FIC: "Two Fingers, Neat" - 1/1, PG13, CM/MM, BDS
Title: Two Fingers, Neat
Fandom: The Boondock Saints
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: PG13
Summary: There's drinking, and then there's drinking.
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Notes: The 'thirtieth day of Christmas', and this is for moonmelody because she deserves pretty boys and alcohol.
"You're drunk."
Murphy looks up from his glass, blinks owlishly at Connor. "So's your mother." As comebacks go, Murphy thinks it's a fine one. Which just indicates how drunk he really is. A fact emphasized by the flat of Connor's hand applied to the back of Murphy's head with significant force.
"Watch how you fuckin' talk about our fuckin' mother."
Rubbing the back of his head, glaring at his twin, Murphy reaches for the bottle of Jameson's with his free hand. Connor beats him to it. "Hey now!"
"You're drunk."
"So're you," Murphy protests, managing just the right touch of indignation.
Connor can't deny it, not when he's matched Murphy shot for shot. "I can hold it better."
"The fuck you say! And why is that?"
"I'm older."
"Are not."
"I am."
"Ma said --"
"I know what Ma said," Connor says, pouring himself another shot and flashing a smirk at Murphy. "And that little bit of a thing 'tween your fuckin' legs proves it."
"Little..." Murphy sputters and lunges across the table. There are a few moments of scuffling, which ends only when the bottle tips over and whiskey splashes on their heads.
"Fuck!"
"You weren't fuckin' saying that the other fuckin' night when I was fuckin' balls deep up your arse."
"Yes, well," Connor says, sprawled on the floor, managing to look debauched and innocent all at the same time, "I was drunk."
"You're drunk now," Murphy points out, crawling over and straddling Connor.
"Hmm..." Eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands lightly kneading Murphy's hips, Connor ponders that for a moment. "So I am."
"What I fuckin' thought," Murphy murmurs, and lowers his head.
Fandom: The Boondock Saints
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: PG13
Summary: There's drinking, and then there's drinking.
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Notes: The 'thirtieth day of Christmas', and this is for moonmelody because she deserves pretty boys and alcohol.
"You're drunk."
Murphy looks up from his glass, blinks owlishly at Connor. "So's your mother." As comebacks go, Murphy thinks it's a fine one. Which just indicates how drunk he really is. A fact emphasized by the flat of Connor's hand applied to the back of Murphy's head with significant force.
"Watch how you fuckin' talk about our fuckin' mother."
Rubbing the back of his head, glaring at his twin, Murphy reaches for the bottle of Jameson's with his free hand. Connor beats him to it. "Hey now!"
"You're drunk."
"So're you," Murphy protests, managing just the right touch of indignation.
Connor can't deny it, not when he's matched Murphy shot for shot. "I can hold it better."
"The fuck you say! And why is that?"
"I'm older."
"Are not."
"I am."
"Ma said --"
"I know what Ma said," Connor says, pouring himself another shot and flashing a smirk at Murphy. "And that little bit of a thing 'tween your fuckin' legs proves it."
"Little..." Murphy sputters and lunges across the table. There are a few moments of scuffling, which ends only when the bottle tips over and whiskey splashes on their heads.
"Fuck!"
"You weren't fuckin' saying that the other fuckin' night when I was fuckin' balls deep up your arse."
"Yes, well," Connor says, sprawled on the floor, managing to look debauched and innocent all at the same time, "I was drunk."
"You're drunk now," Murphy points out, crawling over and straddling Connor.
"Hmm..." Eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands lightly kneading Murphy's hips, Connor ponders that for a moment. "So I am."
"What I fuckin' thought," Murphy murmurs, and lowers his head.