Boondock Saints/The Professional: Ainmhian (Mathilda, Connor\Murphy | NC-17)
Title: Ainmhian (Lust)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Mathilda, implied/fantasized Connor/Murphy, fantasized Connor/Murphy/Mathilda
Warnings/Labels: Twincest, masturbation, threesome
Word Count: 1702
Beta: metaallu
A/N: Written for mmom. Set in New York in the summer of 2001
Summary: After a successful hit with the Saints, Mathilda has some private time in the bath on a humid summer night.
On AO3
The humidity outside is oppressive. Even inside her apartment, Mathilda’s hair sticks to her skin and sweat runs down into her bra. The pathetic excuse for a window unit hums away just barely making the kitchen bearably.
The beer in her fingers is wet with condensation making it almost too slick to hold.
Connor and Murphy have stripped down to just their jeans. She can’t say she doesn’t enjoy the view.
Mathilda's seen them shirtless before as they patched each other up. She gave Murphy the neat line of dark stitches across his shoulder.
They’re quiet, all three of them, oppressed by the heat but there’s a energy vibrating in the two brothers.
Post kill high. Twelve bad men dead, a whole shit load of drugs burned, and not a scratch on any of them. A good night.
Mathilda feels it under her own skin. It makes her want to be a little bit reckless - like climb into Connor’s lap and lick the sweat off Murphy’s neck.
She wonders if Murphy’s tattoo there would taste different then the rest of his skin. She wonders if the brothers' skin would taste the same.
Mathilda takes a long swallow of beer. She not going to do anything though. She’s not the twelve-year-old that offered herself to Leon. There’s too much at stake to be reckless.
And she loved Leon. She doesn’t love the Saints.
Connor fishes a cigarette out of the pack on the table and starts to light up.
“Hey, no smoking inside,” Mathilda reminds him. She narrows her eyes slightly and glares like he’s a passerby that’s gotten in the way of her sights on a mark, but there isn’t much force behind it -- she’s too hot, too tired, and it’s Connor.
Connor gives her something close to puppy eyes. “Aw, c’mon, ‘Til, it’s a sweat box out there.”
“And it’s not in here?” Murphy counters, stealing the cigarette from his brother’s fingers.
Mathilda rolls her eyes, she honestly thinks they like fighting with each other sometimes.
“Get your own,” Connor shoots back trying to grab the cigarette back.
Murphy manages to get in a drag before Connor pulls it out of his brother’s mouth. The end of the cigarette goes into Connor’s mouth and he gives Murphy a challenging look.
She really should yell at them, but watching them makes her crave a cigarette like she hasn’t in years. They make her wonder what would happen if she stole the cigarette next.
“Surprised at you, brother,” Murphy says; and his fingers linger a moment too long on his brother's lips as he plucks the cigarette from his lips.“Breaking Mathilda's rules.” Murphy then, with a grin, drops the cigarette into Connor’s beer.
“My beer!” Connor complains.
Murphy just smiles back at his brother and Mathilda’s laughing even before Connor’s tackling Murphy off his chair and to the faded linoleum floor.
They’re like two little boys wrestling on the floor, grappling and trying to pin the other. Half-formed snatches of sentences come out, in Gaelic, Italian, French - like they’re half showing off, half finishing each others thoughts.
Mathilda laughs like she hasn’t in ages, until her sides hurt. Come to think of it, she’s laughed more since the Saints showed up and made a mess of her life, and her carefully laid out game plans then she has in all the years since her little brother died.
In the end, Murphy and Connor come to a stop in a pile, all tangled up with each other. They just lay there laughing breathlessly and it makes her mouth go a little dry.
She stands up and moves around the table. “I’m taking a bath, try not to break anything,” she says stepping over their bodies.
“Little hot for a bath,” Murphy points out, raising his head.
“Which is why I’m not taking a hot bath,” she shoots back.
“You be wanting some company?” Connor teases as Mathilda walks down the hall. She hears a thump, which she’s pretty sure is Murphy smacking his brother.
Mathilda looks back over her shoulder. “I can bathe myself just fine,” she says before pulling the bathroom door closed behind her. She leans up against the closed door and wishes for just a second that Connor had been serious. Or that the offer had been from both of them.
She plugs up the tub and turns on the cold water. “They’re brothers,” she reminds herself in the mirror, softly, her voice hidden under the sound of running water.
No harm in thinking it, her reflection seems to say back.
Mathilda strips off her clothes and sits on the closed toilet seat waiting for the tub to fill. She thinks of how Connor and Murphy stand so often, shoulder to shoulder, pressed into each others space. How they duck their heads together and speak, low and soft, so close she knows their breathing in the other's breath.
Brothers, twins, of course they’re close. But it easy for her imagine skin against skin, of them pressed close to the other like they were tonight wrestling on the floor. It’s easy for her to picture their mouths pressed together.
She shifts on the seat and shivers. She feels herself grow slick thinking of them in her spare bedroom, muffling their groans into each others' skin.
Mathilda licks her lips and leans over to turn off the water. No harm in thinking, fantasizing about them. It doesn’t mean she’ll act, that she’ll turn this whole situation into something more complicated that it needs to be.
She slides into the cold water and gasps softly. The water feels delicious against her over-heated sweat sticky skin. Mathilda dunks her head under the water and leans back against the tile wall. The bright yellow of her rubber duckie catches her eye at the end of the tub and with a smirk Mathilda leans forward and picks it up.
“Poor neglected thing,” she mummers. She half wonders if one of the boys have figured out exactly what this rubber duckie is. She thinks Connor wouldn’t have been able to resist teasing her about it. Murphy might have held his tongue though.
Spreading her legs in the water, Mathilda slides duck between her legs and squeezes the toy. The soft vibration starts and she bites her lip against a gasp.
She tilts her head back, torn between being quiet and not giving a fuck what the brothers McManus will think of her getting herself off in the bath. Mathilda closes her eyes and decides she really doesn’t care.
Licking her lips she lets her thoughts wander as her hips start to move. At first her mind lands on the image of pressed between Connor and Murphy, slick fingers between her legs, a hot mouth against her back. She moans softly, but pushes that fantasy aside as good as it is, in favor of the image of Connor pressed between his brother’s spread knees.
Murphy has one hand clenched in Connor’s hair, the other hand against Connor’s hip fingers pressing bruises into the pale skin. They move together in a rough unsteady rhythm, the brother’s biting at each others mouths as much as they kiss. Connor has a hand between them, fingers stretching to stroke both his and Murphy's cock at the same time.
Mathilda moans at the image, the sound loud in the quiet for the bathroom, the only other sound the sloshing of the water in the tub. Her thighs tremble as she rocks against the delicious vibration. She shifts her hips and it's even better.
In her head Connor and Murphy are moving faster against each other. Their breathing harsh as they swallow up the moans and cries of the other. Connor goes over the edge first, his spine curling and a low, wordless cry forced from his lungs. Murphy’s fingers tighten in Connor’s hair and he ruts up against his brother until he’s coming too. He bites Connor’s shoulder rather than cry out.
Then Murphy lifts his head slightly, looks over Connor’s shoulder and smiles. “See something you like, Mathilda?”
Mathilda arches up off the bottom of the tub, her fingers losing hold the toy which bobs up to the surface. She makes no more noise than a series of breathless gasps, her hips twitching and even the movement of the water feeling like its just too much sensation now.
Gradually, her body eases back down against the bottom of the tub and the water stills. Mathilda just lays there with her eyes closed just, floating on sensation for a while. When she opens her eyes, they drop to the rubber duck floating innocently by her hip.
She glances towards the door after a moment, some part of her brain expecting an audience, but the door is still shut.
The water is still cool around her but her fingers are starting to prune. Mathilda bathes quickly. She washes her hair, then dunks under the water to rinse it clean. Climbing out of the tub, she wishes she’d brought a change of clothes in with her, then decides to just wrap a towel around herself on the way to her bedroom.
The apartment is quiet, when she opens the door. The kitchen is dark, and the window out onto the fire escape is closed. Mathilda pads barefoot down the hall and dumps her clothes in the hamper.
She pauses outside her bedroom door and looks across to the spare bedroom. Barely two steps separating them across the cramped hall. She thinks she hears the sound of a mattress creaking and a muffled sound almost like a moan. Her hand reaches out for the doorknob, she licks her lips, and -- she drops her hand.
Mathilda turns around and goes into her own room. She pulls on panties and a tank top, then lays down on top of the sheets. Her hand slides under her pillow, curls briefly around the gun there.
She thinks about the smell of gunpowder, smoke, and blood; the taste of pizza and beer.
She thinks about Connor’s fingers gently stroking the shell of one of her turtles, of Murphy’s head bowed in prayer. She thinks about blue eyes and warm smiles.
Sleep comes slowly.
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Mathilda, implied/fantasized Connor/Murphy, fantasized Connor/Murphy/Mathilda
Warnings/Labels: Twincest, masturbation, threesome
Word Count: 1702
Beta: metaallu
A/N: Written for mmom. Set in New York in the summer of 2001
Summary: After a successful hit with the Saints, Mathilda has some private time in the bath on a humid summer night.
On AO3
The humidity outside is oppressive. Even inside her apartment, Mathilda’s hair sticks to her skin and sweat runs down into her bra. The pathetic excuse for a window unit hums away just barely making the kitchen bearably.
The beer in her fingers is wet with condensation making it almost too slick to hold.
Connor and Murphy have stripped down to just their jeans. She can’t say she doesn’t enjoy the view.
Mathilda's seen them shirtless before as they patched each other up. She gave Murphy the neat line of dark stitches across his shoulder.
They’re quiet, all three of them, oppressed by the heat but there’s a energy vibrating in the two brothers.
Post kill high. Twelve bad men dead, a whole shit load of drugs burned, and not a scratch on any of them. A good night.
Mathilda feels it under her own skin. It makes her want to be a little bit reckless - like climb into Connor’s lap and lick the sweat off Murphy’s neck.
She wonders if Murphy’s tattoo there would taste different then the rest of his skin. She wonders if the brothers' skin would taste the same.
Mathilda takes a long swallow of beer. She not going to do anything though. She’s not the twelve-year-old that offered herself to Leon. There’s too much at stake to be reckless.
And she loved Leon. She doesn’t love the Saints.
Connor fishes a cigarette out of the pack on the table and starts to light up.
“Hey, no smoking inside,” Mathilda reminds him. She narrows her eyes slightly and glares like he’s a passerby that’s gotten in the way of her sights on a mark, but there isn’t much force behind it -- she’s too hot, too tired, and it’s Connor.
Connor gives her something close to puppy eyes. “Aw, c’mon, ‘Til, it’s a sweat box out there.”
“And it’s not in here?” Murphy counters, stealing the cigarette from his brother’s fingers.
Mathilda rolls her eyes, she honestly thinks they like fighting with each other sometimes.
“Get your own,” Connor shoots back trying to grab the cigarette back.
Murphy manages to get in a drag before Connor pulls it out of his brother’s mouth. The end of the cigarette goes into Connor’s mouth and he gives Murphy a challenging look.
She really should yell at them, but watching them makes her crave a cigarette like she hasn’t in years. They make her wonder what would happen if she stole the cigarette next.
“Surprised at you, brother,” Murphy says; and his fingers linger a moment too long on his brother's lips as he plucks the cigarette from his lips.“Breaking Mathilda's rules.” Murphy then, with a grin, drops the cigarette into Connor’s beer.
“My beer!” Connor complains.
Murphy just smiles back at his brother and Mathilda’s laughing even before Connor’s tackling Murphy off his chair and to the faded linoleum floor.
They’re like two little boys wrestling on the floor, grappling and trying to pin the other. Half-formed snatches of sentences come out, in Gaelic, Italian, French - like they’re half showing off, half finishing each others thoughts.
Mathilda laughs like she hasn’t in ages, until her sides hurt. Come to think of it, she’s laughed more since the Saints showed up and made a mess of her life, and her carefully laid out game plans then she has in all the years since her little brother died.
In the end, Murphy and Connor come to a stop in a pile, all tangled up with each other. They just lay there laughing breathlessly and it makes her mouth go a little dry.
She stands up and moves around the table. “I’m taking a bath, try not to break anything,” she says stepping over their bodies.
“Little hot for a bath,” Murphy points out, raising his head.
“Which is why I’m not taking a hot bath,” she shoots back.
“You be wanting some company?” Connor teases as Mathilda walks down the hall. She hears a thump, which she’s pretty sure is Murphy smacking his brother.
Mathilda looks back over her shoulder. “I can bathe myself just fine,” she says before pulling the bathroom door closed behind her. She leans up against the closed door and wishes for just a second that Connor had been serious. Or that the offer had been from both of them.
She plugs up the tub and turns on the cold water. “They’re brothers,” she reminds herself in the mirror, softly, her voice hidden under the sound of running water.
No harm in thinking it, her reflection seems to say back.
Mathilda strips off her clothes and sits on the closed toilet seat waiting for the tub to fill. She thinks of how Connor and Murphy stand so often, shoulder to shoulder, pressed into each others space. How they duck their heads together and speak, low and soft, so close she knows their breathing in the other's breath.
Brothers, twins, of course they’re close. But it easy for her imagine skin against skin, of them pressed close to the other like they were tonight wrestling on the floor. It’s easy for her to picture their mouths pressed together.
She shifts on the seat and shivers. She feels herself grow slick thinking of them in her spare bedroom, muffling their groans into each others' skin.
Mathilda licks her lips and leans over to turn off the water. No harm in thinking, fantasizing about them. It doesn’t mean she’ll act, that she’ll turn this whole situation into something more complicated that it needs to be.
She slides into the cold water and gasps softly. The water feels delicious against her over-heated sweat sticky skin. Mathilda dunks her head under the water and leans back against the tile wall. The bright yellow of her rubber duckie catches her eye at the end of the tub and with a smirk Mathilda leans forward and picks it up.
“Poor neglected thing,” she mummers. She half wonders if one of the boys have figured out exactly what this rubber duckie is. She thinks Connor wouldn’t have been able to resist teasing her about it. Murphy might have held his tongue though.
Spreading her legs in the water, Mathilda slides duck between her legs and squeezes the toy. The soft vibration starts and she bites her lip against a gasp.
She tilts her head back, torn between being quiet and not giving a fuck what the brothers McManus will think of her getting herself off in the bath. Mathilda closes her eyes and decides she really doesn’t care.
Licking her lips she lets her thoughts wander as her hips start to move. At first her mind lands on the image of pressed between Connor and Murphy, slick fingers between her legs, a hot mouth against her back. She moans softly, but pushes that fantasy aside as good as it is, in favor of the image of Connor pressed between his brother’s spread knees.
Murphy has one hand clenched in Connor’s hair, the other hand against Connor’s hip fingers pressing bruises into the pale skin. They move together in a rough unsteady rhythm, the brother’s biting at each others mouths as much as they kiss. Connor has a hand between them, fingers stretching to stroke both his and Murphy's cock at the same time.
Mathilda moans at the image, the sound loud in the quiet for the bathroom, the only other sound the sloshing of the water in the tub. Her thighs tremble as she rocks against the delicious vibration. She shifts her hips and it's even better.
In her head Connor and Murphy are moving faster against each other. Their breathing harsh as they swallow up the moans and cries of the other. Connor goes over the edge first, his spine curling and a low, wordless cry forced from his lungs. Murphy’s fingers tighten in Connor’s hair and he ruts up against his brother until he’s coming too. He bites Connor’s shoulder rather than cry out.
Then Murphy lifts his head slightly, looks over Connor’s shoulder and smiles. “See something you like, Mathilda?”
Mathilda arches up off the bottom of the tub, her fingers losing hold the toy which bobs up to the surface. She makes no more noise than a series of breathless gasps, her hips twitching and even the movement of the water feeling like its just too much sensation now.
Gradually, her body eases back down against the bottom of the tub and the water stills. Mathilda just lays there with her eyes closed just, floating on sensation for a while. When she opens her eyes, they drop to the rubber duck floating innocently by her hip.
She glances towards the door after a moment, some part of her brain expecting an audience, but the door is still shut.
The water is still cool around her but her fingers are starting to prune. Mathilda bathes quickly. She washes her hair, then dunks under the water to rinse it clean. Climbing out of the tub, she wishes she’d brought a change of clothes in with her, then decides to just wrap a towel around herself on the way to her bedroom.
The apartment is quiet, when she opens the door. The kitchen is dark, and the window out onto the fire escape is closed. Mathilda pads barefoot down the hall and dumps her clothes in the hamper.
She pauses outside her bedroom door and looks across to the spare bedroom. Barely two steps separating them across the cramped hall. She thinks she hears the sound of a mattress creaking and a muffled sound almost like a moan. Her hand reaches out for the doorknob, she licks her lips, and -- she drops her hand.
Mathilda turns around and goes into her own room. She pulls on panties and a tank top, then lays down on top of the sheets. Her hand slides under her pillow, curls briefly around the gun there.
She thinks about the smell of gunpowder, smoke, and blood; the taste of pizza and beer.
She thinks about Connor’s fingers gently stroking the shell of one of her turtles, of Murphy’s head bowed in prayer. She thinks about blue eyes and warm smiles.
Sleep comes slowly.