rusted_halo
in
mmom
Day 14: Comfort; The Boondock Saints, R
Title: Comfort
Author: rusted_halo
Rating: R
Fandom: The Boondock Saints
Characters/Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Word Count: 452
Summary: No one could ever understand what led them here. He is his brother's keeper; it's his job to comfort him.
Warnings: Twincest and light religious themes.
Should anyone find out, they’d be horrified, disgusted, and likely full of righteous indignation. They’d think them sick, twisted, unnatural. They might puzzle over it; analyze what events transpired that made them do it. They might think it was because of the violence in their past, or maybe their solitude on the isle. Perhaps they’d think it was just because they couldn’t resist a life of sin.
They’d be wrong. No matter what they concluded, they’d be wrong.
It was the unspoken connections that brought them here, the glances that passed as conversations, the solitary mind between them. Murphy would glance to his left, Connor to his right, and they’d act.
To be specific, it was the dreams that led them here. Murphy would wake with a start and look wildly about for his other half, whom he’d find alert beside him. As the night terrors’ frequency grew, Murphy’s joyous laugh retreated, and with it, Connor’s easy nature.
It was a natural progression; Connor was his brother’s keeper and it was the most natural thing to wrap his arms around his shaking body and murmur stories in his ear, calming him, lulling him to sleep.
The first time it happened, Murphy had been scared.
He’d slowly come awake from a dream that disappeared at the first sign of consciousness. He registered the warmth and safety of his brother’s arms around him before the movement of his hips.
He had the beginnings of an erection and was gently rutting against the mattress. Awareness invited fear and confusion; his movements stopped suddenly and his breath caught in his throat.
“It’s ok, little brutha,” Connor’s sleep-rough voice rasped in his ear.
For the first time in his life, Murphy had trouble looking his twin in the eye. He trained his eyes on the wall as he shifted and rolled his body, Connor moving with him. He could feel his eyes on him as he reached inside his boxers.
Connor’s breath was warm and steady on his cheek as he built into his rhythm. He closed his eyes when the same voice that guided him into sleep each night began encouraging him. He shook as the tension coiled inside him and tried to block out Connor’s hips moving in small, stunted movements against him.
He was silent when he came, afraid to dispel the enchanted atmosphere, to return to the world.
Connor lightly kissed the tears from his upturned cheek, ran his calloused hand through Murphy’s hair, and then stiffened in his own orgasm.
Sometimes Connor thought, “What price our souls?”
But then he’d hear his brother’s high laugh, could feel the mirth radiating from him again, and any questions were defeated by his answering ecstasy.
Author: rusted_halo
Rating: R
Fandom: The Boondock Saints
Characters/Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Word Count: 452
Summary: No one could ever understand what led them here. He is his brother's keeper; it's his job to comfort him.
Warnings: Twincest and light religious themes.
Should anyone find out, they’d be horrified, disgusted, and likely full of righteous indignation. They’d think them sick, twisted, unnatural. They might puzzle over it; analyze what events transpired that made them do it. They might think it was because of the violence in their past, or maybe their solitude on the isle. Perhaps they’d think it was just because they couldn’t resist a life of sin.
They’d be wrong. No matter what they concluded, they’d be wrong.
It was the unspoken connections that brought them here, the glances that passed as conversations, the solitary mind between them. Murphy would glance to his left, Connor to his right, and they’d act.
To be specific, it was the dreams that led them here. Murphy would wake with a start and look wildly about for his other half, whom he’d find alert beside him. As the night terrors’ frequency grew, Murphy’s joyous laugh retreated, and with it, Connor’s easy nature.
It was a natural progression; Connor was his brother’s keeper and it was the most natural thing to wrap his arms around his shaking body and murmur stories in his ear, calming him, lulling him to sleep.
The first time it happened, Murphy had been scared.
He’d slowly come awake from a dream that disappeared at the first sign of consciousness. He registered the warmth and safety of his brother’s arms around him before the movement of his hips.
He had the beginnings of an erection and was gently rutting against the mattress. Awareness invited fear and confusion; his movements stopped suddenly and his breath caught in his throat.
“It’s ok, little brutha,” Connor’s sleep-rough voice rasped in his ear.
For the first time in his life, Murphy had trouble looking his twin in the eye. He trained his eyes on the wall as he shifted and rolled his body, Connor moving with him. He could feel his eyes on him as he reached inside his boxers.
Connor’s breath was warm and steady on his cheek as he built into his rhythm. He closed his eyes when the same voice that guided him into sleep each night began encouraging him. He shook as the tension coiled inside him and tried to block out Connor’s hips moving in small, stunted movements against him.
He was silent when he came, afraid to dispel the enchanted atmosphere, to return to the world.
Connor lightly kissed the tears from his upturned cheek, ran his calloused hand through Murphy’s hair, and then stiffened in his own orgasm.
Sometimes Connor thought, “What price our souls?”
But then he’d hear his brother’s high laugh, could feel the mirth radiating from him again, and any questions were defeated by his answering ecstasy.