Look After Your brother Ch 18
Title: Look After Your Brother ch 18
Author: LadyJanelly
Pairing: c/m
Rating: NC-17 ish.
Warnings: Slash, light s&m.
Disclaimer: I own no Irish boys, nor do I make any money from the wicked thoughts they give me.
Notes: thanks to 4bdnsn0flake for her wonderful feedback and input on this story.
Chapter 18
"I can fucken take care of myself!" Murphy gave Connor a good shove, smacking him against the wall of the alley they were using to take a shortcut home.
For a week, Connor had thought everything would be fine again. Murphy was happy. He didn’t want to go looking for men to date. He and Connor went out to McGinty's almost every night. Together. The next week wasn’t as good. Murph became moody, more fidgety than normal. The week after that, he became downright confrontational, starting fights with anything that moved, and especially Connor. A bar fight against some big fucken biker had ended up a fight between the two of them on the walk home.
Connor shoved back. "The man was three hundred pound, Murphy! He was chokin' th' life outta ya! I had to break a fucken pool cue over him ta get him off of ya! You were not fucken takin' care of yourself!"
His hands were clenched into fists at his side, so tight that his joints hurt. The thought that Murphy expected him to just watch that happen brought out a fury in him.
Something changed in Murphy. Even in the dim light of the alley Connor could read it. Anger turned in a heartbeat to something else, that hunger he saw in Murphy the night with the belt.
"Ya gonna hit me, Conn?"
Connor could hear Murphy's need being thrown out as a challenge, a slap to the face demanding a response.
It left him cold.
"What th' fuck?" He watched Murphy chew at his upper lip. "Is that what this whole fucken week has been about, Murphy? Jaysus you coulda fucken asked."
Anger flared anew in his brother's eyes. "I don' fucken beg, Conn."
And Connor was reminded of just how little he really knew of what Murphy had been doing for the last few months when they were apart.
"I didn't say beg, Murph." He resisted the urge to touch his brother's tense shoulders, to stroke his hair, to kiss his fears away. "Just ask. Or fuck, just tell me." He hoped Murphy could see how much he meant it.
Murphy nodded. "Fine. I'm tellin' ya."
Connor's head began to throb. "Tomorrow."
"What?" Hurt and betrayal made Murphy's voice sharp. He turned away in disgust and Connor took him by the shoulders, making him look back.
"Murphy, I've got three pints an' a bar fight behind me tonight." He knew his fingers were pressing in too hard but he couldn’t stop them. What he was saying was too important. "I'm no' fucken this up by bein' drunk an' angry. Tomorrow. Swear t' Christ."
Murphy searched Connor's eyes for something and seemed to find it. "Okay, Conn."
Tomorrow came and he still wished it didn’t need to be done, but to give Murphy what he needed and keep him safe from the uncaring hands of strangers, he'd do it. As little as he wanted to raise a belt to his brother he faced it like a man and brought it up before Murphy had to.
Murphy, for his part, seemed to understand the reluctance Connor tried to hide. "Y'don' have t' do this, Conn." But the need showed through regardless.
Connor wouldn’t let Murphy go without something he so obviously needed. He wouldn’t let some stranger have Murphy at his mercy, helpless and vulnerable. He wouldn’t let Murphy do this himself, cause himself an injury or fall into more extreme activities.
Even as he said those things he knew there was a deeper reason. He wanted to be important to Murphy again. He wanted Murphy to need nobody but him.
He sat on the foot of the bed, feeling like a med student at his first autopsy, sick and excited both. He watched as Murphy took off his shirt and pulled his belt free from his jeans. Connor took short shallow breaths as Murphy lifted Connor's hand in his and pressed the still-warm leather into his palm.
Murphy turned to face the wall, pausing a moment as he unzipped his fly, but he left the jeans on. His bare feet spread out a little more than shoulder-width on the manky carpet. The demons on his shoulder rippled as he leaned in, elbows and forearms and those beautiful hands resting against the faux-wood paneling.
They stayed like that for a long time--Murphy leaning against the wall, Connor sitting on the bed with the belt. He had never seen his brother so still for so long. He moved to his feet and saw Murphy's weight shift, responding to the quiet sounds of Connor's boots on the carpet.
"Don' let me fuck this up, Murph." He whispered, his voice so tight that he didn’t sound like himself.
"You won't, Connor."
The level of trust Murphy had in him was almost intimidating.
The first fall of the belt was too gentle. It barely slapped against the smooth skin, more falling than hitting. His brother twitched but didn’t flinch. He waited but Murphy didn’t tease him or call him a wee girl. Fuck, it felt so wrong to raise his hand when his brother wasn’t fighting back, when they weren't playing or scuffling.
He squared his shoulders and swung the belt again. The snap of it was clean-sounding this time. Murphy gasped. His hips did this thing against the wall and it made Connor hot, made him hard. There was little short of harming his brother that he wouldn’t do to Jaysus, see that again.
He swung again, as hard as the second one, watched those Jesus Christ hands clench against the wall, expressing what Murphy wouldn’t say out loud. The quiet was eerie--soft gasps and stifled groans. Connor thought he was making as much noise as Murphy was and he wasn’t the one with soft pink stripes rising on his skin.
Connor knew how to hurt a man, which meant that he also knew how to not hurt. No blows struck on the spine or over Murph's kidneys, but everywhere else from shoulders to waist was beginning to redden. The pale skin glistened with sweat and Murphy's dark hair turned black with the dampness and still he didn’t move his hand down. His hips flicked towards the wall with every stroke of the belt, but he couldn’t get off that way, could he?
And then Connor remembered what it had taken the last time.
The steady fall of the belt paused. Murphy's legs were shaking. He was so close and so fucken beautiful. Connor's cock throbbed against the inside of his zipper, so eager to be a part of this and God's truth he was glad Murphy kept his face to the wall because he was sure that lust showed on his face. He was amazed he was able to keep it out of his voice.
"Take what y' need," Connor whispered.
"Touch me?" The question was soft, uncertain. Murphy's hands were both still against the wall.
Connor took a step forward. Not more than it is, he reminded himself. His fingers reached out, stroking over the rosy marks. That touch of skin where a moment ago leather had struck seemed to be the permission Murphy needed to take his relief. The Celtic cross on the back of his arm disappeared as he reached down and slid his hand inside the open fly of his jeans.
He closed his eyes as Murphy choked back the sounds of his release, opened them again as he felt his brother starting to sink to the floor. He eased them down together and Murphy curled in against his shoulder, hiding is face in the crook of Connor's neck. The whisper of Murphy's breath against him was torture.
"There now, Murph," He stroked the dark hair and the unmarked skin of his nape. "Better?"
Murphy nodded and swallowed hard.
Connor held him until his breathing had dropped to normal and then helped him to his feet and pointed him to the bathroom.
He touched himself to the sound of Murphy in the shower and the smell of him in the air.
Connor's orgasm was a hollow thing.
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