WIP, Boondock Saints Untitled fic, Chapter 2
Eheh. Remember that untitled BDS fic I posted a while ago? Well I worked on it some more today, and it's getting to it. To the smut, I mean. Soon...soon *G*.
Chapter 2 - BDS Untitled Fic; chapter 1 here
“I told you things don’t work that way.”
“And I told you, I had it under control.” It didn’t look like Murphy was going to give up on that particular argument.
Dropping his coat on the couch, Connor shot an incredulous look at his brother. “They were two seconds away from smashin’ your head in. Think, next time!”
“It’s not my fault, you know. Oh, Connor, coming to the rescue. For once maybe you should just let me handle my own problems.”
“So you admit it was a problem? Listen – ”
“It was never a problem. I’m just sayin’ – ”
Connor cut him off smoothly, motioning for Murph to sit on the couch. “This is so pointless. Just say your peace, all right? And let’s get down to more important things.”
“I would, if you’d let me finish.” With that, Connor looked slightly apologetic, and Murphy sat down obligingly. “I’m sorry, that was stupid. Clearly, we didn’t do enough research, and I wasn’t prepared.” Murphy spread his hands, palms up in an acquiescent gesture. “There, happy?”
“For now.”
It wasn’t necessarily the fact that Murphy had goaded the men that bothered Connor, but the thought of what might have happened had he not been there to help. Reckless, Murphy was reckless. And that could sometimes get you killed. No matter how much faith you have.
Except, Murph didn’t think like that. He was usually light-hearted and upbeat, and faith could carry him far, but he trusted so much in his faith that he couldn’t see it as vulnerability. People who thought they would never die usually end up getting the sharp end of the sword, like some cosmic irony, and Connor did not want to see that happen to anyone he loved or cared about.
Faith was a good thing to have, but it wasn’t worth Murphy’s life. Murph couldn’t always depend on Connor to be there.
“Next time, and all other times in the future, we’re doing things together.” Connor intoned.
Murph nodded, aware that Il Duce had been listening the whole time while shuffling his cards in silence. “Aye. Safety in numbers, right?”
With a sigh, Connor seated himself next to his brother and spread his arms along the back of the ratty couch. He fingered a hole that had been made by one of their cigarettes, wishing he had one. He really didn’t want to think right now. Mulling over the possibility of Murphy’s death only made his teeth grind harder and his palms sweat, and it felt like ice water was being poured down his spine. So really, that wasn’t a comfortable mind-set to be in, and a smoke did wonders for his nerves.
“You’re…twitching.” Pointing out the obvious, Murph moved so that he was leaning over Connor as Connor’s head tipped back and his eyes closed. “Are you that shaken up?”
Connor’s eyes slit open. “What? Should I be dancing?”
Murph’s lips twitched before breaking out into a small smile. “Maybe. We did take out one-third of the Italian mob.” He continued to loom over his brother, grinning, and sneaked a hand onto Connor’s shoulder that slowly traveled up the side of his neck, and then tugged at his ear.
“Fucker!” Murph shot off the couch and did a series of dancing-like movements around it, and Connor scrambled after him. Alas, too slow. His hands closed around the edges of Murphy’s black shirt, triumphant, but his feet stumbled on the fringe of the old rug and they both toppled onto the floor, landing with a hard ‘thunk.’
Il Duce, witness to the mayhem and unable to tolerate such behavior, grumbled a string of profanities under his breath and exited the room into safer areas like the small but adequate kitchen the motel provided.
Murph watched him go. Even though he was their father, the man carried such presence that Murph had never really been comfortable around him.
“So, business.” Connor said, breathing shallow. Murphy raised himself onto his elbows and looked down at his brother, aware that Connor must be uncomfortable taking all of his weight acting as a cushion. Or a really nice bed.
Murphy’s eyes grew wide. “Shit.” He breathed and rolled onto his feet in one smooth movement, leaving Connor miffed.
“What? My breath?” Connor pushed himself up, oddly insulted that Murphy hadn’t bothered to offer a hand.
Murphy stared at his brother, taking in the new revelation. The fucking discovery to end all discoveries. “I – uh….” His brother, he – was attracted to Connor. In some foul, deep recess of his mind. “Just need to get a pack of smokes.” He lied and began moving towards the door, eyes never leaving Connor because the more he thought about it and the more it sunk in, the more curious he got. Which was not a good thing.
Connor gave him a look before sitting back down on the couch, propping his feet up on the small coffee table. “Pick up two packs. Hell, buy six. Think I’m gonna need it.”
“Hey,” stopped by the weariness in Connor’s voice, Murphy paused with his hand on the knob, “I had it under control.”
Connor waved him away. “Sure.”
Murph hesitated halfway through the doorway. Christ, what was this warm feeling? Spreading like a fucking fever. He knew it was always there, in the blood, bound by blood, but now it grew stronger. Different. Didn’t his body know that this was wrong and went against all things he believed in? It obviously didn’t care.
But when Connor watched him finally leave with inquiring eyes, combined with the thought of a nice, refreshing cigarette, he became oddly comfortable with it.
tbc...
( I wonder if anyone reads this. besides
eisakay :p )
Chapter 2 - BDS Untitled Fic; chapter 1 here
“I told you things don’t work that way.”
“And I told you, I had it under control.” It didn’t look like Murphy was going to give up on that particular argument.
Dropping his coat on the couch, Connor shot an incredulous look at his brother. “They were two seconds away from smashin’ your head in. Think, next time!”
“It’s not my fault, you know. Oh, Connor, coming to the rescue. For once maybe you should just let me handle my own problems.”
“So you admit it was a problem? Listen – ”
“It was never a problem. I’m just sayin’ – ”
Connor cut him off smoothly, motioning for Murph to sit on the couch. “This is so pointless. Just say your peace, all right? And let’s get down to more important things.”
“I would, if you’d let me finish.” With that, Connor looked slightly apologetic, and Murphy sat down obligingly. “I’m sorry, that was stupid. Clearly, we didn’t do enough research, and I wasn’t prepared.” Murphy spread his hands, palms up in an acquiescent gesture. “There, happy?”
“For now.”
It wasn’t necessarily the fact that Murphy had goaded the men that bothered Connor, but the thought of what might have happened had he not been there to help. Reckless, Murphy was reckless. And that could sometimes get you killed. No matter how much faith you have.
Except, Murph didn’t think like that. He was usually light-hearted and upbeat, and faith could carry him far, but he trusted so much in his faith that he couldn’t see it as vulnerability. People who thought they would never die usually end up getting the sharp end of the sword, like some cosmic irony, and Connor did not want to see that happen to anyone he loved or cared about.
Faith was a good thing to have, but it wasn’t worth Murphy’s life. Murph couldn’t always depend on Connor to be there.
“Next time, and all other times in the future, we’re doing things together.” Connor intoned.
Murph nodded, aware that Il Duce had been listening the whole time while shuffling his cards in silence. “Aye. Safety in numbers, right?”
With a sigh, Connor seated himself next to his brother and spread his arms along the back of the ratty couch. He fingered a hole that had been made by one of their cigarettes, wishing he had one. He really didn’t want to think right now. Mulling over the possibility of Murphy’s death only made his teeth grind harder and his palms sweat, and it felt like ice water was being poured down his spine. So really, that wasn’t a comfortable mind-set to be in, and a smoke did wonders for his nerves.
“You’re…twitching.” Pointing out the obvious, Murph moved so that he was leaning over Connor as Connor’s head tipped back and his eyes closed. “Are you that shaken up?”
Connor’s eyes slit open. “What? Should I be dancing?”
Murph’s lips twitched before breaking out into a small smile. “Maybe. We did take out one-third of the Italian mob.” He continued to loom over his brother, grinning, and sneaked a hand onto Connor’s shoulder that slowly traveled up the side of his neck, and then tugged at his ear.
“Fucker!” Murph shot off the couch and did a series of dancing-like movements around it, and Connor scrambled after him. Alas, too slow. His hands closed around the edges of Murphy’s black shirt, triumphant, but his feet stumbled on the fringe of the old rug and they both toppled onto the floor, landing with a hard ‘thunk.’
Il Duce, witness to the mayhem and unable to tolerate such behavior, grumbled a string of profanities under his breath and exited the room into safer areas like the small but adequate kitchen the motel provided.
Murph watched him go. Even though he was their father, the man carried such presence that Murph had never really been comfortable around him.
“So, business.” Connor said, breathing shallow. Murphy raised himself onto his elbows and looked down at his brother, aware that Connor must be uncomfortable taking all of his weight acting as a cushion. Or a really nice bed.
Murphy’s eyes grew wide. “Shit.” He breathed and rolled onto his feet in one smooth movement, leaving Connor miffed.
“What? My breath?” Connor pushed himself up, oddly insulted that Murphy hadn’t bothered to offer a hand.
Murphy stared at his brother, taking in the new revelation. The fucking discovery to end all discoveries. “I – uh….” His brother, he – was attracted to Connor. In some foul, deep recess of his mind. “Just need to get a pack of smokes.” He lied and began moving towards the door, eyes never leaving Connor because the more he thought about it and the more it sunk in, the more curious he got. Which was not a good thing.
Connor gave him a look before sitting back down on the couch, propping his feet up on the small coffee table. “Pick up two packs. Hell, buy six. Think I’m gonna need it.”
“Hey,” stopped by the weariness in Connor’s voice, Murphy paused with his hand on the knob, “I had it under control.”
Connor waved him away. “Sure.”
Murph hesitated halfway through the doorway. Christ, what was this warm feeling? Spreading like a fucking fever. He knew it was always there, in the blood, bound by blood, but now it grew stronger. Different. Didn’t his body know that this was wrong and went against all things he believed in? It obviously didn’t care.
But when Connor watched him finally leave with inquiring eyes, combined with the thought of a nice, refreshing cigarette, he became oddly comfortable with it.
tbc...
( I wonder if anyone reads this. besides
eisakay :p )