In honour of the end of neck-slash week....
A Boondock fic. You really weren't expecting anything else, were you? Sorry it's a bit late haldoor The bunnies weren't behaving.
Title: Tease
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: R
Disclaimer Not mine. Pity. Never happened. Pity.
Author's Notes:
“Damnit, will ya fucken stop teasin’?” Connor growls at Murphy, who just smirks down from his perch on Connor’s chest. Connor pulls against the cuffs on his wrists again, knowing it's pointless, but still unwilling to just take this without a fight.
Fuckit. One thing Murphy has to be a master of. One thing. Fucken knots. Connor glances from the black leather cuffs encircling his wrists, along the rope that twisted through the o-rings, up to the headboard, where they ended in a complex looking knot.
“Ya put somethin’ in the coffee, didn’t ya?” Connor accuses, unwilling to believe that his reflexes had failed him badly enough to get him into this situation. One moment he was putting down his coffee cup, the next, pinned to the bed, with cuffs ship around his wrists. Murphy looks shocked at the idea of desecrating coffee in such a manner.
“Outa yer head, ya are. Just don’t want to admit that I got the better of ya.” Murphy’s Cheshire-cat grin is beginning to grate on Connor’s nerves. He pushes his hips up fast, one last desperate attempt to get his hellion of a twin off. Never mind how he’d get the cuffs off, knots undone. He was a MacManus, damnit. He’d get out of them somehow.
Legs twist up, attempting to hook around Murphy, then retreat to try and get leverage on the mattress. His back arches, even with Murphy’s weight on top of him, and finally, there.
“Fuck!”Murphy’s off him, a dull thud as his ass hits the floor. Connor is quickly up on his knees, fingers plucking at the tight rope. Aw, fuck. Fucken constrictor knot. Not a chance in hell I can get that off without a knife. Bastard. Resigned, he sat back, waiting for Murphy to climb back onto the bed.
“Ya realize you’ll be payin’ for that?” Murphy purrs, getting to his feet with an easy grace. Connor nods. He knows.
“Ya did look funny as you went over.” He offers. Murphy reaches out a hand to cuff him upside the head.
“Aye. Sure it did.” Murphy straddles Connor, rolling their hips together, making Connor’s body arch, his head barely avoiding the headboard. “Fuck. Careful ya idjit.” Murphy warns and then he’s pushing Connor’s head back, and biting down hard on his twins neck, just underneath his tattoo of the Blessed Virgin. Connor whimpers softly, and that just encourages Murphy to suck on the mark, pulling back to gently lick, then bite again. Hard-soft, hard-soft, and it’s driving Connor fucking insane.
“Mine.” Murphy growls, coming up for air. “Fucken mine.”
“Yours.” Connor pants, and it’s so unfair that his hands are caught, that he can’t dig his fingers into Murphy’s shoulders to ground himself. If he closes his eyes the world starts to spin and fade away, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s holding his breath, or because Murphy is rightfuckingthere. He settles for wrapping his legs around Murphy’s waist, and pulling his twin in closer. Can feel Murphy’s grin against his neck, and Murphy pulls back after pressing a gentle kiss to the rapidly darkening bruise on Connor’s neck.
Murphy crawls off him, leans over to rattle through the drawer in search of lube. He should look ridiculous, on his hands and knees like that, but he doesn’t. Murphy moves with a feral grace when they’re in bed, all beautifully formed limbs and muscle flowing
‘Get back over here’ Connor wants to tell him, want that pale skin touching as much of his own as he can manage. Maybe he said it aloud, because Murphy’s back, kneeling triumphant between his spread legs and is crooning soft words, shifting from one language to another, but the tone never changing. Love you.
“Cosi bello." Murphy strokes a hand down Connor’s chest, stopping over his heart. “Ta tu gra agam.”
Connor shivers, then meets his twin’s eyes.
“ Is é mo chroíse do chroíse i gcónaí 's go deo.” he promises, and before Murphy can get that look, the one that makes Connor want to hold him, he says, “Now fuck me.”
The mood is broken. Murphy’s hand goes up to sharply tweak a nipple, then pulls back. He grins at Connor’s hiss of breath.
“Like that, do ya?” he asks conversationally, as he opens the bottle of lube. Slicks two fingers, then works them into Connor’s body, and it’s almost too much. But this is what Connor needs right now, more than soft words or sweet promises. Murphy’s body pressing against his, thighs draped over his twin’s, and the pain to remind him that this is both wrong and right in so many complicated ways. Connor’s hips lift off the bed as Murphy strokes fingertips over his prostate, and he’s close to begging, but not yet. Not just yet.
“More?” Murphy asks, eyebrow arched. Connor shakes his head.
“’s enough. Take me.” He demands. Murphy responds by withdrawing his fingers from Connor’s body, and moving back.
“Aw, fuck. Murph, c’mon. No fucken games right now.” Connor says, pulling on the cuffs, knowing that the knot will hold, but still trying to get up. To get to Murphy. Murphy watches, still not saying anything. “Fine. ‘m sorry. Would ya please take me?” he tries again. Fuck. Still not good enough. Just fucken wonderful.
Murphy has moved slightly closer, responding more to the tone of the words, rather that what Connor is actually saying. C’mon, Con. he silently encourages. You know what I’m wantin’ ta hear.
Connor takes a deep breath. Begging does not come naturally to him, and he still feels that the words come out sounding wrong.
“Please? I…I want ya. Fuck. Can’t ya see how much I need ya Murph?” He allows his knees to spread just a little wider, and mentally begs Murphy to accept his apology.
That’s it. Fucken perfect. Murphy wastes no time in recapturing the lube, and barely waits for the gel to warm from the heat of his hand. He pushes into Connor, both of them groaning at the drag and burn of almost not enough lube or prep.
“Sweet merciful Christ.” Murphy pants, and he knows that Connor’s aching to smack him across the head and protest ‘Lord’s fucken name’. He is let off with a glare, and a clenching of muscles around his cock that has him cursing.
Murphy gives Connor’s hips a hard yank back in retaliation, growling warningly as he finds his rhythm. Connor writhes as Murphy’s cock rubs him in just the right way, his hand clenching and unclenching against the ropes the kept him from grabbing Murphy, from clawing his pleas for more into his back.
“C’mon.” he begs, doing his best to meet Murphy’s thrusts with an answering hitch of his hips. “Please. Dia. Murph.” He’s spiralling rapidly closer to his orgasm, unravelling, but unwilling to finish without Murphy right there beside him.
“Want…ta watch ya come.” Murphy pants. He can barely keep his eyes open, gaze fixed on Connor. Shifting forward slightly, he strokes Connor’s cock, keeping up a steady pace that matches his thrusts. Connor writhes beneath him, finally losing his control. A few more sharp thrusts, and Murphy comes as well, not bothering to move to the side, just collapsing on Connor.
They gasp and pant, Murphy sprawled across Connor, chests heaving. The air licks at the sweat on their skin, causing twin shivers to run through them. Fucken Boston winters. Connor manages, and is pleased to note he has regained his ability to form coherent sentences.
“Murph?” Connor asks after their breathing had returned to a semblance of normalcy. He twists his hips a little, trying to move Murphy off.
“Aye.” Murphy answers, still not moving.
“Ya need to lose some weight. You’re bloody heavy.” He offers.
“Aw, fuck you!” Murphy rolls off, punching him in the shoulder. “I was the one who carried your heavy arse to the fucking hospital. Don’t even fucken start.” He continues grumbling as he cuts Connor free, and then unbuckles the cuffs. “Bastard.” He murmurs fondly, before flopping down to rest.
Connor smiles, and slides an arm across Murphy’s waist as he falls asleep.
Translations:
Cosi bello (Italian)-so beautiful
Ta tu gra agam (Gaelic)-literally-There is love for you within me.
Is é mo chroíse do chroíse i gcónaí 's go deo (Gaelic) literally-My heart is your heart, from now on without end
Dia (Gaelic)-God.
Title: Tease
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: R
Disclaimer Not mine. Pity. Never happened. Pity.
Author's Notes:
“Damnit, will ya fucken stop teasin’?” Connor growls at Murphy, who just smirks down from his perch on Connor’s chest. Connor pulls against the cuffs on his wrists again, knowing it's pointless, but still unwilling to just take this without a fight.
Fuckit. One thing Murphy has to be a master of. One thing. Fucken knots. Connor glances from the black leather cuffs encircling his wrists, along the rope that twisted through the o-rings, up to the headboard, where they ended in a complex looking knot.
“Ya put somethin’ in the coffee, didn’t ya?” Connor accuses, unwilling to believe that his reflexes had failed him badly enough to get him into this situation. One moment he was putting down his coffee cup, the next, pinned to the bed, with cuffs ship around his wrists. Murphy looks shocked at the idea of desecrating coffee in such a manner.
“Outa yer head, ya are. Just don’t want to admit that I got the better of ya.” Murphy’s Cheshire-cat grin is beginning to grate on Connor’s nerves. He pushes his hips up fast, one last desperate attempt to get his hellion of a twin off. Never mind how he’d get the cuffs off, knots undone. He was a MacManus, damnit. He’d get out of them somehow.
Legs twist up, attempting to hook around Murphy, then retreat to try and get leverage on the mattress. His back arches, even with Murphy’s weight on top of him, and finally, there.
“Fuck!”Murphy’s off him, a dull thud as his ass hits the floor. Connor is quickly up on his knees, fingers plucking at the tight rope. Aw, fuck. Fucken constrictor knot. Not a chance in hell I can get that off without a knife. Bastard. Resigned, he sat back, waiting for Murphy to climb back onto the bed.
“Ya realize you’ll be payin’ for that?” Murphy purrs, getting to his feet with an easy grace. Connor nods. He knows.
“Ya did look funny as you went over.” He offers. Murphy reaches out a hand to cuff him upside the head.
“Aye. Sure it did.” Murphy straddles Connor, rolling their hips together, making Connor’s body arch, his head barely avoiding the headboard. “Fuck. Careful ya idjit.” Murphy warns and then he’s pushing Connor’s head back, and biting down hard on his twins neck, just underneath his tattoo of the Blessed Virgin. Connor whimpers softly, and that just encourages Murphy to suck on the mark, pulling back to gently lick, then bite again. Hard-soft, hard-soft, and it’s driving Connor fucking insane.
“Mine.” Murphy growls, coming up for air. “Fucken mine.”
“Yours.” Connor pants, and it’s so unfair that his hands are caught, that he can’t dig his fingers into Murphy’s shoulders to ground himself. If he closes his eyes the world starts to spin and fade away, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s holding his breath, or because Murphy is rightfuckingthere. He settles for wrapping his legs around Murphy’s waist, and pulling his twin in closer. Can feel Murphy’s grin against his neck, and Murphy pulls back after pressing a gentle kiss to the rapidly darkening bruise on Connor’s neck.
Murphy crawls off him, leans over to rattle through the drawer in search of lube. He should look ridiculous, on his hands and knees like that, but he doesn’t. Murphy moves with a feral grace when they’re in bed, all beautifully formed limbs and muscle flowing
‘Get back over here’ Connor wants to tell him, want that pale skin touching as much of his own as he can manage. Maybe he said it aloud, because Murphy’s back, kneeling triumphant between his spread legs and is crooning soft words, shifting from one language to another, but the tone never changing. Love you.
“Cosi bello." Murphy strokes a hand down Connor’s chest, stopping over his heart. “Ta tu gra agam.”
Connor shivers, then meets his twin’s eyes.
“ Is é mo chroíse do chroíse i gcónaí 's go deo.” he promises, and before Murphy can get that look, the one that makes Connor want to hold him, he says, “Now fuck me.”
The mood is broken. Murphy’s hand goes up to sharply tweak a nipple, then pulls back. He grins at Connor’s hiss of breath.
“Like that, do ya?” he asks conversationally, as he opens the bottle of lube. Slicks two fingers, then works them into Connor’s body, and it’s almost too much. But this is what Connor needs right now, more than soft words or sweet promises. Murphy’s body pressing against his, thighs draped over his twin’s, and the pain to remind him that this is both wrong and right in so many complicated ways. Connor’s hips lift off the bed as Murphy strokes fingertips over his prostate, and he’s close to begging, but not yet. Not just yet.
“More?” Murphy asks, eyebrow arched. Connor shakes his head.
“’s enough. Take me.” He demands. Murphy responds by withdrawing his fingers from Connor’s body, and moving back.
“Aw, fuck. Murph, c’mon. No fucken games right now.” Connor says, pulling on the cuffs, knowing that the knot will hold, but still trying to get up. To get to Murphy. Murphy watches, still not saying anything. “Fine. ‘m sorry. Would ya please take me?” he tries again. Fuck. Still not good enough. Just fucken wonderful.
Murphy has moved slightly closer, responding more to the tone of the words, rather that what Connor is actually saying. C’mon, Con. he silently encourages. You know what I’m wantin’ ta hear.
Connor takes a deep breath. Begging does not come naturally to him, and he still feels that the words come out sounding wrong.
“Please? I…I want ya. Fuck. Can’t ya see how much I need ya Murph?” He allows his knees to spread just a little wider, and mentally begs Murphy to accept his apology.
That’s it. Fucken perfect. Murphy wastes no time in recapturing the lube, and barely waits for the gel to warm from the heat of his hand. He pushes into Connor, both of them groaning at the drag and burn of almost not enough lube or prep.
“Sweet merciful Christ.” Murphy pants, and he knows that Connor’s aching to smack him across the head and protest ‘Lord’s fucken name’. He is let off with a glare, and a clenching of muscles around his cock that has him cursing.
Murphy gives Connor’s hips a hard yank back in retaliation, growling warningly as he finds his rhythm. Connor writhes as Murphy’s cock rubs him in just the right way, his hand clenching and unclenching against the ropes the kept him from grabbing Murphy, from clawing his pleas for more into his back.
“C’mon.” he begs, doing his best to meet Murphy’s thrusts with an answering hitch of his hips. “Please. Dia. Murph.” He’s spiralling rapidly closer to his orgasm, unravelling, but unwilling to finish without Murphy right there beside him.
“Want…ta watch ya come.” Murphy pants. He can barely keep his eyes open, gaze fixed on Connor. Shifting forward slightly, he strokes Connor’s cock, keeping up a steady pace that matches his thrusts. Connor writhes beneath him, finally losing his control. A few more sharp thrusts, and Murphy comes as well, not bothering to move to the side, just collapsing on Connor.
They gasp and pant, Murphy sprawled across Connor, chests heaving. The air licks at the sweat on their skin, causing twin shivers to run through them. Fucken Boston winters. Connor manages, and is pleased to note he has regained his ability to form coherent sentences.
“Murph?” Connor asks after their breathing had returned to a semblance of normalcy. He twists his hips a little, trying to move Murphy off.
“Aye.” Murphy answers, still not moving.
“Ya need to lose some weight. You’re bloody heavy.” He offers.
“Aw, fuck you!” Murphy rolls off, punching him in the shoulder. “I was the one who carried your heavy arse to the fucking hospital. Don’t even fucken start.” He continues grumbling as he cuts Connor free, and then unbuckles the cuffs. “Bastard.” He murmurs fondly, before flopping down to rest.
Connor smiles, and slides an arm across Murphy’s waist as he falls asleep.
Translations:
Cosi bello (Italian)-so beautiful
Ta tu gra agam (Gaelic)-literally-There is love for you within me.
Is é mo chroíse do chroíse i gcónaí 's go deo (Gaelic) literally-My heart is your heart, from now on without end
Dia (Gaelic)-God.