BDS FIC: [prompt: crucify ; ficlet]
This was originally posted a year ago. Sept. 25, 2006. But I'm cleaning up my old journals and all fiction is being put here.
Title: [prompt: crucify]
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Rating: PG
Warnings: twincest if you squint
A/N: As mentioned, written a year ago. Mind the quality.
Murphy sometimes thought what it would be like to be on a crucifix, and where Connor would be.
Against his shoulder, the cloth of his twin's peacoat rubbed on his own, and Murphy's mind was brought out of the clean state that came with prayer and church and Connor, and narrowed to the throbbing beat of his blood. Yesterday's job had caught him straight on, through the shoulder and out, angled with God's luck to miss shattering the shoulderblade. But it seemed like his heart had relocated since then; it took to thrashing hard beneath the skin there, like it wanted to jump out.
Connor leaned forward more, the breathy stream of Latin words like sharp demands, his body in front of Murphy's now. And tilted, like he was made on a slant, toward the left, toward Murphy; protective, the motion, his brother was a shield, the reason his heart was still inside his flesh.
Prayers were between God and his follower, private, hallowed land, not to be eavesdropped on, or repeated. Hearing the words of others around him speaking their askance, Murphy often felt guilt-laden for knowing a bit of what they said to God. Their most precious wish or deepest repentance weighed on him like he burdened their very souls in a way that no mafioso or dealer could. It was times like these he went to his brother in a simple turning of his mind and found sanctuary in the emptied places while his twin poured out his self to God. And when his lips stopped moving, a gentle pant exhaling the fervency, his twin kissed his cross, hand dropping and skimming between their thighs, and Murphy was emptied of Connor's words, and Connor was full with Murphy's space.
When Murphy listened to Connor's prayers, he had no doubt where his brother would be. Beside him, changing the very Treasury of Latin Prayer until Virgin Mary relented and took his brother to Heaven.
Beatam, Connor whispered, every day, over and over again, Benedicta. Orare pro mei frater.
i beseech you. bless him. i pray for my brother.
Title: [prompt: crucify]
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Rating: PG
Warnings: twincest if you squint
A/N: As mentioned, written a year ago. Mind the quality.
Murphy sometimes thought what it would be like to be on a crucifix, and where Connor would be.
Against his shoulder, the cloth of his twin's peacoat rubbed on his own, and Murphy's mind was brought out of the clean state that came with prayer and church and Connor, and narrowed to the throbbing beat of his blood. Yesterday's job had caught him straight on, through the shoulder and out, angled with God's luck to miss shattering the shoulderblade. But it seemed like his heart had relocated since then; it took to thrashing hard beneath the skin there, like it wanted to jump out.
Connor leaned forward more, the breathy stream of Latin words like sharp demands, his body in front of Murphy's now. And tilted, like he was made on a slant, toward the left, toward Murphy; protective, the motion, his brother was a shield, the reason his heart was still inside his flesh.
Prayers were between God and his follower, private, hallowed land, not to be eavesdropped on, or repeated. Hearing the words of others around him speaking their askance, Murphy often felt guilt-laden for knowing a bit of what they said to God. Their most precious wish or deepest repentance weighed on him like he burdened their very souls in a way that no mafioso or dealer could. It was times like these he went to his brother in a simple turning of his mind and found sanctuary in the emptied places while his twin poured out his self to God. And when his lips stopped moving, a gentle pant exhaling the fervency, his twin kissed his cross, hand dropping and skimming between their thighs, and Murphy was emptied of Connor's words, and Connor was full with Murphy's space.
When Murphy listened to Connor's prayers, he had no doubt where his brother would be. Beside him, changing the very Treasury of Latin Prayer until Virgin Mary relented and took his brother to Heaven.
Beatam, Connor whispered, every day, over and over again, Benedicta. Orare pro mei frater.
i beseech you. bless him. i pray for my brother.