Disclaimer: I do not own Boondock Saints.

Sub Disclaimer: I do not own Damien Rice's music and lyrics.

NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly.

Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale

Pairing: Twincest (Connor/Murphy)

Movie Verse: First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation

Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Connor and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.

Sub Note: Bold/Italics are direct past tense.

- Please read end note for asterisk (*) explanation

Chapter One

When you think you've sinned...

...do you fall upon your knees?

Connor wasn't expecting to open his eyes, or for the pain from a gunshot to his chest to be felt in his face but true enough the right side of his face stung and throbbed as if he'd been slapped or hit…

…and dear fucking God, his breath hitched in shock when his blue eyes landed on the face hovering above him.

Murphy.

He parted his lips, his mouth felt so dry, to say something but Murphy's raspy voice beat him to it,

"...the fuck are yeh' doin'!?" he sounded annoyed and groggy.

Connor tried to understand what was happening so he hesitantly trailed his eyes away from his pale twin's sleepy visage and looked around the small shitty loft they resided in.

He became aware of the fact that he was in nothing but his boxers, laying on the thin mattress he always slept on, the loft looked lit by very early morning light, still mostly dark and shadowed. He could hear the usual drip of the sink and the shower and he could smell the staleness of the damp, dilapidated loft.

His fingers twitched where his hands rested numb along his sides and he swallowed thickly right when Murphy grabbed his face with a warm –alive- hand and forced his face to him so their eyes could meet again,

"Connor?" he sounded genuinely concerned, a lot of questions and a need to know the problem being conveyed in that one word, so sweetly highlighted in Murphy's sleepy voice and light accent.

Ma had always said Murphy lacked a real Irish brogue because he wasn't a wordy little shit like Connor had been as a child, he'd barely spoken as a kid, only when was necessary, or to Connor when they were alone.

But Murphy had grown up since and he spoke a lot more as an adult, a lot more openly, and despite his accent being less pronounced than Connor's, he was unmistakably Irish. Also, Connor knew, the only time Murphy's Irish accent truly showed through was when he was drunk or pissed off.

Connor couldn't blame him for that, alcohol and violence brought out the Irish in them.

He was smiling without realizing it as he stared up at Murphy and it sunk in that he'd just been having a fucking horrible dream…or nightmare he supposed.

Murphy didn't seem to appreciate the dazed smile, he made a face like he usually did when he was annoyed, shook his head and cuffed a hand through his short dark hair, making it stand up in odd places.

But it would eventually go down, it always did. Straight and soft and not as defiant as Connor's own lighter, thicker hair.

Connor was unprepared for Murphy shifting from his knees with a heavy sigh and moving to lie down on the narrow mattresses beside him with a dull thud and huff. But he shifted over as was expected of him, their shoulders were pressed together at the angle Murphy was lying, their arms and the backs of their hands touching, both shirtless, in their underwear, arms skin to skin.

Connor had never paid a thought to such a thing, so he wondered why he noticed those details right then. He wanted to wrack his sleep slowed brain but Murphy spoke again, quieter, not angry, almost sad rather,

"Who're yeh' prayin' fer?" he asked.

Connor turned his head to look at Murphy at the question, they were lying so close that he could smell the cheap soap they showered with in Murphy's hair and on his skin, another strange thing he'd always known would be there but had never distinctly bothered to note. He was also struck with notice of his sibling's side profile, Murphy had always been the 'prettier' boy out of the two of them and Connor saw it clearly right then.

His fairer skinned twin, the less rough looking twin, the twin of marginally slighter build and height, the quieter twin…that was Murphy.

Although interestingly enough in contrast…Murphy was more hotheaded and quick to anger than Connor ever was.

"Connor…" Murphy turned his gaze which had been on their moldy, cracked ceiling so he was looking into Connor's face, inches away, his breath tainted with alcohol and sleep and his eyes as crystalline and intense as ever,

"What?" Connor frowned slightly, feeling some strange, pleasant, but very, very misplaced sensation stir in his mind and body as his eyes looked over Murphy's face and he blinked rapidly.

God…that feeling was just wrong.

'What the fuck…?' he thought with panic and his hands twitched to cross himself as a prayer of contrition flashed through his mind.

"I asked who yeh' were prayin' fer'?" Murphy repeated with a sigh and a frown as he stared into Connor's face, probably trying to determine what might be bothering Connor.

"Prayin'…" Connor mumbled, rummaging through his mind to place the reason for the question.

"Yea' Connor, Jesus," Murphy shifted so he was partially on his side, leaning up on his elbow, looking down at Connor again, "Were yeh' drinkin' while I was asleep?" he sounded annoyed again, one of his eyes nearly closed as he squinted at Connor through the low light, "In yer' sleep, you' were prayin' fer' the dead, fer' someone who died, who was et'?"

Connor's dream/nightmare rushed back to the forefront of his mind, Murphy's pain, his blood, his cold skin, his sweated hair, his focused eyes, his pale lips, his…

'Oh shit…' Connor's heart palpitated as he remembered kissing Murphy in his dream and his eyes widened. Murphy was so close right then, almost as close as he'd been in the dream and that wrong feeling –so pleasant, intimate, warm in all the wrong places- made Connor feel like he needed his space.

Immediately.

Connor sat up suddenly to the opposite side the mattress, swinging his legs off the side and bending them up so he could cradle his head in his hands with his elbows on his knees, his back to Murphy, to the feelings that the sight of his twin was evoking in him.

Foreign, wrong…wrong…

He was rubbing his hands roughly through his hair, shoulders tense when he felt and heard Murphy shifting behind him. Connor realized his twin was probably expecting an answer to his question,

"…I don't remember…" he lied, "…whatever I was dreamin' about, I don't remember, Murph." He said in his best 'it's not important' tone of voice.

There was a 'hmph' from Murphy,

"That right?" Murphy sounded tense, "Yer' fuckin' lying, Connor." He sighed, "Whatever, don't tell me." He shifted again, there was some more shuffling and Connor assumed Murphy was lying down on his own mattress again.

Connor sighed into the silence, sniffed and left his hands in his hair as he stared at the dirty floor. He didn't want to talk about his dream, but not because Murphy had died in his dream, although that was fucking horrible, it wasn't the first time he'd dreamed it. As a twin, the fear of losing Murphy would always plague him, from as early as childhood. Murphy had also expressed having had similar fears and nightmares growing up, even if it happened rarely in adulthood, it wasn't unheard of between them.

For a moment Connor tried to, but he honestly couldn't remember many other details of the nightmare funnily enough, aside from the kiss and the odd circumstances; they'd broken out of prison. But why had they been in prison?

That question was still overshadowed by the most disturbing thing…the urge, the need that had felt so incredibly real in the dream/nightmare, to kiss Murphy, his own brother. And not an innocent, platonic kiss of affection…no, the need had been to taste Murphy, to slip his tongue past those parted lips whilst they expelled hitched breaths…

'Fuck…' Connor clutched his hair, shutting his eyes tightly as that wrong feeling whirled through his body again.

God help him, it felt like arousal…sexual arousal.

Connor couldn't even begin to fathom where such a feeling was coming from, he'd never had such an impure thought or feeling toward Murphy in their 26 years of life. Murphy was his brother for Christ's sake.

Sure, their brotherhood was unusually close and they had a certain kind of co-dependence where they could function separately but chose not to, chose to be at each other's side as much as was humanly possible. They chose to have no boundaries between them, they chose to live together and they'd chosen a life of abstinence…of *celibacy.

Connor swallowed slowly and licked his lips, thinking over that last point with a deep frown.

Their celibacy had been a personal choice; it hadn't had much to do with faith so much as being something they wanted. Something they'd both decided they wanted at 19 years of age, a year before they'd left Ireland for America. They'd had their necessary experiences as teens and adolescents; they'd kissed girls and then later they'd been with girls and had told each other every detail of it, allowing the other to understand just what it had been like. But they had been raised on family and Catholicism, not in the stoic, regimented sense where there was no room for mistakes or mischief as young boys, but devout to the point where missing mass was never an option because they wanted to attend and God was an integral part of their daily lives.

The only thing that had ever been more important to Connor, and Murphy too, had been each other. They never said it, never felt it was necessary to, but they knew it was a fact. God had given them brotherhood, a twin, as what felt like a gift to them, and they valued it as devoutly as they did their religion and beliefs.

And most everything they had done in their lives since they'd first understood what family was, had been based on natural, mutual thoughts and feelings between them.

The idea to become celibate had come up one night when they'd been out with a friend of theirs back in Ireland, he had been telling them about a pretty, red haired conquest of his over beer and smokes in a pub they frequented. Later, when their friend had left for the night and it had just been himself and Murphy, Connor stealing the last of Murphy's lukewarm beer because his sibling had been distracted, said twin had looked at him with one of those intense looks that Murphy did so well and Connor had raised an eyebrow in question.

He'd known something serious was on his sibling's mind and he'd given him his full attention.

Murphy had asked Connor if he ever saw himself getting married, having children? He'd maintained eye contact, giving away his own answer to that question with the weight of his gaze and the negative tone of his voice. Connor hadn't answered right away, he'd thought about it as he smoked half of a new cigarette before he came to a conclusion, shaking his head as he answered truthfully, that no, he wasn't able to see that in his future and he had no desire for it.

Murphy had nodded, saying 'myself' in a mumble before they'd lapsed into silence for another few minutes, enjoying the din of the pub. Then Connor had smirked, finished off his cigarette as Murphy lit a new one, and he'd said around an exhale of smoke,

"What are we te' do about et' then, Murph?"

Murphy's next words had been vague, to anyone besides Connor, they wouldn't have made as much sense, but Connor understood. He'd watched Murphy rub his fingers over his mouth, cigarette poised between those same fingers before he'd exhaled smoke through his nose,

"Maybe we don't do anythin'…maybe, we don't need te' do anythin'." He'd licked his lips and said quietly, "Maybe…we don't want anythin'."

It had been a bold thing to assume on Connor's behalf, but Murphy knew that generally when one of them felt something, it usually turned out to be a mutual feeling.

And when Murphy said it, Connor had let the idea wash over him. Asked himself... did he really need physical attachments with women, did he want it? There would never be emotional commitments, so was sex really so great that he couldn't live without it? It wasn't as if he sought it out, as it was he didn't even jump on every opportunity that presented itself, it really wasn't a thing he thought about often or that he craved.

It had also factored in that his religion prohibited the sex he'd had out of wedlock and didn't approve of self-gratification, but more importantly the idea of spending his days with his brother without any other interferences just held so much more appeal and comfort, that he'd found himself in complete agreement and he'd nodded,

"Aye." Connor said quietly and he watched as Murphy's eyes reflected his contentment with that answer before a smile reached his lips.

'Am I just horny?' he asked himself presently as he listened to the telling click of Murphy's lighter as he lit up his morning cigarette.

Connor didn't ever feel horny per say, Murphy had definitely been right all those years ago when he'd guessed that neither of them really wanted sex and attachments, because giving it up had come far more easily than he'd thought it could, neither of them had felt a loss for what they'd given up, not even the lack of masturbation bothered them.

But even as Connor was trying to rationalize the new thoughts and feelings, a strangely vivid memory of Murphy masturbating in the shower flashed in his mind. It had happened only once many years ago when they'd been 16 and Connor had walked into their shared bathroom unannounced. Murphy's back had been to him and he hadn't closed the shower curtain, they rarely did because they never saw a reason for that sort of privacy from one another. Connor hadn't had much of a reaction to seeing that back then, except to snicker at his twin before Murphy cursed at him and pulled the shower curtain shut properly.

But right then, details that Connor had never known he'd memorized were surfacing, an image of the length of Murphy's naked back, his buttocks, his legs...the sheen of water on his skin and the hurried movements of his one hand as he'd leaned against the wall with his other where he stood in the tub .

"Fuck…" Connor breathed out, stressed and worried and confused over the strange feelings as he stood up quickly and walked around the mattresses toward the toilet, not looking at Murphy as he did so. But out of his peripheral, he was aware of the hunched over shape of his twin, sitting on his bed, arms around bent up legs, watching him, smoking, thinking.

Connor made a point of not looking over even as he felt Murphy's eyes on him while he relieved himself, the lack of walls or partitions of any kind in their run down but chosen living space was suddenly making him feel awkward and self-conscious where it never had before.

He was just finishing up when Murphy shifted and he chanced a glance to find Murphy was shaking his head and walking over to the couch, where he picked up his worn blue denim jeans so he could get dressed for the day at work.

Connor hadn't missed the upset look on Murphy's face or the tense line of his shoulders and he knew it was going to be a long, bad day, whenever he and Murphy were tense with each other, the day would always be really fucked up.

It was still chilly in Boston as winter made its way out that mid-February and standing outside the meat packing factory with a smoke suspended between his lips wasn't as pleasant or relaxing as Connor had hoped it would be, especially wearing only his thin white work coat over his work issued body warmer and his T-shirt. Connor was inhaling from his cigarette in quick, deep pulls, fingers poised near his mouth to remove and replace the smoke in between exhales as he hurried his smoke break along so he could go back inside.

It wasn't much different inside, but at least the cold wind wouldn't be present.

Then again, the cold bite of Murphy's upset silence and none too discreet glaring was inside.

Being outside seemed favorable when Connor took that into consideration.

They hadn't talked again all morning, Murphy had kept glancing at him on the way to morning mass and then had not even looked at him or acknowledged his presence the entire distance to work and since being at work, he'd been giving Connor all manner of displeased looks throughout the day.

Connor just knew there'd be an argument or physical fight between them before the day was out if things continued this way.

Murphy hated secrets about as much as Connor did when it came to what was shared between them, they usually kept nothing from one another, so when one of them tried to, it caused a lot of tension which eventually boiled over into violence.

They were men after all…and Irish…so…

Connor licked his lips after he finished his cigarette, holding the butt between his fingers as he frowned about his predicament. He glanced to his side when someone stepped up beside him, he'd been so distracted by his thoughts he hadn't heard anyone step through the PVC strips behind him.

He raised his eyebrows when he met his twin's blue eyes, Murphy held his gaze for a few seconds as he searched his white, stained work coat pockets for his cigarette pack and lighter, an identical brand and lighter as Connor's own. He finally relieved Connor of that stare when he tapped a cigarette into his hand, re-pocketed his smokes and lit up with a hand shielding the flame from the wind.

And Connor found himself absently staring at Murphy's hair and eyes and hands and the way his cheeks hollowed slightly as he inhaled, the way he carefully pinched the cigarette between his index and middle fingers as he fiddled with his lighter, licking his lips just inside the seam, allowing smoke to stream from his nose slowly as he glanced around the loading bay.

Fuck…

Connor felt the disturbing warmth creep up on him again as he took note of all the physical nuances he knew of his brother but was just recently starting to look at differently…in such a wrong way that it made him want to scream. He was tempted to reach for his rosary under his shirt and whisper an act of contrition and a few other prayers for strength and forgiveness, but Murphy would notice and that action following the fact that Murphy had just caught him staring, would be offensive and suspicious to his twin.

Murphy wouldn't, he couldn't understand, not when Connor didn't even understand himself.

Murphy could not know. Never.

He swallowed tensely as he averted his gaze as casually as possible from Murphy, trying not to draw attention to his unease, but he and Murphy shared feelings, sometimes from more than just reading each other emotionally, sometimes it was physical, so that one twin might experience what the other was actually feeling.

Had it not always been such a welcomed connection, Connor thought it would have been tiresome having to experience the occasional headache whenever Murphy had one, or to know that if he was having trouble sleeping, Murphy would be too.

It made him wonder about the night before and whether Murphy had any idea of what he'd been feeling, thinking and dreaming about.

One of the much rarer things they shared were dreams.

When it did, it happened unexpectedly and months to more often years a part, that they'd dream something similar and less than a handful of times in their 26 years, completely identical. They considered it a gift, because it was. To be so connected, so close to someone that you were never alone, not in spirit, not in soul or mind, even if you were physically separate.

But right then, Connor feared it.

He didn't know if Murphy had felt anything weird about his dream the night before, but Murphy did at least seem to not know anything about the disturbing sexual feelings Connor was suffering, God help him.

"So…how did I die?" Murphy's voice was low and light in tone, as it usually was, smooth and calm and quiet and so serious when he wasn't smiling and wasn't happy.

"What?" Connor turned to look at him, blinked once and then busied himself with flicking his forgotten cigarette butt onto the ground of the loading bay beneath them.

"In the dream…the one that's fuckin' yeh' up so bad, Connor, how did I die?" Murphy clarified before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Connor glanced away and then at Murphy again as he fidgeted tensely, fists clenching and unclenching. He should have expected this question, of course Murphy would figure out who he'd been dreaming about, if he hadn't already suspected since early that morning and had just kept quiet about it.

Connor wondered if the dreams they had about either one of them dying ever bothered Murphy.

The thought was fleeting though because Murphy was staring at him with that familiar annoyed hike in his eyebrow, eyes threatening physical violence if Connor didn't spill. Connor had never before dreaded the idea of contact with Murphy, but right then, even with Murphy smelling like raw meat, sweat and cigarette smoke, the thought of any kind of physical closeness made him feel terribly uncomfortable and warm.

Jesus fucking Christ, Connor felt sick, sick with himself and with worry.

"Connor, wh-…" Murphy sounded borderline pissed and concerned when he started his sentence. Connor wondered if he'd visibly paled because he felt both hot and cold and sweaty all of a sudden, but he thanked God for the interruption by one of their colleagues, which cut Murphy off, when the guy leaned through the PVC and called on Connor to help out with something.

Connor felt a bit sorry for the man because of the glare Murphy threw at the unintentional interruption, but he was far too grateful for it. So he gave Murphy a shrug and casual tip of his head toward the man, something that would only piss Murphy off more due to the lack of spoken words where Connor always usually had a thing to say about everything, and then he walked away from his twin.

And he could feel Murphy's irritation in the form of a buzzing in his ears and Murphy's sadness and worry in the form of a sudden new cold weight in his stomach.

McGinty's wasn't busy that night, it was a Tuesday and a lot of the people who usually came down to the bar on a Friday or at the weekends had families, two jobs or odd shifts so they didn't make it to the bar in the middle of the week and those who could be, were there, already drinking, just as Connor and Murphy had the intention to.

Although the twins usually tried to keep their visits to McGinty's to the weekends as well, for the sake of their finances, sometimes it was just necessary to have a drink, like right then.

They approached the bar, greeting who they knew as they passed and with natural synchronicity, they removed their matching black pea coats when they reached the bar and handed them over to Doc, who was standing and watching them with his usual worried/confused/pissed off expression from behind the bar,

"Evenin', Doc." Connor said as pleasantly as he could, trying to ignore the waves of unsettle and anger radiating off of Murphy.

"Doc." He heard Murphy say just a second after him as he pulled himself up onto a stool at the mostly empty bar.

There was a pause where Doc nodded and drew the word up from his inconsistent and sporadic vocabulary,

"B-boy's." the word came out shaky but understandable as he deposited their coats in their usual place near the back corner of the bar before he set about getting them their usual starter drinks.

Connor settled on a stool beside Murphy, pushing up the sleeves of his dark grey sweater and adjusting the beads of his rosary on the back of his neck absently. The press of the cross beneath his shirt was a comfort and yet constant reminder of his recent sins of the mind, sins which he'd probably never reveal, not even in confession. Murphy had on a near identical sweater, except that it was a dark navy blue, worn with a pair of light blue jeans both he and Connor favored and had a few well-worn pairs of. And the beads of Murphy's similar rosary were visible on his pale neck, dark red/brown wood against pale, smooth skin.

Connor caught himself staring again, his gaze averted only when Doc placed two shots of Bushmills down in front of them.

Sin…every thought Connor had about Murphy in the last twenty four hours had been a horrible sin.

He nodded his thanks and lifted the shot glass, Murphy was a few seconds ahead and he drained his first shot followed shortly by Connor, neither of them looking at one another as they placed the small glasses back down just as Doc placed two pints of Guinness down.

The dark beer looked so good Connor felt himself salivate as he picked it up and raised it slightly to Doc before sipping from it. He chanced a glance at Murphy, who didn't reach for his beer and instead pulled out his cigarettes and lighter,

"Another shot please, Doc…" Murphy half mumbled, only just audibly as he looked at Doc while tapping a cigarette out of his crumpled pack.

Connor made a point to look away before his eyes could linger on his twin's lips when Murphy placed the cigarette between them, the fact he'd noticed the moisture of whiskey clinging to Murphy's lips was awful enough without wondering about the texture and taste of them mixed with a cigarette.

Fuck. Connor tipped his head back as he gulped down more than half of his beer and then paused to gesture for another shot before he finished the pint off. Murphy was giving him a sidelong look as he dropped his lighter on the bar top, inhaling from the now lit cigarette, his eyes squinted and the cherry of his cigarette burning bright for a few seconds.

"Y-yeh' boy's lookin' te', te' get druh- druh…FUCK…" Connor licked beer from his lips and regarded Doc with fond amusement as did Murphy, waiting for the man to finish his sentence, "…-p-pissed?" he finished as he poured two more shots.

"Maybe Connor is…not meh'…" Murphy gave Connor an unimpressed look as he picked up his shot and the liquid slipped away into his mouth. The line of his throat and his bobbing adam's apple distracted Connor for a second before he snorted and tried to shrug off the comment, tried to hide his personal discomfort,

"S'pose I'll see how the night goes." He commented, fully aware that his comment was neither witty nor sarcastic and very unlike himself. The answer was also far too honest.

Connor told himself firmly, as he knocked his second shot back and ordered another beer, that getting drunk was a bad idea when he had a secret to keep from Murphy, a tongue loose with alcohol on top of guilt would do no good.

- * The idea of Connor and Murphy being celibate is a personal observation I made and conclusion I came to after watching the movies. I'm sure many people will disagree that it was likely, but I think it's plausible, even if it was not intended as such in canon. The idea is just my opinion.