Look After Your Brother ch 11
Chapter 11
Connor stayed mad at Murphy for exactly forty-eight minutes. He went home, and Murph came in just a bit after him, bearing a carton of cigarettes and a six-pack of beer.
"It won't happen again," Murph said.
"Aye, thanks," Connor replied, and everything was right between them again.
On Wednesday they went to a bookstore so Murph could look at fashion magazines. Research, he called it. Connor would have preferred the library, but admitted the store had a better variety and more current selection.
On Thursday they shopped. Murph knew what he was looking for, so it didn’t take too long. Connor sat on a low wall outside the mall, smoking cigarettes and feeling a right ass for not going inside with him. He has a fucken list, Connor thought, what does he need with a fucken opinion?
On Friday, Murphy took the tags off his new clothes and dressed to go out.
"Well?" He spread his arms, looking to Connor for approval. The clothes he was wearing had been ridiculously expensive in Connor's opinion. Sixty-five bucks for a pair of jeans that didn’t even sit on his hips proper? Forty dollars for an undershirt? Blue rayon no less. What the fuck was rayon good for anyways? Men didn’t need rayon.
Even the little leather strand around his throat cost more than either of them made in an hour. And what the fuck had he put in his hair?
At least he hadn’t tried to cover the tattoos--the saint on the side of his neck that they chose to remember Ma by, the cross for God and a homeland they barely recalled.
The empty beer can almost caught him in the head as it flew past.
"Connor! C'mon, fucken say something. How do I look?"
Like you're working, Connor thought but didn’t say. This whole plan worried him. Murph wanted to "meet somebody." Connor wouldn’t stand in the way of his brother's happiness, but the thought of Murph finding a lover and leaving him made a hard cold lump in his chest. Murph going to a gay bar was just one more part of this fucken idea that he hated.
"You look good," he said at last, because it was true, and because he didn’t want another can thrown at him. He couldn’t imagine Murphy not looking good. Murphy was beautiful and sweet and, no matter what had happened in his life, somehow innocent.
There was no fucken way Connor was going to let him go alone into a bar full of horny men. It just wasn’t to be done. He changed into a clean t-shirt--cotton, like a fucken T should be--and grabbed a new pack of cigarettes.
"Hold up, Murph, I'm comin' too."
A mixture of hope and concern flickered through Murphy's blue eyes. "Are y'sure Conn? It's not likely t' be your sort of a place..."
"There'll be beer?"
"Aye, I suppose so."
"I can smoke there?"
Murph shrugged. It wasn’t like he knew any better than Connor. "Probably."
Connor stuffed his lighter into his pocket. "A bar's a bar. How different can it be?"
A bar is a bar...except when it's this mad place, Connor thought to himself an hour later. Even from the outside, the music was too loud. He didn’t understand how it could be shrill and pounding at the same time, but it was.
"Nervous?" He asked as Murph hesitated just outside the entrance.
His brother's outfit seemed much less stylish and outrageous surrounded by the flamboyant color of this area. Murphy chewed at the corner of his thumbnail and gazed around at the energized crowd. His eyes were bright, alive.
"Aye. But excited too."
Connor looked around; saw nothing to reassure himself with. "Look, Murph, maybe this wasn’t the best idea, eh?" He tipped his head to the side, "Would you like to change and we can head down to McGinty's?"
Murphy smirked. "Oh go on, ya great pussy." He shoved Connor past the doorman. Connor grinned, pulled Murphy back in front of him, and everything was alright again.
Inside the club was louder, the wall of sound pounding them like a physical force. The combination of smoke-filled air and strobe lights threatened Connor with the mother of all headaches before he had even made his way through the press of the crowd in the doorway.
He tried to relax and go with it, like walking into a crowd at McGinty's. This was a different kind of crowd though, a different kind of touch. While the guys in their neighborhood would bump shoulders and trade friendly mock-punches, here it was hands sliding slow over his shoulder or lingering for a moment against his hip. The entire crowd seemed to move with the pulse of the music. Thighs touched his.
Connor allowed himself to be bounced along after Murphy to the bar. Somehow having the black lacquer and chrome countertop behind them made Connor more comfortable. Right. It's a bar. A little louder, a little sexier. A man wearing only a few straps of leather led another by on a collar and leash. Just a different sort of bar, Connor kept repeating to himself.
He glanced over at Murphy, to watch him worrying his upper lip between his teeth.
"Y'alright there, Murph?" He shouted over the music. Murphy nodded but still seemed nervous. Together they were the only two people who seemed to not move with the rhythm of the music. Connor flashed his fake ID and got them drinks. He lit two cigarettes and passed one to Murphy, who took it with a grateful grin.
"Are ya gonna dance?" Connor leaned close so he didn’t have to yell.
Murphy hesitated a moment then shook his head. "Nah. Just watch a bit."
Connor nodded and went back to watching the horde of freaks and fairies. He smoked three cigarettes down to the filter, but only took a sip or two of the beer. He was here for a fucken reason and he wouldn’t risk being too drunk to watch Murph's back.
He supposed it was a hold-over instinct from their working days, but he knew, he felt when a man was looking at Murphy, wanting Murphy. His eyes would search the crowd and find someone headed their way, hunger on his face. He would watch the stranger approaching, weighing him with his gaze. Time and again they would veer off before they reached Murphy.
God's truth, Connor had no idea why.
He was so intent on watching over his brother that Connor was surprised when his own shoulder was touched. The guy was grinning, blonde and so tan that it made his skin look thick.
He was smiling, so Connor smiled back. Their Ma had taught them some manners, after all. Seemed sort of disrespectful not to use them. The man's lips moved, but Connor couldn’t understand what he said over the beat of the music.
"Wha'?" He asked, leaning closer.
The man spoke again, and it was still a mystery. Connor thought he saw his mouth form the word "fuck," but he wasn’t sure what the context was. He shook his head.
"Sorry man, I can't fucken hear you. It's too loud in here."
That was about the time the guy decided to use sign language. His grin spread wider as his left hand reached down to cup Connor through his jeans, pinning him back against the bar.
Connor's brain misfired. Five years of safety fell away from him, and he felt fifteen again--scared and angry and not saying anything because Murph and Ma were counting on him. He wanted to do something, anything, but he couldn’t convince his body that it was allowed.
Before Connor could sort himself out, before the blonde man could realize that this was not going to end pretty--between one heartbeat and the next, Murphy was there and the man was knocked back. Connor couldn’t have said if Murph had punched him or shoved him, but he was away and that was all Connor fucken cared about.
Then he got a glimpse of Murph's face and knew he had bigger problems.
He had seen Murphy angry before. Furious even. This was the first time he remembered seeing murder in those blue-grey eyes since Murph tried to kill a doctor with a ball-point. "Don’t you fucken touch him!" Murph was screaming, loud enough to carry over the music. People were staring, the blonde guy was backing away. "He's not for the likes of you, ya sick fuck! I'll fucken kill you!"
He had never seen Murphy hold back from a fight either; this guy was built, but that had never mattered. And then Connor saw it, in the gleam in Murph's eyes and the way his fists shook at his sides. If he struck the man, he wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead. Murph knew it too, Connor could see, and was fighting it with all he had.
The thought of his brother in jail was enough to snap Connor out of his daze.
"Murph!" A twitch of rayon-clad shoulders told him he had been heard, but the shouting and swearing didn’t stop. Connor growled out a few choice words of his own and hooked his right arm under Murph's, in front of his shoulder and back behind the nape of his neck. He fastened his fingers tight in the sleek dark hair and dragged him out of the club. His brother struggled for just a second, and then went with him.
Murph thumped Connor's shoulder as soon as he was free of his brother's grip. The devil had left his eyes and only concern was left. "What the fuck was that? Jaysus, Conn. The look on your face, I thought he fucken stabbed ya or somethin'." He glanced down at Connor’s crotch then back up--letting Conn know he had seen what the man had done to make Connor react with such deep shock. "What the fuck happened to ya in there?"
All that Connor could do was shrug and shake his head. He didn't have the words for what he had felt, not in any of the languages he spoke. Murph nodded and didn’t press the issue; he seemed a mite quiet himself.
They walked the theatre district for a while, smoked a few cigarettes. They were careful not to get caught in any of the roaming groups of club-goers. Connor was unwilling to end Murph's night out before some good had come of it, but it was looking less likely the longer Murphy moped along.
A little narrow diner, wedged in beside a store that seemed to specialize in flamboyant-colored fake fur clothing, beckoned Connor with the scent of grilling meat. The restaurant was all plastic seats and bright colors, nothing like the wood and glass of McGinty's, but it looked safe enough for all of that.
"Fancy a burger, Murph?"
Murphy shrugged and nodded. "If you do, Conn."
Together they stepped inside.