Much too much later
"Feel better?" Conner asked, holding a wet washcloth against his bleeding nose but still grinning his familiar grin.
"Aye," Murphy sighed, grimacing as he dabbed at a particularly nasty cut above his eyebrow. "Thanks."
"No problem, little brother," Conner amiably said, groaning a little as his fingers assessed the damage to his nose. "Aw, fuck, I think it's broken."
"Sorry," Murphy said, clearly not meaning it. "And I'm not yer fuckin' little brother."
He sat up with a low groan and looked around the wrecked hotel room. "Shite, we'll be payin' for this one."
"You will be," Conner corrected, staggering to his feet and wiping at the blood that had spilled down onto the bare skin of his belly. "I'm not payin' for one of yer little testosterone fits, my boy."
"Aw, fuck you," Murphy said, and plopped down on his bed, the mattress sagging a little under his lean weight. He draped his arm over his eyes and sighed.
"Oh, why don't ye just go find a girl, Murphy," Conner said, exasperated. He tossed the washcloth into the sink and resumed watching television from his own bed since the chair was a done deal. "For fuck's sake, yer makin' me batshit!"
"Fuck you," Murphy said again, and glared at his twin from under his arm. "It isn't that simple, Conner—ye know that."
"Aye, I know, I know," Conner muttered, kicking back with one foot crossed over the other, the remote and bottle of whiskey resting on his lean belly. He looked over at Murphy and gave him a ferocious, utterly twin-malicious grin as he said, "My Murphy likes a bit o' pain, doesn't he? Eh? A wee little bit, doesn't he?"
"Shut it!" Murphy snapped, ignoring the playful lilt to his twin's voice, the underlying laughter.
"Just a bit o' pain for my boy, right, Murph?"
"Yer an asshole, Conner," Murphy announced.
"Aye," Conner agreed, and turned his grin back to the television. "I'm an asshole."
A few moments and half a cigarette later, he added, "And yer a boy who needs a fuck if I've ever seen one, Murphy—fuckin' go and get it, for Christ's sake."
"Fuck you," Murphy repeated.
"'Fuck you'," Conner mimicked. "Fuckin' broken record…go t' sleep then, ye bastard."
Murphy rolled onto his side, away from Conner and the brightness of the television, and curved his body a bit to mound the pillow beneath his head. It was too early to sleep; he and Conner should be out at a bar, drinking and laughing, but his mood was off and they were both still bleeding so that was out.
'Fuckin' asshole,' he thought again, grumpily punching the pillow a few times. Conner had been partly responsible for Murphy's little…revelation, way back about twelve years ago. Not that it had meant much at the time, until the subsequent dissatisfaction that had later arisen. He'd been happier back then, a normal sixteen year old who enjoyed regular-type sex with regular-type girls—nothing to write home about but pleasant enough to be repeatable when the opportunity arose. 'That fuckin' bastard, if he hadn't come in…'
But he couldn't really blame his twin. Not really. Whatever it had done to him, he preferred the way he was to the rather run-of-the-mill, hit-and-run fun he'd had to begin with. They'd started early when it came to women—one bottle of whiskey between them mixed with one flirtatious town slut who wanted to make a MacManus sandwich had divested them both of their virginity at just fourteen years old. And once that particular fire had been lit there'd been no quenching it for either of them. A series of girls had quickly followed, a stream of education to match their moods and temperaments and drive their poor Ma to distraction with tales of their deeds. And while things hadn't been spectacular, they'd at least been enjoyable…until that damned day he'd thought he was alone. As if he was ever alone when he was the second half to one whole. As if there was such a thing as privacy for a twin who had such a deep connection with his brother.
"Fuck," Murphy muttered, shifting restlessly, trying to get comfortable.
"A damned fine suggestion, Murph!" Conner put in, switching the television off and getting up. "And I, for one, am goin' to take it! Have a nice evenin' bein' all moody, my boy—I'm off to find someone whose company is a bit more stimulating than yer own."
Murphy ignored his twin as Conner yanked on his shirt, socks, shoes, and coat and headed out with the parting shot, "And if yer the smart boy I know ye are, Murph, ye'll do us both a favor and follow my lead."
"Go," Murphy said, unwilling to give up the minimal comfort he'd found in his current position. He heard the door slam closed and sighed a little. The fight had taken the edge off of his temper but he was still left with his original problem and was glad his all-too-canny twin wasn't around to dissect him anymore. All he could do was curse and try to get what sleep he could.
'Just a little pain…' Conner's voice echoed in his head, amused and teasing but shockingly unsurprised.
'Just a little pain,' Murphy thought, pressing his cheek harder into the bed and his arm tighter to his face. And, sweet Jesus, that day—that day! That day that had changed him in ways he hadn't thought existed at the time.
For the first time in too long Murphy allowed his thoughts to drift back to when he was a sixteen year old—slender as a reed, wiry with muscle and full of fighting spirit. He'd been so different then, so much more carefree than he was these twelve years later. Wild as the wind, same as his twin, a chant often upon their old Ma's lips.
He fell back into the memory with force enough to make his mouth curve into a smile, hardly realizing that it was sleep, coming to him as a dream.
It was summer, warm and bright. The windows to the house were all open, curtains kicking in the breeze, the smell of fresh hay and flowers drifting through the house. It was two in the afternoon on a Saturday and Murphy was enjoying a smoke in his bedroom, lounging lazily on his bed and listening to the birds chirp. Ma was at her elderly Auntie's and Conner was off with Nadine somewhere, no doubt getting more of whatever it was he saw in her.
He wasn't sure what took him but he decided to indulge in a little private time while everyone was gone, just feeling good with the beauty of the day and being young and alive. He kicked off his jeans, got under his sheet, and closed his eyes for a moment of bliss. He was a little engrossed in what he was doing , being the type that was always absorbed in whatever caught his attention, so he didn't hear his brother sneak back inside. Conner, of course, didn't mean to sneak up on him, he was simply trying to get into the house undetected by Ma and her radar ears. Naturally, when he saw what his twin was up to, he couldn't pass up a chance to startle/embarrass/upset/or otherwise annoy him. Using the temporary cover the sheet provided, Conner pounced on his brother and delivered a rough slap to the busily working hand.
And that had pretty much done it.
Conner had, in fact, missed the hand and connected soundly with something else instead.
Murphy had, in fact, come unhinged at the seams with the pain it had caused. But instead of stilling it, his back arched hard, tugging the sheet down to his chest as he felt the most violent, amazing orgasm of his young life rip up through his guts. It raised the hairs on his nape, curled his toes into his mattress, and raged on along with the searing pain signaling its presence in his balls.
"Oh, Jesus!" he gasped, eyes wide and watering, shuddering uncontrollably while his twin stared down at him with mingled amusement and bewilderment. "Aw, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Conner's wide, round gaze rapidly filled with some level of comprehension and he broke into startled laughter, more amused than appalled by what he'd witnessed.
"What the fuck, Murph?" Conner asked, still laughing. "What was that?"
"Get away from me, ye fuckin' asshole!" Murphy hissed once he could actually speak. He groaned at the throb in his cock and the lingering shocks of his fading climax. "Ye hit me in the fuckin' nuts, ye dumb shite!"
"Oh, did I, now?" Conner crowed, laughing. "Didn't seem t' interrupt ye much, did it, Murph? In fact, I'd venture t' say that it pretty much did ye in, m' boy."
"What're ye doin' home, anyway?" Murphy asked, cheeks flaming a little. Being caught in the act by his brother wasn't a new one, they'd walked in on each other enough that it was pretty damned commonplace. He shoved into a sitting position, his cum sticky on his belly and hand.
"Breakin' up yer little party, brother," Conner teased. He got that look in his eye that never boded well for Murphy—it was the evil, teasing look that meant a ribbing was going to start. "Do ye like a little pain, then, Murph, eh?" He laughed at his brother's glare and ruffled Murphy's hair, giving him a non too-gentle pinch on the cheek. "Need a little 'ouch' t' get the blood flowin' then?"
Murphy slapped his hand away with a scowl and flung himself out of bed, jerking his jeans up over his narrow hips as Conner backed off a step.
"Poor little Murph," Conner chuckled, still amused. "Maybe ye should find yerself a nice dominatrix—that'd do the trick. My Murphy likes a bit o' pain!"
"Shut yer damned mouth, Conner or I'll—"
"Fine, fine," Conner said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. He threw his arm over Murphy's shoulder and shook him a little, slapping him on the belly hard enough to make him wince. "Yer one queer boy, Murph. Now, get out, I got Nadine waitin'."
"What? I thought the two of ye were done for today!" Murphy complained, giving his twin a disgruntled look. "And that fuckin' hurt, ye damned prick!"
"No, we aren't done for today and yes, I know it fuckin' hurt, ye dumb shite—it isn't like I was aimin' t' give ye a knock in the nuts," Conner said. "Now go, Murph!"
"This is my fuckin' house, too, ye bastard!"
"I don't give a shite, Murph—get goin'!"
They were working up to a real scuffle when they were suddenly interrupted.
"The two of ye look like a coupla fags, hangin' on t' each other that way," Nadine announced, slinking into the room. She gave Murphy a sultry, rather jealous look and smirked at him. "Heya, Murph, how's it goin'?"
"Well, dontcha know I love my brother," Conner announced. "And what's goin' is Murphy—aren't ye?"
"Ye could stick around," Nadine suggested, widening her smile and tipping back her head in a way that Murphy never could abide. "Make a little sandwich?"
"We're not that close," they said together, the sandwich lesson well learned.
"Besides, Murphy just finished a little session of 'fun for one' so he's all done in," Conner told her, and slapped Murphy on the stomach again, telling him, "Put yer shite away, Murphy, no one needs it here."
Cursing, Murphy hastily zipped and buttoned his fly.
"Yer a fuckin' pain in the ass, Conner," Murphy whispered, angrily jerking on his shirt and grabbing his pack of cigarettes before padding out the door.
"Aw, hell, Murph, wait up," Conner called from behind him, exasperated. He caught Murphy in the kitchen and snagged his arm, turning him back. "Ye aren't mad, are ye?"
"No," Murphy said, short and abrupt.
Conner hooked him by the back of the head and pressed forehead to forehead, his eyes boring into his twin's, his other hand holding him still.
"Are ye mad, Murph?" he asked, and it was like looking into a mirror, his own eyes searching him.
"No," he said again, lying a little. He was mad as hell but wasn't really sure why.
"Yer normal, Murphy," Conner told him, smiling a little. "Everybody has somethin', ye know? Somethin' that's all their own. Look at me."
Murphy's eyes shifted. He couldn't meet Conner's gaze—mirror of his own—and still manage to lie. Conner would know it the second it came out of his mouth.
"Look at me, Murphy," Conner said more forcefully. And, when Murphy locked eyes with his twin, Conner gently shook him a little and soothingly said, "Yer normal, Murph—I was just teasin' ye. There's not a damned thing wrong with ye, alright?"
"Yeah, sure," Murphy said, agreeing to get away. Lying to himself was always hardest, always impossible.
"I mean it, now," Conner insisted, and the twin thing kicked in, an understanding at gut level that made words paltry and unnecessary. "Yer just fine, Murphy. Believe me, there's people out there with worse needs than a little shot of adrenaline, okay?"
"Yeah," Murphy said, and nodded, leaning briefly into his twin for a moment.
"Good. Now, get the fuck out of here so I can finish," Conner said, and gave him the usual press of lips to the forehead—to the red spot where their heads had rested together in their 'twin-hold'—as Ma liked to call it. "We'll go out for a beer later on."
"Sneak out, ye mean?" Murphy asked, breaking away from Conner's loose grip and heading into the living room. "Ye know Ma will be on one, she's been at Auntie's."
"Aye, sneak out, then," Conner said, and flashed him another grin, heading back into their room as he said over his shoulder, "Just a little pain, eh, Murph?"