Look After Your Brother ch 13
It was like walking around on the other side of the looking glass, being without Murphy. Nothing seemed quite like it did when he had his brother at his side to balance things. The world felt like a strange place, hollow and hostile. He took the train as close to home as it went, and then started walking.
The beer was still in his blood, muddling his thinking, weakening his defenses. Every step away from Murphy was pain, an ache so deep and dull that he couldn’t say where it hurt, because everything did. He had no anger to protect him from it this time.
For Murphy, he kept repeating to himself, because nothing else would be worth this. Christ, but he hoped his brother was happy this night, and just as much, he hoped he wasn’t, so that this would never happen to them again.
He didn’t know how long he walked. His first destination was McGinty's, but the thought of the regulars there asking where Murph was kept him from turning down that block.
He wanted to go to church, but the thought of stepping into a holy place with such confused and impure desires made him feel ill.
The world felt too close. His skin felt too tight. He wanted, he required, release of some sort. He looked for a fight--gang kids, a mugger, some drunk staggering home with more ego than sense. Anything would have done.
On this night when he needed it most, God chose to keep trouble far from his path. His feet were sore from walking when the tightening spiral of his wanderings led him back to the still and empty house.
Murph had the key. They hadn't had a use for a second one until a few days ago, when Connor left Murphy at the pub. He entered the house the same way this time as he had then, breaking in through an unlocked back window. With a sigh, he pointed his exhausted body towards the shower. A trail of discarded clothing marked his path. The heat of the water felt good on tired muscles and tense shoulders, but did nothing for the only ache that mattered.
He had to have the release. He braced one palm against the tile wall and then gave up resisting the urge. He closed his eyes and took himself in hand.
God's truth, he tried to picture a scene from one of Rocco's videos. He had a good memory. It shouldn’t have been that difficult.
Visions of Murphy kept distracting him from the manky porn girls. Murphy smiling. Murphy closing his eyes in pleasure as he took that first drag off of his cigarette in the morning. He remembered the way Murphy had tipped his head for the tattoo artist to put the saint on his neck and the groan that slipped from those perfect lips as the needle hit skin. He stroked himself to the thought of Murphy in that fucken rayon shirt and the jeans that didn’t fit right on his hips.
Jaysus. Murphy out of that fucken rayon shirt and the jeans that didn’t fit right.
With a hoarse cry he came against the wall of the shower, his seed washed away down the drain as quickly as it fell. For that one moment he was not alone, not afraid, not hurting.
But Murphy wasn’t there, and he knew himself for the sick fuck he was, wanking to thoughts of his own fucken brother. He couldn’t pretend anymore. He couldn’t ignore it. A hollow man, he struggled to his feet, unsure when exactly he had gone down to his knees.
He grabbed a towel off the rack and stumbled into the bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights. Without ever making the choice, he found himself falling into Murph's bed instead of his own.
The smells of his brother enveloped him. God a'mighty it was too much. His right hand slid over the rumpled sheets, and in his mind he touched Murphy's chest. His left hand pressed against his own sex through the rough fabric of the towel.
It didn’t feel good, but he clung to the intensity of that sensation. The fucken thing hadn’t even gotten soft, and there it was, hard again. Sensitive skin rubbed against coarse cloth.
He rolled over onto his stomach, thrusting with frantic energy into his fist. He had no willpower, no self-control. Murphy's pillow pressed against his face, smothering him with the other's presence. A sob slipped from his throat.
"Murph..."
The sensations swelled until they shattered him.
-------
The sound of the front door closing pulled Connor from his fitful sleep. Footsteps, Murphy's, echoed down the hall, coming closer. He rolled over and pulled the towel over himself. No time to get dressed. He suppressed a hiss as the cloth rubbed abraded skin, and cursed himself for his stupidity.
"Conn?" Murphy stood silhouetted by the hall light, looking around for him. "Fuck, there y'are. What're y'doin' in my bed?"
Connor propped himself up on one elbow. "Closer than mine," he mumbled, trying to sort himself out. Beyond the lacy curtains it was still dark, so he hadn’t slept that long.
"What're ya doin' home, Murph? Didn’t expect y'back before dawn." He searched his brother's face, looking for some hint as to why he would have left what seemed like a perfectly nice young man to come back to an empty bed.
Murphy smirked and shrugged. "We were done." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Fuck, Connor, you gotta try it. I mean with a girl or somethin'. It was fucken brilliant. Not like workin' at all."
Connor groaned and wrinkled his nose. The bitter smells of sex and sweat fought an ugly battle with the too-sweet scent of whatever lube they had used. "God, Murph, y'fucken reek. Jaysus, go take a fucken shower."
Murphy laughed and let himself be pushed off the bed, heading for the bathroom but not closing the door. Connor fumbled on a pair of boxers and a bathrobe, careful to not look at what Murphy was doing. The last thing he could bear to see would be a hickey or bite or a scratch from a careless fingernail.
When he heard the sound of the shower he went to sit on the toilet lid, just to be closer to the other half of himself.
"Are y'happy then, Murph?" He asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
He could hear the smile in his brother's voice. "Fuck, Conn...tha things he did."
Connor closed his eyes against the image those words conjured.
"The things he let me do..."
"For fuck's sake, Murph!"
The spew of Murphy's words stopped.
"I don't need a fucken play-by-play. I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t owing him brain damage."
Sounds of movement ended on the other side of the thin plastic curtain. The falling water was steady as Murphy let it pour over his still body.
"I'm glad you're happy," Connor said, and tried to mean it.