Nicholas: Challenge of becki's, cause that's what I do for a living these days. Love you, wifey! Anyway, This is a song fic to Your Body is a Wonderland by John Mayer. Enjoy!
We got the afternoon
You got this room for two
One thing I've left to do
Discover me
Discovering you.
Connor made a mental note that his brother looks damn good in nothing but water and steam. He'd made this note before, many times actually, it just never ceased to amaze him how—for lack of a better word—sexy Murphy is. Pale skin wrapped tight around a lean, strong frame that glistened erotically beneath the showerhead. Tiny beads of water flowed down his back, over his lusciously firm flank, making rivers on that familiar terrain that Connor ached to once again traverse.
It wasn't often that they showered alone, but in light of recent events, Murphy needed to clean himself. "Recent events" in this case translate as Murphy literally falling ass over teakettle into a mud puddle created by the rainy season of the North East Coast. He was deemed too dirty to have a shower mate—besides, Connor really wanted to watch. Watch the water embrace him, leaking down from his too long hair, reaching with wet fingers along his sides, holding him the way only Connor and water was allowed to. He slid his own hands down his legs, bending to apply coarse soap to his skin. Almost immediately, Connor had to look away for the sake of keeping his clothes clean.
Not that it really helped all that much, he could still hear the water hitting bare skin and tile—but mostly bare skin, of course. Urges, desires…everything muddled into his brain, down his throat; his heart fluttered, sending a generous amount of blood down south. The zipper of his fly seemed to undo itself to make way for his hand to reach into his boxers. He didn't bother to look up when the shower shut off.
A snicker along with the sound of a towel rustling, and then Murphy spoke: "Havin' fun with yerself, there Conn?"
Peeking out from under one eyelid, Connor saw a white cloth wrapped tightly around the other's narrow hips, just low enough to set the imagination on fire. "Shut it," he muttered, touching himself and making it blatantly obvious that he was doing so. "I'm busy." He looked away, but only until the foot of his bed sunk under misplaced weight.
"Want some help with that?" Murphy was crawling on hands and knees, like a lion stalking a mouse, over the mattress and onto his brother. "I've been told I'm pretty handy when it comes ta things like this, aye?" Carefully, he lifted the hem of Connor's shirt and pressed warm, pink lips against a taut abdomen.
"O, aye," the blond replied, "very handy indeed." He looked down at the dark hair, bare shoulders, loose towel and gave a content sigh even as Murphy pulled his hand away from his pants—where his need was growing just a bit more needy. Just thinking about what Murphy was planning to do to him made him even more aroused. "It en't yer hand m'lookin' forward to, tho'."
"Fuckin' whore."
Neither could tell if it was the other one who chuckled next, but Murphy had better things on his mind. His thin digits that always set his brother on fire, hooked into the edge of his jeans and tugged them down along with the gray boxer shorts, releasing Connor in all his glory—and there was quite a bit of glory there, if you know what I mean. Feeling fingers lock into his hair, nudge his head, urge it downward, Murphy smirked and looked up at his twin before acquiescing to the demand and taking every inch that he could into his mouth. With a sigh, Connor leaned his head back and let Murphy work his magic.
One mile to every inch of
Your porcelain skin
One pair of candy lips and
Your bubblegun tongue
"We're goin' on a date!" Murphy announced to Connor and the apartment as if he was childishly proud of the decision he'd just made. The mattress springs screeched harshly in protest as he sat up, obviously pissed that though they'd put up with the twins' earlier passionate pounding, thrusting, fucking they still had to deal with one stupid, giddy Irishman's sudden hyper activity.
As the words started to work their way through Connor's contentedly exhausted ears and mind, he reached out to simply lay a hand on his brother's back, tracing the massive tattoo there. "We're wha—why?" Nothing in his voice portrayed protest, except that he wanted to make it perfectly clear that he was too tired to get up at this point.
"We're goin' on a date," Murphy repeated, looking over his shoulder at Connor's half-lidded, blue eyes. "Because…I wanna show ye off. Let others see what they can't touch…and when I see somebody looking hard enough, I'm gonna touch ye just so I can laugh when they get jealous then I'm gonna kiss ye, only because I can, and because I'm a prick like that."
Connor gave a low, chuckled grunt. "Wha's this about yer prick? Ya better not be sharin'."
With a cheeky grin: "Never that, brother. Don' ye know me prick has yer name, and yer name only, written on it?"
The blond started to sit up, only to be stopped half-way by a wonderfully familiar mouth pressing down against his own. "I wondered what ye were doin' with that Sharpie las' night," he mumbled against insistent lips. "Glad it en't what I thought…"
"Thought I was gonna give ye a matching beauty mark like mine? Oi, ye could only wish ta be as beautiful as me. Don' worry though. What ya lack in looks ye make up for in other areas." Murphy's hand pressed a naughty palm into against his lover's boxer-clad groin.
And if you want love
We'll make it
Swimming in a deep sea
Of blankets
Take all your big plans
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while
Ridiculous…Connor felt absolutely ridiculous—and even a bit riCOCKulous—walking to a gay night club in old, worn-out jeans and a T-shirt, hand locked tightly with the giddy, bouncing, excited man at his side. He looked up at the bouncer nervously, letting Murphy do the sweet-talking necessary to get them inside. Said bouncer eyed the blond Irishman—obviously interested—looking him up and down. It occurred to Connor that this felt startlingly similar to when Murphy would "undress him with his eyes." They were allowed in with little argument and he waited until they were well past the door before he complained.
"I don't like this," he muttered sharply, "I already know that I'm not gonna enjoy this."
"Wha's wrong?" Murphy inquired, tugging his brother along behind him into the loud, large, crowded club. "No one knows who we are here, we can be lovers without havin' ta hide it. And the bonus is that we're surrounded by good-lookin' men that think yer good-lookin' too. Wha's not ta like?"
"Nothin', when ya put it that way." A dangerous admission, judging by the naughty grin that stretched across Murphy's porcelain face. "I just…it en't…that guy was checkin' me out…I en't used ta that."
"I do it all the time," the other stated casually as they stumbled upon the bar. Of course this was an accident because Irish only ever find bars by accident.
"Ye don' count."
With a pout, the dark-haired man shoved his "partner" onto a barstool, and dragged another right up next to him to sit as close as possible. "I do too count. Jus' 'cause m'the only on o' the guys that checks ye out who can suck ya off an' get away with it, doesn't mean I don' count in the census."
The bartender snickered and Connor felt himself turn a shade of red. "Shut it, ya bastard," he hissed in demand.
Your body is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body is a wonderland
It didn't take long for Murphy to get his loving brother—because that works better than "brothing lover"—tipsy enough to ease him onto the dance floor. One of the reasons for this was that Connor already loved to dance more than any other form of physical exertion. Unfortunately, his favorite moondance wasn't a publicly acceptable thing, so he'd settle for the song as it played over head.
Calling it dancing is a bit of a misconception. Dance usually implies choreographed or planned movement to a set beat, but what most of the men (and also a few pairs of women) were doing in this particular place was closer to foreplay. Murphy and Connor fit right in, of course, grinding hips, wandering hands and finally a long kiss. This process was repeated in rhythm because, really, what better thing to do on a date? The Irishmen were a flurry of passion one moment and then laid back one against the other in the next. It was nice to be able to be what they were in public without fear of persecution. Sure, they knew that if any of these people knew they were brothers, there'd be hell to pay. They didn't care. Murphy was fine letting his only, closest twin wrap thin arms around him and press soft palms against the seam of his jeans' crotch. Everything was just fine.
That is, everything was just fine until Connor started, accidentally pushing Murphy off of him. Turning quickly, the blond made an alarmed noise and shoved the man behind him. "Watch what yer touchin'," he snapped.
"I was," came the man's calm, witty reply.
When the other twin figured out what had happened, his face grew sour. Gently nudging Connor to the side, he got a good look at the bastard who thought he could touch what definitely wasn't his. Every aspect about this guy screamed "raging homo." Eyes narrowing, he stepped forward and grabbed at the guy's wrist quick enough to snatch it. With a quick jerk, he had the fucker twisting awkwardly, crying out in pain.
"Any hand that en't a MacManus' hand (tha's mine, by the way) that touches Connor's ass, gets broken," he hissed venomously, "Make tha' Connor's anythin', got it?" This particular comment caught the attention of a pair of lesbians who stopped making out long enough to actually smile and give him a round of applause.
Trying to be louder than the music and the sound of this poor shmuck's whimpering protests, Connor shouted. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, Murph! Knock it off!" He grabbed a hold of his lover's shoulders and yanked him away, tugging him toward the side of the floor.
"Well fuck, do I gotta write 'don't touch' on yer arse, or what?"
"Oh, tha' reminds me. I'm keepin' any an' all sharpies away from ye."
Something 'bout the way your hair falls in your face
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the
pillowcase
You tell me where to go and
Though I might not leave to find it
I'll never let your head hit the bed
Without my hand behind it
Murphy's possessiveness was probably the one trait that most attracted Connor to him. He could guarantee that if Connor ever was in trouble or needed him, he'd fight through hell and high water to keep the man safe. He'd also kick a mother fucker's ass for getting too touchy. It was the raven-haired twin's way of teasing the world—"Look what I got! No, you can't touch!"—and Connor absolutely loved it. If anything, it turned him on to see Murphy lay claim to him in front of everybody. The only thing that was sexier was seeing him in nothing but water and steam.
Clothes would work for now, being that they couldn't exactly get naked in the crappy, filthy bathroom of a public place. That was both because of being socially acceptable and then not wanting to get some weird disease from the walls and floor as Connor dropped to his knees and shoved the other against a stall door.
"Somethin' tells me this en't the right place fer something like this," Murphy muttered as his pants were undone.
"Ye can fuck me later, how 'bout that?"
"Definitely not complainin'."
With a snicker, Connor coaxed his lover into an erect state and gave him a few rough, harsh strokes just to excite him. Liking how Murphy's chuckle smoothed out into a low, quiet moan that mixed with the pounding bass of the speakers in the other room, he lapped lovingly at the head before taking that arousal into his mouth—slowly, inch by inch.
"Ya like it like a porn star, don't ya?" Murphy let his fingers tangle into blond spikes as the other moved back and forth around him. Not too harshly, he pushed his hips forward and relished in to vibration of Connor's delighted whimper.
It seemed public really wasn't the place for something like this when Murphy looked up to see the touchy shmuck from before waltz in, probably to take a piss. Fingers tightening possessively on the back of Connor's head, he felt what would have been a pleased groan transform into an ugly, annoyed grunt. The man stopped at the door and stared wide-eyed at the scene in front of him. It was understandable for the first few moments, but then he was just fucking watching.
"Wanna take a fuckin' picture?" Murphy snapped, hips lurching forward slightly in the middle of his sarcasm. "Fuck off!" He felt his brother's chuckle at the back of the other's throat and it felt good.
"Jesus," the guy said, putting his hands on his hips testily, "Can't touch, can't look…fucking greedy bastard."
Much to Murphy's dismay, at this point, Connor drew back and looked over his shoulder at Shmuck. "Damn straight," he stated with a wry smirk. In a flash, he'd returned to swallow his buddy whole.
You want love?
We'll make it
Swimming in a deep sea
Of blankets
Take all your big dreams
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while
Nothing but steam, water and soapy, sudsy lather…that was exactly how Connor loved Murphy on nights like these. When once they had been sweaty and disgusting from that hot, muggy club, they were now both watched over by a diligent, peeping Tom of a shower head that wrapped them both in the same blanket of warm, post-sex love. Taking a bar of soap to the other's porcelain back, the blond rubbed him up, down and all around in the guise of helping him become clean. "We should go on dates more of'en," he murmured in his love's ear.
"Really?"
"Aye, makes this whole thing o' ours a bit more risky. I like it."
Murphy scoffed and leaned a slippery, wet back against Connor's bare chest. He was chuckling as he turned his head to the side to look the other in the eyes. "This is rich. 'Careful fuckin' Connor' likes the risk?"
"Hey, ye tell me how I'm careful fuckin'…" Blunt nails dragged across a slick, pale abdomen.
"Yer the one who always takes me nice and slow, never just givin' it ta me hard and fast." Reaching back, he put and hand on Connor's waist to hold him still as he ground back against him, an invitation to prove him wrong. He chuckled when those familiar pale arms wrapped gently around his waist, dropping the soap to the floor. "What I wouldn't give fer a rough fuck every now an' again."
"I value this beautiful arse too much ta abuse it," Connor muttered into sopping wet locks of long, dark hair. To get his point across, he let his right hand slide across a hip to grab his brother's cheek teasingly.
"You'll come around ta my side sooner er later." It was a promise. "Ya always do."
Grinning maniacally with a chortle in his throat, Connor reached around and shut off the faucet. "Shut up and take me to bed, asshole."
"Gladly." The bed in question tonight was not Connor's as it usually would have been, but Murphy's. Both were too lazy to change the sheets right then so it was wonderfully convenient that they had too mattresses to choose from…and one to curl up in, holding tightly to the other to keep away the chill of another Boston night.
Your body is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body is a wonderland…