had hoped they would decide to just let it go and stay with her. The rest of her didn't spend the energy wishing something impossible would happen. There was no way in hell that those three wouldn't have killed scores of evil mobsters.
They would have when they returned anyway. Her unfortunate experiences had only pissed Connor off to the point of insanity and provided some extra motivation. Who was that little part of her kidding?
And so, when she'd awoken and found the church its normal dim and quiet, she'd been unable to fall back asleep. After slipping into her polar bear pajamas, she'd folded already folded laundry. She'd gotten out as many blankets and pillows as she could find for them to use. She'd reorganized her books. She'd remade her bed…twice. She'd even baked a batch of really very pathetic cookies that she'd immediately thrown away.
Sighing as she just let the unread book fall to the floor, Stripes looked up at Jesus and said quietly, "Okay, given that I've been vacuuming Your floors, I propose a trade. I continue vacuuming and You keep them safe. Deal?"
"Ye know that talking to yerself is a sign ye're crazy, Chloe."
Swinging her feet down and rolling to the floor, she popped up quickly with a smile, "Only if ye answer yerself, Murph."
Her smile remained on her face for all of a few seconds. She could clearly see the blood on both his hands and his shoulder. Her stomach turned. They watched as she physically swallowed down her worry and forced on a smile as she raised an eyebrow at Murphy, "Ye had to get yerself shot? Is it bad or just a graze?"
He grinned, "Ye're one to talk, Stripes. And it's not bad, I promise. Would I do that to you?"
Taking his good arm and leading him forward, she smiled with relief, "Yes, you would just to annoy me. Come on, I'll fix it." Glaring at the three of them, she added decisively over her shoulder, "No irons needed."
Da and Conn trialing closely behind, she took Murphy around to the back of the church, down the hall from her little room. "Once," she explained, "the priest actually lived in the church, back before they built the rectory. That priest wanted a nice bathroom. So, thankfully, I don't have to bug Macklepenny every time I need a shower. They help when I come home after being shot at."
The four of them entered the bathroom, crowding the space a bit. Pushing him down onto the toilet, Stripes ordered, "Sit." Murphy did so without complaint, merely muttering "Aye Ma" as she turned and began rummaging through the medicine cabinet. She came up with some antiseptic wipes, a towel, and a bottle of superglue that had something that looked mysteriously like blood on it.
After helping Murphy get his gray t-shirt off, she started wiping down the wound. It was a fairly clean graze. There was more blood than injury. Her two had been worse, truth be told. She wouldn't need the superglue to keep the skin together like she'd expected. "So, how was New York? Did you pull a me and hardly function because you missed me so much?" she queried with a smile to distract herself from all the blood on her hands.
"We missed ye, lass," Da assured.
Shrugging, Murph answered when Conn continued to look to pensive to do it himself, "It wasn't the same. The food sucked.
She laughed and kissed the top of his head affectionately, "I see why you missed me. You just missed my cooking! You know, I tried to make you guys more cookies tonight, but they were fuckin' terrible. I had to throw them out."
"Ye threw away my cookies? Stripes, ye're fuckin' cruel." She just grinned at him. Glancing over his shoulder, he added, "And aye, Conn missed ye so damn much he hardly functioned. He was a fuckin' pain in the ass, moping around, talking about ye all the fuckin' time, muttering yer name in his sleep and shit. He couldn't even get fuckin' drunk properly. He wasn't any fuckin' fun."
"Fuck Murph, make me sound fuckin' pathetic, why don't ye," Conn protested, punching his brother's good arm. He tried to fight the blush in his cheeks until he saw the smile light up Stripes' face.
"Hey, don't fuckin' hit me. I just did ye a favor. Girls love that pathetic stuff," Murphy teased. "She'll probably even start up her plot to get ye in bed again."
"MURPH!" Stripes exclaimed, no longer leaving Conn the only one in that little bathroom blushing. Despite her embarrassment, Da's loud chuckling, and the smack she sent to the back of Murphy's head, she couldn't help but be happy. This was the family she loved.
"For Christ's sake, why the fuck are the two of ye always fuckin' hitting me? I'm fuckin' injured here."
"Because what's injured isn't your mouth, Murph," Stripes answered with a grin. Pressing the final piece of tape over his bandage, she retracted her hands, "Your shoulder's finished."
His son's injury reminding him of some of hers, Da questioned as Murphy rose, "How's yer neck doing, lass?"
"Oh, it's healed." She pulled her black hair back to reveal the raised, stark white and purple line just below her ear. "I don't even really feel it anymore. I don't feel any of that stuff anymore. My shoulder's back to normal, too. So is my rib." Putting on a smile, she laughed, "I feel like an old soldier when it's about to storm, though. I get sore everywhere."
Silence fell as she went about cleaning up the used, bloody wipes and bandages. Her deftness with the things took the men aback. She hated blood. With Conn, she'd barely been able to stay in the room until holding him had outweighed her dislike. When did she get so good at wounds and bandages and blood?
Exchanging a look with Murphy, Conn sighed to himself. When they were fuckin' gone. When else?
Turning to the three of them, Stripes explained, "I'm going to clean up my hands, take a shower. I left pillows and blankets and stuff on my bed. Feel free to sleep wherever." Smiling, she added, "I don't recommend the pews, though. I found out the hard way they're not that comfortable. And yes, Murph, you can have my bed if you want it. I'm just going to stay awake."
The dark-haired twin grinned at her before stepping forward and hugging her tightly, "I love ye, Stripes."
Tearing up, she hugged him back, "I love you, too, Murph. Sleep tight." He kissed the top of her head before nodding and leaving the bathroom. Smiling at the two's antics, Da shook his head and kissed her forehead in a good night. Conn reluctantly followed them out of the room, giving her a small smile.
She closed the door behind them. For a short moment, the three McManuses stood there, staring at the door. After a few moments, Murphy and Da turned to walk down the hall to her room, to get some much-needed sleep as she had suggested. Murph looked back, ready to tell Conn to hurry his ass up, but a smiling Da shook his head. "Leave him be, lad. He has to forgive himself."
TBS TBS
Connor felt like a creeper. He was standing outside a bathroom door, staring at it forlornly, thinking about the showering woman inside. He'd done less creepy things before.
He hadn't really noticed when his brother and father had left him standing there, staring at the wooden barrier. It could be hours for all he knew. Stripes did tend to take long showers if he remembered correctly, if she hadn't changed…
Sighing angrily to himself, he began pacing in short strides, one step toward the door, turn and one step away. He was driving himself crazy with wondering. Was she really not mad at him? Was she really all right? How much had they hurt her? What new scars had she acquired?
He hadn't seen her in almost two months. He knew that their time apart was longer than the time they'd been together, but he'd missed her so fuckin' much he almost couldn't stand it. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.
Goddammit, he was a fuckin' mess! How did Stripes always manage to do that to him?
Before his brain could come up with any more horror stories for her to have gone through or his heart to make him hate himself more, he just opened the damn door. Connor froze.
He hadn't expected the shower curtain to be clear…
The guilty part of himself took a quick inventory of her injuries. He couldn't see any new ones aside from a large scabbed area on her upper thigh. There were new scars on the opposite leg and her upper side, but that was it. Murph was right; she had gotten badass. They hadn't managed to really touch her. Her hurts were the mental kind that would be healed up the more he told her how much he loved her and was never fucking leaving her again. She needed him to love her; he'd avenged her enough.
Of course, that guilty part had a hell of a time trying to get that point across as the rest of his brain shut down, unable to do anything but stare. He'd seen women naked before, but Stripes was just different. He couldn't take his eyes off how fuckin' beautiful she was.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ…"
In the past two months, Stripes had discovered that there was nothing more soothing than a shower. Simple it might be, but she was never going to take the daily ritual for granted ever again. She wasn't sure why, but something about being in that little cocoon of the shower, shut off from the rest of the world and surrounded by warm water and her gloriously good smelling shampoo, she just felt clean. It didn't matter how or where the blood got onto her, a shower always took it off.
She had her face upturned to the stream of hot water, rinsing the conditioner from her hair when she heard it. She stiffened for the instant her instincts took to debate what to do. As it had the habit of doing, her body moved before her conscious brain caught up. Pulling back the shower curtain, she raised her pistol in her left hand and hurled the shampoo bottle in her right.
"OW! Fuck, Stripes…"
The lime green bottle connected painfully with Connor's head. Snapping out of her survival mode, Stripes tossed the weapon to the floor after putting on the safety as if it had bitten her. That was the second time in a matter of hours she'd pointed a gun at Connor. Worry overtaking every other thought, she covered her mouth with her hands, "Conn, are you okay? I'm so sorry!"
At his rather pained nod, she let out a sigh of relief, stepping back and leaning against the wall of the shower.
"Ye really don't go anywhere without them anymore, do ye? Where the fuck did ye have that thing hidden earlier?" She just shook her head, eyes closed and taking deep calming breaths. Wondering when she was going to notice her lack of clothing, he couldn't help the ornery smile that appeared.
Smoothing her wet hair back, Stripes laughed lightly, "In the back of my pajama pants." At the mention of clothes, she finally noticed. Snapping her eyes open, she squeaked in mortification as she snatched her towel down from the curtain rod and wrapped it around herself, holding it together behind her back with one arm.
"Conn, I-I-I'm fuckin' naked here!"
His awed gaze moved upward and met her eyes and his smile only grew. "Aye."
She was incredibly cute when she swore like them and when she was embarrassed. As she blushed a brighter red than he'd ever seen before and diligently avoided his gaze, he crossed the small space in a matter of steps. He took her face in his hands.
"And ye're fuckin' beautiful, Stripes."
Her green eyes flitted up to find his instead of his black t-shirt from before. An adorably shy smile and hopeful look in her eyes greeted him, just like the old Stripes'. For the first time, he realized that perhaps the hope he thought she'd lost came from him. Maybe the love of Connor McManus—Saint, killer, and complete fuckin' pushover when she was involved—was what had made her optimistic. That was what she did for him.
He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks a few times before leaning down and kissing her gently, "Ye're so fuckin' beautiful."
Calling on every ounce of Irishman decency his Ma had pounded into his head for his entire life, Conn turned to leave and give her privacy back. He'd been mean enough, purposely being around to embarrass her. He made it two steps before a smaller, wet hand grabbed his elbow and gently pulled him back.
Stripes had no idea what she was doing. However, blissfully ignoring any misgivings her shyness may have once bombarded her with, she let her thoughts drown in the love being given to her. Conn had missed her; he thought she was beautiful; he loved her so much she could see it on his face and in his smile every time he looked at her.
"I love you, Conn."
Smiling at the cute look of surprise on his face, she pushed herself up onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his. It took him a few moments to kiss back, surprise pervading his thoughts. Hadn't she just been embarrassed a few seconds ago? But he felt her smile when he got over it and lost one of his hands in her wet hair and hugged her to him with the other.
As Stripes continued to kiss him with abandon, for the first time in their relationship not worrying about anything and running her one free hand over every bit of his skin she could find, the guilty, sensible part of Connor's mind got smaller and smaller. When she stepped daintily forward over the edge of the shower and pressed fully against him as she rocked up onto her tiptoes, he felt it disappear almost completely.
"Stripes…?" Conn breathed out heavily as he pulled away and rested his forehead on hers, accent thicker than she'd ever heard it before, "Stripes, love…what're ye doin'?"
She didn't answer, merely glanced hesitantly between his gray eyes and his lips and back again. Seeing those eyes staring lovingly, rather lustfully back, she melted completely. Kissing him quickly, she smiled, "Apologizing for hitting you with my shampoo."
Connor grinned back before wrapping both arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him again. "I love ye, too, Stripes…so fuckin' much…"
As he stared down at her again, the throbbing ball of need that had taken up residence in her stomach overtook any thinking her brain was doing. Forgetting all about the towel she was holding, she brought both hands forward and pushed his t-shirt up and over his head. The two garments fell to the ground with understated thuds..
Standing there, staring shamelessly, Conn couldn't take his eyes off her as she fidgeted under his gaze. Pressing their foreheads together as he ran his hands up and down her bare sides, he smiled before kissing her again, "Stripes, we should go somewhere else..."
"Murph's in my bed, Conn."
He groaned, lost for words for a few moments as she began to shyly kiss his neck and her hands roamed their way across his chest. "Fuckin' Murph."
"Of the three of us, I'd say I'm the one not fuckin', Conn."
The two of them swung their heads toward the door to see Murphy standing in the doorway, eyes firmly closed. He looked halfway between traumatized and amused. Squeaking in surprise, Stripes knelt and snatched her soaked towel off the floor. When she had it wrapped around herself, Conn hugged her to him, giving his brother decidedly less to see. Blushing brightly, she exclaimed without much venom, "What is it with the two of you and breaking into my bathroom when I'm in the shower?"
Grinning, Murphy commented, "Ye weren't in the shower when I walked in, Stripes. I think my brother was closer to being in ye."
"MURPH!" Stripes grabbed the closest object, which happened to be a box of Kleenex, and hurled it at the dark-haired twin. It hit him in the chest.
"Ow! What the fuckin' hell?"
Breaking in before Stripes could shout back, Conn demanded, "Murph, will ye get the fuck out?"
"Aye, I would, but I need a shower. As long as ye two haven't used all the fuckin' hot water, I'm going to take one. Da's sleeping in the basement, by the way. No one's in yer room, Chloe. Ye two can stop cursing my name."
Breaking away from Connor's embrace, Stripes began hastily, haphazardly pulling on her pajamas, muttering as she did, "Murph, the next time you have a girlfriend, I'm going to purposely do this to you."
"Aye!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air despite his still closed eyes. "Three's a fuckin' party."
"MURPH!"
"Ye love me, Stripes. So do ye, Conn."
Conn punched him in the arm as Stripes practically ran from the room. Laughing lightly, he shook his head, "Ye fuckin' suck, Murph."
Opening his eyes, Murphy just grinned, "Ye have a good night, Conn."
A/N: Hello there everyone,
I apologize for the wait. Making Baconators is not conducive to writing time. Also, I've had writer's block from hell this whole last week. For the last three pages of this chapter I've been writing two sentences, reading them and then deleting them almost immediately. As you can probably tell, my citrus skills are kinda...well, nonexistent up until this point. This is the first time I've tried it in really any capacity and half the time I think I sound like a twelve-year-old (which sucks given that I'm actually engaged and college age. Grrr!)
Anywho, any comments or advice you can throw my way\ in a review or a PM or whatever would be glorious, even if it's just to say it sucks. I'm up for any editing and whatnot needed and hopefully the next chapter won't be so frustrating that I'm thinking things up as I do dishes at work.
Also, I don't know exactly what alerts and whatnot got sent, but I updated the prologue a tad bit to make it coincide with where the story went.
So, I apologize for the terribly long author's note. Thanks so much for all your input this far! I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading. :)