Chapter 15: I Pulled You Closer, Tighter, Because I Knew You'd Disappear

Connor is panicking. Still.

He's been panicking ever since the first explosion sounded, sending him running across the prison, from the library to the fields, in about twenty seconds flat. He'd been searching for a Bible at the time, a King James version like the one his ma had raised them on, something to keep him centered and sane since Murphy was otherwise occupied.

He's been panicking ever since he saw Daryl and Murphy appear in the courtyard together, Murphy about a step behind the redneck, like he was following him, like he was a puppy nipping at the other man's heels. He can still clearly see the silent exchange between the two of them, the way Daryl looked back and straight into Murphy's eyes and Murphy had nodded at him, as if they were the one with the twin connection instead. Connor had never felt as alone as he had then, observing their quiet bonding.

He's been panicking ever since he had to ignore the two lovebirds in favor of focusing on the much bigger threat on the horizon, the tank and trucks and psychopath with the samurai sword.

He's been panicking ever since that maniac sunk that sword into Hershel's throat. Hershel, who Connor had never really been close to, but who still somehow reminded him of his own father. He never expected Hershel to live very much longer, not when he was already missing a leg and was getting on in years, but he also never expected to see the man's head lopped off by a power-hungry tyrant hell-bent on gaining the prison by whatever means necessary. On the list of things Connor had expected to see during the apocalypse that hadn't even made his top fifty.

He's been panicking ever since the showdown took place and he lost track of Murphy. Murphy took off as soon as the tank breached the gates, charging into battle like he had a right to be there. Connor had screamed then, though no one had heard him with all the other noise surrounding them. Connor had cried Murphy's name and used every trick in his arsenal of twin telepathy to try and bring Murphy back to him, but Murphy hadn't turned around, hadn't even glanced back, and Connor didn't know where he was now.

Connor is panicking. And maybe that's why he chances a glance at Beth, shivering slightly in restless sleep on a bed of tall grass, before plunking himself down beside Daryl.

Up until now Connor's been pacing the floor, wearing holes into the earth itself, trying to figure out what to do about his current predicament. He has to find Murphy. Of course that's the top priority. But he can't just leave Daryl and Beth behind either. Daryl was technically the one to save his ass, and Beth's, too, and Connor owes him that debt. Plus he knows that Murphy's not dead, or at least he isn't yet. He can still feel Murphy's soul in him, raging and tearing him apart but still burning bright like a wildfire.

Connor takes deep breaths now, trying to calm himself, trying to think logically and make a plan. He's always been the planner, the practical one. Murphy's the dreamer. But no amount of dreaming is going to bring them back together, and so he must make a plan.

But for some reason his mind is completely blank and all he can feel is the body heat rolling off of Daryl's exposed arms. Connor chances a glance at the hunter, meets blue eyes as hard as ice in the Antarctic, no chance of melting.

Part of Connor wants to shrink back, look away from that hardened and somehow judgmental gaze. But another part of him wants to cup the other man's jaw in his hands, smooth his thumbs over the sharp cheekbones, and kiss him until they both forget everything that's happened to them.

And suddenly, without even realizing it, Connor is doing exactly that. He brings one hand up and slides it over Daryl's throat until he's at the back of the man's neck, and then he pulls Daryl forward until their lips meet.

Daryl's mouth is slack at first, and that just makes Connor kiss him harder, rougher, adding more passion until he's sure there's none left inside of him. And that's when the redneck stirs, his lips responding with sweet movement against Connor's own, matching his heat and his lust and his need.

Connor loses himself in the kiss, lets his head swim with it, swim far away from the world and the events that have changed their lives so inexplicably. His tongue caresses Daryl's lips, begging for more, and Daryl gives him that, opening his mouth just that much more and flicking his own tongue over Connor's.

Connor's other hand comes up, tangles itself in Daryl's hair, tugs gently. Connor tilts his head back just slightly, taking the dominant position with their current angling, and damn near sticks his tongue down Daryl's throat. Daryl doesn't seem to mind though; he even moans good-naturedly.

And when Connor presses their chests together and pushes gently Daryl lets the man lay him down in the soft grass.

Connor slides over until he's completely on top of Daryl, not even bothering to worry about whether or not he'll crush the other man under his weight. He moans into Daryl's mouth then sucks it right back into his own again, stealing Daryl's breath along with it.

Connor's becoming a little too closely acquainted with the clasp on his jeans, his head taking on a sex-fueled haze, and the color blue coats his vision, the same shade as Murphy's eyes. And now all he can think about is Murphy. He sees the way Murphy's eyes squeeze shut when he kisses, the way his throat curves upward when his head is tilted back, the way his dark hair shines and sticks in all different directions. He hears Murphy's soft whimpers and cries, always meaning he wants more of whatever Connor's giving him. He feels Murphy's warm, smooth skin under his fingertips, feels the blood pulsing through his burning veins, feels every contour of Murphy's body fitting snugly against his own.

Connor clutches fabric, his head swimming in a sea of Murphy, and he can't help it when the man's name ghosts from between his lips and falls onto the pair they're still halfway connected to.

"Murphy."

It's just a breath but it feels like everything right in the world. Just the man's name is like a mixed shot of adrenaline and heroin injected straight into his heart, awakening him and sharpening his every sense. Tears come into his eyes for no good reason except that he just loves Murphy so fucking much.

But then his back is hitting the grass with a soft thud, and that gentle jarring brings him back to reality. His eyes shoot open, meet Daryl's once more. There is a softness there now, as if the ice actually has melted.

Connor understands why Daryl pushed him away. He's lucky to have gotten as far as he did in the first place.

He wants to apologize, but he can't seem to push the words out of his throat. Daryl isn't bothered by that, though. He simply lays down beside Connor, opens his arms, invites Connor into the embrace he so desperately needs. Connor inches his way into Daryl's arms and rests his head on the man's chest. The sound of the redneck's heartbeat is calming, and his warmth is life-saving.

Connor pretends that Daryl is Murphy. It's the only way he can drift to sleep.