Chapter 5: Take Me Under
Murphy wakes to an empty bed and cold sheets.
He keeps his eyes closed as his hand lazily searches the area of mattress beside him, expecting to find Connor right there next to him, expecting Connor to take his hand and hold it like he does every other morning since they've been something more. But it only takes Murphy a split second to realize that Connor isn't there.
Murphy's eyes shoot open and he darts up in bed as if he's just been electrocuted, his head swinging every-which-way to try and find Connor. He moves too fast and his head flares vertigo, but he manages to keep upright through sheer force of will.
"Connor?" He softly calls out, wondering if maybe his brother has just moved to the top bunk.
He wouldn't be upset with Connor for sleeping apart with him that way. He knew that Connor was upset and jealous about his tryst with Daryl; maybe Connor just needed to cool off for a few hours, not share a bed with Murphy. Murphy could have easily accepted that explanation and it wouldn't have bothered him in the least.
But there is no response from his twin, and this bothers him greatly.
Sometime during the night Connor unwrapped himself from Murphy's sleeping form and left the cell, to go where and do what Murphy didn't know. All Murphy knew now was that Connor wasn't there when he woke up, and that fucking hurt.
Murphy feels like crying, feels like just curling into a ball on the cool sheets and sobbing his eyes out. He knows that his crying will bring his brother running, because Connor and he share a sixth sense of sorts; Connor can feel when Murphy's hurting or when he's being hurt, and vice-versa. But that isn't why Murphy wants to cry now. Murphy wants to cry because he realizes now that he's fucked up the best thing in his life, his relationship with his lover, his twin, his Connor.
He wonders if some part of him knew that before, and he just didn't want to admit it to himself. Was Daryl really worth it? Was Daryl worth forsaking Connor? Connor would never leave him, never hurt him, especially not now in this world they've been thrust into. Connor would pull Murphy even tighter now that there was death surrounding them at every turn, if only Murphy would have let him.
Connor tried, too, and that's what hurts the most. Connor tried so hard to keep Murphy happy and safe and by his side, tried so hard to make Murphy see just how much he truly loved and adored him, and Murphy just threw it all away without a care. Connor tried to wrap his arms around Murphy, pull him in tight, bring them closer together, and Murphy had shoved him so far backward that Connor didn't even want to share the bed with him anymore.
Who was to say that Connor wouldn't go off and find someone else now, too? An eye for an eye, that's the code they always lived by, no matter the situation. It would be more than fair for Connor to get his own friend-with-benefits as Murphy had done. Maybe Connor would even go after a woman now; Connor had still liked women even after he had given his heart to Murphy, it was just something in the way he was wired. Murphy never faulted Connor for that, and often let Connor bring a girl home, or at least go off with one when he really needed to.
But Murphy knows that it would hurt so much worse if Connor were to go off and actually find a woman to screw around with. He wouldn't have just been replaced then, he would have been completely obliterated in Connor's mind. Because the only thing Murphy and a woman have in common is the fact that they usually like something hard and thick in them every once in a while.
Murphy lets himself break down, lets himself curl into a ball, lets himself cry. Because he knows he can never fix this. Because he knows he will never be able to stop himself from seeing Daryl. Daryl is like a drug to him now, and he can't live without the other man.
He tells himself that he'd be able to give Daryl up for Connor, if that's what had to happen. But deep down he isn't really sure.
Somewhere across the prison Connor feels a familiar pang settle itself deep into his chest. Murphy is hurting, Murphy is in pain, Murphy is crying, Murphy needs him.
Connor ignores the feeling and goes back to his business.
Murphy lays beside Daryl, the two of them fitting more comfortably on the slim prison bunk than Murphy and Connor do, than Daryl and Rick do, because of their almost identical body types. They remain silent, both of them needing to say something, neither of them exactly sure what that something should be.
Murphy longs to reach out and touch Daryl like he does with Connor. He wants to run his fingers along the man's chest, twirl them into the sparse patch of hair just below his belly-button. He just wants to feel Daryl's skin, warm and soft beneath his fingertips. He refrains because he can just tell that Daryl won't like that sort of thing.
Daryl's too rough around the edges for that sort of soft, romantic shit. He's all about action, not words or emotions. Tell him you want to fuck him, he'll tell you to just do it already 'stead of talkin' about it so damn much. Actions, not words.
Daryl needs that action, that movement. He needs the control that actually going about and doing things brings him, because he knows all too well how easily said control can be taken away by not doing what you should, or by doing something you shouldn't. He's learned the hard way that words mean nothing.
Actions, not words.
Murphy can't help himself, though. He needs to feel something other than sex. Needs to feel the life of the man beside him tingling through his body, soaking into his fingers and palms. Because he likes Daryl, a lot more than he should, a lot more than he wants to, and sex isn't enough to satiate his hunger for the redneck.
So Murphy reaches out, slowly, and places his hand cautiously on Daryl's chest. He can feel Daryl's eyes snap open and lock on his face, but he can't meet the man's gaze. His fingers are gentle as he swirls them over Daryl's pectorals, and then down his abdomen.
"What're you doin'?" Daryl asks right as Murphy's fingers find that soft patch of hair below his belly-button.
Murphy immediately retracts his hand. "Sorry, I just… Sometimes I like t' touch the person 'm fuckin' afterwards. Not sure why, really. I do that with Connor, too."
Murphy shrugs, trying to blow off the whole ordeal as if it's nothing, and thankfully Daryl doesn't say anything else about it.
However, Daryl does prop himself up on his elbow so that he's looking down at Murphy, his eyes burning with an intensity that both hypnotizes Murphy and makes him feel like he needs to look away. Daryl's eyes are no longer water, but rather fire; his eyes are pure blue flame, burning into Murphy, charring a hole right through him.
"Connor knows 'bout us." Daryl says, his eyes never moving from Murphy's.
Murphy is about to ask how Daryl knows that, is about to ask if Connor approached him. But what actually comes out of Murphy's mouth is, "Rick does, too."
Neither of them speak, because somehow neither of them need to.
Daryl's mouth crashes down onto Murphy's, a wild tide falling upon the shore, swallowing Murphy's lips with a passion that Murphy can't match, but can only be consumed by. Murphy lets himself be dragged down by the current that is Daryl, lets himself drown there.