ladyjanelly

Title: Look After Your Brother ch 19
Author: LadyJanelly
Pairing: c/m
Rating: NC-17 ish.
Warnings: Slash, light s&m, smart men making stupid decisions.
Disclaimer: I own no Irish boys, nor do I make any money from the wicked thoughts they give me.
Notes: Special thanks to 4bdnsn0flake for continuing to beta this piece, even when her RL is eating all of her time.

Ch 19

They slept in their tiny room that night, their beds separated by three feet of empty space. It took Connor forever to fall asleep. Judging by the amount of tossing and turning coming from the other bed, it wasn’t easy for Murphy either.

The next morning they went to church. Connor prayed long and hard on his fears and pain. He saved confession for another day. He was afraid that Murphy would take it wrong. Besides, he knew he wouldn’t stop fulfilling Murphy's needs, despite the lies it took or the lust it inspired. He wouldn’t confess a sin he was unwilling to stop committing and so the words went unspoken.

He sat alone while Murph went into the little booth. He wondered what his brother was feeling the weight of, what he needed to be freed from. The beads of Connor's rosary slipped one by one through his fingers as he prayed and waited. He looked up as the dark oak door opened. The brothers' eyes met and a gentle smile ghosted across Murphy's lips.

Connor felt the worry and guilt slip away from him. Murphy's smile was all the absolution he needed.

-----

A week passed and Connor knew the signs when he saw them again. He offered the belt before Murphy had to ask for it. He was less afraid the second time, though just as careful.

"Touch me," Murphy asked with his hands against the wall and sweat tracking down the shallow welts that graced his back.

It felt good to Connor, that Murphy trusted him enough to ask for what he needed, and Connor wasted no time giving it to him. His hands followed the path of the sweat, more confident by the second.

Murphy found his voice again when it was all over and they were sitting on the floor and Murphy was in Connor's arms like he had always belonged there.

"Just you, Conn," Murphy whispered and Connor shushed him gently, slow hands stroking his hair. He had no taste for empty pillow talk or words that would make him think too much about what he was doing.

"I swear t' Christ. I mean it, Connor."

"That's fine then, Murphy," Connor said, because it was easier to not argue about it.

They sat on the floor together for a longer time, until Murphy shifted with restless energy and Connor helped him up. As Murphy was moving off of him, he gave Connor's t-shirt covered shoulder a quick peck of a kiss, and then the flat of his hand smacked Connor across the back of his head.

"What th' fuck was that for, eh?" Connor asked, but Murphy was almost to the bathroom by then, and didn’t answer before he shut the door.

Connor stared at the faux-wood panel for a long time but he couldn’t make sense of it, and by the time Murphy came out, he was afraid to try.

----------

Connor couldn’t have said afterwards what the hell happened. It was like that moment when two magnets lying side by side suddenly snap against each other. Months had passed, a routine had been settled into. He knew what to expect. Murphy knew what he'd give. And then it changed.

Murphy had his face to the wall, his bare feet shoulder-width apart, palms pressed to the cheap paneling. Connor was touching Murphy, the belt tossed behind him onto the floor and Murphy was whimpering "More," and Connor didn’t know what more to do besides put another hand on him, both of his palms sliding over the pink welts.

Murphy shifted and Connor could smell his sweat, his arousal. He could feel the heat of his brother's body, not just against his hands but against his chest even through the fabric of his shirt. His hands slid around, low over Murphy's hips and onto the skin of his stomach.

Murphy moaned and Connor pressed against the long line of his brother's back and Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, it felt so good, so right. Murphy rocked his ass back against Connor's cock and he thought he'd lose it right there in his pants.

"Fuuuck," Connor groaned.

"More," Murphy gasped, and before he knew what he'd done the taste of Murphy's shoulder was on his tongue; he had kissed that porcelain skin, and licked it too.

"Fuck me," Murphy hissed, his fingers clenching against the wall. "I need it, Conn. Oh fuck, I need it."

Murphy's hand reached down and Connor stiffened with surprise as it closed around his wrist instead of continuing down to touch himself.

"I need you." Murphy was so fierce in his declaration.

Those were the words Connor had dreamed of hearing since they were young--impossible to believe, impossible to resist.

His mind tried to form a coherent protest, some way of protecting himself from the hurt that was sure to come, but his body and his heart weren't cooperating.

"We don' have..." he managed, because there was no way he was dry-fucking Murphy that night. Hell no, fuck no, there wasn’t a no strong enough for how much that wasn’t happening.

"There," Murphy interrupted him, pointing to the top drawer of the dresser. He didn’t let go of Connor's wrist though.

Connor fumbled one-handed through Murphy's collection of condoms. He knew in his head that he should be grabbing one of those while he was at it, but he couldn’t. Nothing should come between him and Murphy-- not latex, not the possibility of illness. He scrambled through the drawer until he found a packet that squished like catsup. He held it between his teeth as he opened his fly and pulled out his aching cock.

Murphy wiggled out of his jeans and boxers, his cheek and shoulders against the wall for balance as he struggled one-handed to get the denim off of himself. Even in such an awkward position, there was an innocent grace to Murphy that Connor could never hope to have.

The single-use pack of lube held a generous amount and Connor spread half of it along his length and slicked the other half against Murphy.

Murphy hissed at the wet touch of it and his fingers squeezed hard at Connor's still-trapped wrist.

"Please, please, please," Murph was whispering like a mantra.

A momentary flicker of fear washed through Connor. He'd done this while working. He'd never had to care about the pleasure or safety of the man he was with. He knew, from his own times face-down against a wall, how wrong it could go.

His body froze.

"Murph," he whispered, his eager cock sliding between Murphy's legs. The oil wasn't cold anymore, it was warm, and Connor shook with the effort of controlling himself. "Murph, are y' sure?"

No words. Murphy just guided Connor's hand down. His fingers wrapped around Murphy's cock and Jaysus, it felt so right, it fit in his hand more perfectly than his own did.

Murphy thrust hard into Connor's hand, crushing his knuckles against the wall and then back, ass against Connor's cock. And that was more invitation than Connor could resist.

"Love ya, Murph," and he couldn't keep the confession, the surrender, from slipping past gritted teeth as he slid into that perfection.

Tight. Hot. Slick. Home in a way no house or apartment or place could ever be. But still, something in Connor's chest was cracking, splitting, falling into a hundred shards.

It was broken. He'd crossed the line and there was no going back from this. He'd taken advantage of Murphy's trust, his need and his momentary weakness.

And fuck. He was never going to do this again, and he took everything that Murphy let him have and gave Murphy everything he had.

Murphy didn't let go of Connor's wrist, holding him there, fucking his hand into the wall.

And Connor fucked Murphy into the wall too, pounding every ounce of himself into it--a lifetime's worth of lust and love and passion and God, oh God, it was over too soon.

Murphy cried out his pleasure. Connor cried out his anguish. Wet stickiness spurted over his hand and he went rigid as he emptied himself into his twin.

There was nothing left in him when it was all over. Panting and weak they sank to the floor. Connor pulled out with all the care he was capable of.

He didn’t realize he was crying until Murphy looked at him, fear in his eyes.

"Mother of Jesus," Murphy breathed, "What the fuck've I done?"

"I'm sorry," Connor said, and the words choked him. Murphy took his face in those strong hands, his thumbs wiping away Connor's tears as fast as they fell. Connor was having a hard time putting his words in order. "I tried. I tried, Murphy--not more than it is--I just--I couldn’t--"

He was dimly aware of Murphy talking at the same time, stumbling over himself like Connor was.

"...shouldn't have pushed, oh fuck Conn, don' hate me, please don' leave me, I'm sorry I'll never ask again, I knew better, fuck, I knew. Please don' leave me..."

Leave Murphy? The words were like a bucket of cold water.

He covered Murphy's hands with his own, holding them against his face, trying to stop their shaking. He stopped talking, watching Murphy's lips move, trying to make sense of it. Murphy needed him, and he used that thought to keep himself together.

"I shouldn't have pushed," Murphy whispered. "I knew, Conn. I just--I just wanted so much for you to have changed your mind."

Connor pulled his brother into his arms, aware again that Murphy was naked and he himself was still in all his clothes.

"There's not a thing you've done wrong, Murph," he whispered against damp hair. "Not a fucken thing."

Murphy shook his head. "I knew y' didn’t want to. I knew."

Connor frowned.

"Why're ya sayin' that?"

Murphy trembled in his arms. "Ya never would." His voice was small, lost. "Not even when they wanted t' pay for ya to. Ya'd rather let them pay t' fuck you than touch me, Conn."

Connor frowned, remembering those days. "Tha' wasn’t for sale, Murph. I couldn’t have done that t' you. T' us. Do y'understand?"

Murphy frowned and swore, pressed his forehead to Connor's shoulder.

Connor held him tight, lips kissing the sweaty hair, the pulse at his temple. He tipped Murphy's head back and skated his lips over the corner of his brother's mouth.

Connor'd never kissed before, and in the long seconds when Murphy's shocked body didn't respond, he wished he had, because he was sure he was rubbish at it. And then Murphy kissed him back, mouth open and the tip of his tongue flicking over Connor's teeth.

Right, so right. God's truth he could have died at that moment a content man.

They held each other, kissing for a long time there in the squalor of that basement apartment. Connor felt--better than he had in a long time. He didn’t quite believe it. He didn’t trust it. He'd seen Murphy discard lovers after a few days or weeks.

Despite all that, he felt the first glimmer of hope.