Look After Your Brother ch 12
Chapter 12
The clatter of plates behind the counter and the chatter of conversation going on around them were almost familiar. If it weren’t for the flamboyant clientele and the fact that the stools he and Murphy sat on were teal plastic, he could almost fool himself into thinking this was just another diner in Boston.
Connor assumed that if he was recovered from having a stranger grabbing his cock in some fucked-up queer bar, that Murphy should be recovered from almost freaking out and pounding the guy into oblivion. Judging by how Murph was engaged in a staring contest with his food instead of eating it, Connor wondered if this might not be the way of things.
"What's this then, Murph," he asked between bites of his own hamburger. "Doin' your impersonation of Bobby Sands are ya?"
It was worth the smack to the back of his head to have Murphy's attention again. "That's fucken disrespectful." Murph hissed, and sounded just like Ma, back before things got bad. It warmed the cockles of Connor's heart.
The man behind the counter topped off their glasses of coke while Murph glared at Connor, and then moved on his way. By the time that was over the flare of anger was gone and the melancholy was back in Murph's eyes.
Connor frowned as Murphy picked at the mole beside his mouth with the edge of his thumbnail, as if he could peel it off.
"Stop tha'." He smacked Murph's hand away before he could do himself an injury. "What sort of fucked-up thoughts are goin' on in tha' head a yours, Murphy?"
Murphy hesitated. Connor waited for it.
Murphy sighed. "A'right, then. You're not fucken blind, Connor. Tell me. What the fuck happened in there. Before Fecky-the-ninth decided to get a handful a your cock, I mean. Am I fucken hideous or what?"
From the corner of his eye, Connor could see their waiter freeze in surprise. He sort of felt that way himself. "No, Murph. I am sure you're not hideous." He struggled for words. So much time spent trying not to think of all the ways his brother was beautiful, and now that he was actually asked, he had nothing to say. "You're uh, right easy on the eyes, Murph. Swear to god."
He looked around for some help and spotted the waiter trying and failing to mind his own business. "Am I wrong?"
"You are kidding, right?" The waiter turned and tipped his head, regarding Murphy's features openly then. "Dude, you are nothing short of gorgeous."
Connor watched the blossoming of confidence and happiness on his brother's face and felt both relief and a warm pulse of jealousy. If it could never be him that said those words, at least someone had.
"Ah, a flatterer you are," Murphy mock-scolded, color creeping into his fair skin. "Have you a name to go with those pretty words?"
The man glanced to Connor before offering his hand to Murphy, and Connor thought he caught a shadow of wariness in that glance--as if he suspected this was a set-up of some sort.
"Marc," he introduced himself. "With a 'C'."
Murph took the hand and grinned. "I'm Murphy. This is Connor."
Connor also shook his hand, trying to contain a smile. "Withesea, eh? Don’t think I've heard that one b'fore. Whereabouts are you from, then?"
Murph was quicker on the comeback than the waiter, smacking the back of Connor's head again. "Fucken retard. With. A. C." Hand gestures made his translation even more clear.
Connor laughed. Murphy made a self-satisfied sound in his throat and looked smug. Marc chuckled and went off to wait on two girls at the other end of the counter.
They loitered for hours in the diner, chatting with Marc when he wasn’t busy--chatting with each other when he was. Murph was smiling and eating, which was enough for Connor. It was the longest he could remember his brother going without a cigarette since they were fifteen.
"What do you think?" Murphy whispered while his waiter-of-choice ran the cash register, his back to them. Connor glanced over and shrugged. It was as close as he could bring himself to an endorsement. Marc would never win a looks contest; he was narrow and not tall, too much nose and not enough chin. Still, there was nothing of a predator in his grey eyes or his crooked smile. His t-shirt was Hanes and a little loose. That was a plus in Connor's book.
"Hey," Murph called when he saw Marc taking off his white apron. "Is there a place to shoot pool around here this time a night?"
Connor watched as Marc nodded. There was a tension in his face, something restrained behind his eyes. "Yeah, it's just around the block. I can point it out on my way home if you want."
"I'd prefer if you'd come an' play with us for a while," Murphy's voice was gentle, with just a hint of entreaty--not flirty, but more open than most would be. "We'll pay for the table an' the beers both."
The tension that had lingered in Marc's face hardened into regret. "I really appreciate the offer, guys. I'm just...you know. Not interested in a three-way or sharing or whatever it is you two are looking for."
Murphy stared at him. The toothpick he had been chewing on fell from his lips and hit the counter.
Connor forgot how to breathe and choked on air. It was the second time in one evening that the world had slipped sideways on him. Murphy gave his back a good thumping. "What're ya sayin', man?" He asked when he got his wind back.
Marc shrugged and wouldn’t meet their eyes. "I'm not trying to be judgmental. You seem like a great couple. It's just not my thing."
"We're not..." Connor began.
"He's not..." Murph's words ran over his. They both stopped and looked at each other.
Murphy was the first one to crack up laughing. "Brothers." He said, drawing the word out in an educational manner, pointing back and forth between himself and Connor. "Not boyfriends. Brothers."
Connor held one hand up like a boy scout, the other over his heart. "Swear to Christ. We wouldn’t fuck around with something like that."
"What the fuck made you think we were together?" Murph asked Marc.
Connor wanted to smack him. Jaysus, he didn't want to talk about this much longer.
Marc shrugged and didn’t look like he wanted to discuss it either. "I don’t know. The way you move, I guess. Like you've been together twenty-four-seven for a long time. And matching tattoos usually show a certain level of commitment."
"We have," Murph explained, flashing an unreadable glance Connor's way. "And they do. Just not like that."
"You're serious?" Marc still looked like a tourist in the wrong part of town.
"Completely," Murph assured him, and he did this thing when he said it, with his eyes and his voice. A statue would come to life to follow that voice, Connor thought. He wasn’t surprised a bit when Marc agreed to lead them to the bar with a pool table and play a couple games with them.
A couple games turned into a couple hours. A couple beers turned into a pitcher or three.
Connor occupied himself with the table--the feel of the cue in his hands, the sound of the break. He played every game and they took turns shooting against him. Marc wasn’t a bad player, but he rarely won, and that only with Murph's coaching. Connor beat Murphy a little less than half the games they play against each other, which was backwards from the way it usually was between them.
It was hard to concentrate on the game with Murphy flirting with a man in front of him. He watched small secret smiles pass between them, casual touches. Murph was more hyper than he had been in a long time, rabbitting on about fuck-all. Not that Marc seemed to mind.
He hated it, watching Murph waste a perfectly good mood on a stranger. More than that, he hated knowing he would be the only one going home alone that night.
"Gotta piss," Murph explained and headed off through the bar.
Marc looked like he'd have followed him, but Connor slid the pool cue into his path like a barricade.
"A minute of your time, Withesea?" He leaned back against the edge of the table, trying not to look so threatening as to distract the man from what he had to say.
Marc nodded. "Sure, Connor. What do you need?"
"I need y' to understand that's my brother you're leavin' with t'night. He's a good man. He won't lie or cheat or touch you any way you tell him not to." Marc nodded. Connor kept talking. "If you're not givin' him the same courtesy, there'll be violence, and neither of us wants that, aye? Do y'understand?"
"I understand." He seemed serious but not frightened.
Connor stood up and put the cue back in its rack. "Good." He turned to go. "Oh, Withesea? Fuck him without protection and I'll break your fucken arm."
He left the bar without looking back.