A Major Fall (BDS; 1/1)
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TWINCEST YE-YEAH, BOYS AND GIRLS.
the only thing about boondock saints is, it's so darn religious that it lends itself to dramatization. which, apparently in 2006, i embraced wholeheartedly. woof. it's still decent. writing bds is when i got good, i think.
A Major Fall
boondock saints; connor/murphy
1200 words
r for sexual situations
songfic for my all-time favorite song, "hallelujah" by leonard cohen.
I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord
Murph falls in love on all fours; he eats up the girls and runs his tongue along the boys, but he basically tries to do it right. He wants to light fires with matches; he doesn’t want to make it accidentally, by rubbing sticks together too hard. He has been taught well that that just isn’t the way of things.
God particularly doesn’t like him licking boys, but he works to reconcile that idea with himself; if he makes it a true love, a complete love, and gives in to it selflessly, maybe that will be close enough. And so he spills open for his loves, he makes the tools of passion with them to strike at just the right moment.
The size of his life is small but his heart is big and he likes to fill it and use it and make it whole.
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
Murph is sitting on the cool, dirty floor of his apartment when Connor comes through the door, home from work for the night. The door is heavy and slams itself as Connor lets it fall behind him, collapsing face-first onto the couch without casting a glance to Murph, who is no more interesting a presence than the alarm clock, or the lamp on the kitchen table.
Connor’s body makes a strange curve, pitched over the arm of the unfurling couch. They are both dark-skinned from the sheer length of an inner city summer but Connor looks like something worth saving for later. His shirt is hitched up around his ribs and the back pocket of his jeans is thick with a leather wallet that came over with them from Ireland.
And looking on at the motionless form, Murph knows what he wants and he’s felt the pull. As permanent and familiar a fixture in each others’ lives he has still seen the looks Connor holds onto without a word, and the way Connor’s interest will perk when Murph’s body twists a certain way.
But Murph will not give into that. He knows that particular pang is one not ever meant to be fulfilled, and he does not want to gamble eternal grace on a need so primitive and animal. He doesn’t want the filthy, wrong, and sordid; his soul is stronger than that. He has his faith above all else and, God help him, he will not let that fall away.
It goes like this
Yet when he sleeps he feels hands, light, confident, gracing his back with soft touches -
The fourth
He smells skin warm and clean against the tip of his nose -
The fifth
Holds a body -
The major fall
Kisses -
The minor lift
Feels them grapple and then smooth out into tempo with chords in between, making and remaking God -
The baffled king composing hallelujah
And then Murph will jolt out of bed and climb out onto the fire escape to be smothered by the noise and stench and humid breath of the city.
Hallelujah
He will think of him -
Hallelujah
- think of him -
Hallelujah
- feel that pull of a gaze that will lead him back, back into the wrong bed -
Hallelujah
- and Murph will shake out of his blank stare, smoking until dawn.
You say I took the name in vain; I don’t even know the name
Murph prays in Latin, swears in Latin. Ave Maria ... and then asks forgiveness. He holds his heart close and keeps God in his fibers. He feels God in the polished maple pews under his white knuckles, and feels the weight of Him around his neck.
And yet sometimes he cannot find faith in his own soul, or in his eyes and what they see when the lights are out. He reads what is right and memorizes what is wrong but they contradict and Murph is frantic for an answer. He needs to know if sin is more important than to thine ownself being true.
Where is God in this? Who can tell him? How can Murph be evil if he can’t be sure what evil is? His heart echoes with a truth he’s known his whole life but he has known sin just as long, and twinges sharp in his mind like a warning.
But if I did, well really - what’s it to you?
Sometimes Murph wonders, if he knew the answer to the question, would it change anything at all.
There’s a blaze of light in every word
Murph feels the energy of a lifetime held inside his desire. His desire to know, to have, to want, and to be. He steals moments inside of a Northeastern chemistry class and learns that everything has a wavelength, even him, and then he feels it humming and burning, spreading out thin over the city, and lighting him up inside with panic. Love, don’t love, touch, feel, breathe him, hold the light he keeps for you in one palm -
It doesn’t matter which you heard
He doesn’t care doesn’t care -
The holy or the broken hallelujah
He wants with every second of his life to make that space between back and bed sheets, with Connor over him in the dark -
And he will say Ave Maria and feel the thunder of the hymnal in his breath as he whispers. He will feel rebellion, and charged with purpose, and it will not matter right or wrong because they are small and God is forgiving and Murph can’t want anything more than the sweat coating their bodies and the carnal pleasure that results from being selfish and unholy. Give him to me.
So when Connor comes home the next night and toes out of his shoes, when he absently steps over Murph on the way to the refrigerator, Murph follows and stands lightly at Connor’s back, leaning in with his chest to Connor’s teeshirt. When Connor turns Murph can feel the heat in his own eyes; he watches as Connor reads it effortlessly and sets aside the jug of orange juice.
And oh God the earthly pleasure that courses through his thighs and tightens his stomach under the slide of Connor’s fingers.
Hallelujah
The hands that follow ribs down to trembling hips -
Hallelujah
The pressure and the tension that builds as they hold back -
Hallelujah
And the hiss of breath and the melting sensation of letting go, of fitting together.
Hallelujah
There is no answer, there will be no answer. But there will be no life without this love, and the end is too near to sit waiting for guidance, and while he can feel this heat and pulse and breath inside him he will hold Connor’s shirt, will pull Connor back against his body and lay his hands on soft arm hairs. He will guide their kiss to soothe the ache of hunger and he will say I don’t care and Connor will say Thank Christ and the melody of hymn will die away into a harmony.
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Hallelujah
He will slide onto Connor’s chest -
Hallelujah
Feel Connor’s hands on the backs of his thighs -
Hallelujah
Skip a heartbeat and then feel the pounding in his chest -
Hallelujah
And finally he will take the long, slow, kisses that will bring him home.
[end]
and fuck shit ass do i miss this fandom.
TWINCEST YE-YEAH, BOYS AND GIRLS.
the only thing about boondock saints is, it's so darn religious that it lends itself to dramatization. which, apparently in 2006, i embraced wholeheartedly. woof. it's still decent. writing bds is when i got good, i think.
A Major Fall
boondock saints; connor/murphy
1200 words
r for sexual situations
songfic for my all-time favorite song, "hallelujah" by leonard cohen.
I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord
Murph falls in love on all fours; he eats up the girls and runs his tongue along the boys, but he basically tries to do it right. He wants to light fires with matches; he doesn’t want to make it accidentally, by rubbing sticks together too hard. He has been taught well that that just isn’t the way of things.
God particularly doesn’t like him licking boys, but he works to reconcile that idea with himself; if he makes it a true love, a complete love, and gives in to it selflessly, maybe that will be close enough. And so he spills open for his loves, he makes the tools of passion with them to strike at just the right moment.
The size of his life is small but his heart is big and he likes to fill it and use it and make it whole.
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
Murph is sitting on the cool, dirty floor of his apartment when Connor comes through the door, home from work for the night. The door is heavy and slams itself as Connor lets it fall behind him, collapsing face-first onto the couch without casting a glance to Murph, who is no more interesting a presence than the alarm clock, or the lamp on the kitchen table.
Connor’s body makes a strange curve, pitched over the arm of the unfurling couch. They are both dark-skinned from the sheer length of an inner city summer but Connor looks like something worth saving for later. His shirt is hitched up around his ribs and the back pocket of his jeans is thick with a leather wallet that came over with them from Ireland.
And looking on at the motionless form, Murph knows what he wants and he’s felt the pull. As permanent and familiar a fixture in each others’ lives he has still seen the looks Connor holds onto without a word, and the way Connor’s interest will perk when Murph’s body twists a certain way.
But Murph will not give into that. He knows that particular pang is one not ever meant to be fulfilled, and he does not want to gamble eternal grace on a need so primitive and animal. He doesn’t want the filthy, wrong, and sordid; his soul is stronger than that. He has his faith above all else and, God help him, he will not let that fall away.
It goes like this
Yet when he sleeps he feels hands, light, confident, gracing his back with soft touches -
The fourth
He smells skin warm and clean against the tip of his nose -
The fifth
Holds a body -
The major fall
Kisses -
The minor lift
Feels them grapple and then smooth out into tempo with chords in between, making and remaking God -
The baffled king composing hallelujah
And then Murph will jolt out of bed and climb out onto the fire escape to be smothered by the noise and stench and humid breath of the city.
Hallelujah
He will think of him -
Hallelujah
- think of him -
Hallelujah
- feel that pull of a gaze that will lead him back, back into the wrong bed -
Hallelujah
- and Murph will shake out of his blank stare, smoking until dawn.
You say I took the name in vain; I don’t even know the name
Murph prays in Latin, swears in Latin. Ave Maria ... and then asks forgiveness. He holds his heart close and keeps God in his fibers. He feels God in the polished maple pews under his white knuckles, and feels the weight of Him around his neck.
And yet sometimes he cannot find faith in his own soul, or in his eyes and what they see when the lights are out. He reads what is right and memorizes what is wrong but they contradict and Murph is frantic for an answer. He needs to know if sin is more important than to thine ownself being true.
Where is God in this? Who can tell him? How can Murph be evil if he can’t be sure what evil is? His heart echoes with a truth he’s known his whole life but he has known sin just as long, and twinges sharp in his mind like a warning.
But if I did, well really - what’s it to you?
Sometimes Murph wonders, if he knew the answer to the question, would it change anything at all.
There’s a blaze of light in every word
Murph feels the energy of a lifetime held inside his desire. His desire to know, to have, to want, and to be. He steals moments inside of a Northeastern chemistry class and learns that everything has a wavelength, even him, and then he feels it humming and burning, spreading out thin over the city, and lighting him up inside with panic. Love, don’t love, touch, feel, breathe him, hold the light he keeps for you in one palm -
It doesn’t matter which you heard
He doesn’t care doesn’t care -
The holy or the broken hallelujah
He wants with every second of his life to make that space between back and bed sheets, with Connor over him in the dark -
And he will say Ave Maria and feel the thunder of the hymnal in his breath as he whispers. He will feel rebellion, and charged with purpose, and it will not matter right or wrong because they are small and God is forgiving and Murph can’t want anything more than the sweat coating their bodies and the carnal pleasure that results from being selfish and unholy. Give him to me.
So when Connor comes home the next night and toes out of his shoes, when he absently steps over Murph on the way to the refrigerator, Murph follows and stands lightly at Connor’s back, leaning in with his chest to Connor’s teeshirt. When Connor turns Murph can feel the heat in his own eyes; he watches as Connor reads it effortlessly and sets aside the jug of orange juice.
And oh God the earthly pleasure that courses through his thighs and tightens his stomach under the slide of Connor’s fingers.
Hallelujah
The hands that follow ribs down to trembling hips -
Hallelujah
The pressure and the tension that builds as they hold back -
Hallelujah
And the hiss of breath and the melting sensation of letting go, of fitting together.
Hallelujah
There is no answer, there will be no answer. But there will be no life without this love, and the end is too near to sit waiting for guidance, and while he can feel this heat and pulse and breath inside him he will hold Connor’s shirt, will pull Connor back against his body and lay his hands on soft arm hairs. He will guide their kiss to soothe the ache of hunger and he will say I don’t care and Connor will say Thank Christ and the melody of hymn will die away into a harmony.
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Hallelujah
He will slide onto Connor’s chest -
Hallelujah
Feel Connor’s hands on the backs of his thighs -
Hallelujah
Skip a heartbeat and then feel the pounding in his chest -
Hallelujah
And finally he will take the long, slow, kisses that will bring him home.
[end]
and fuck shit ass do i miss this fandom.