Fic: Sacrifice (Connor/Murphy) heavy R
Title: Sacrifice
Author: Moit
Summary: One of the downsides to their chosen profession is retaliation. Because of that, sacrifices need to be made sometimes.
Pairing: light Connor/Murphy
Rating: heavy R
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama
Warnings: Yaoi/Slash, violence, object penetration, twincest, foul language
Author's Note: This is written for browneyes67 because she keeps uploading such shiny, pretty things for me to enjoy. Special thanks to kyliemou for the beta. Would you believe me if I told you this story originally started at "Murphy and Connor shared a look." Kylie kindly pointed out that there was no motive.. nor clear plot. There is now. May have a sequel? (In case you're wondering...)
~2 days ago~
Connor and Murphy collapsed side by side on one of the beds-it didn’t matter whose. They’d just finished their latest hit and barely had enough energy to do more than sleep.
The hit was a lower member of the Russian mob. He’d been seen prostituting young girls on the streets of Boston. Before they killed him, Connor had shoved a pool cue up the man’s arse in a fit of uncontrollable anger.
“‘ow d’yeh like bein’ fucked, yeh fucker?” he’d shouted.
Somehow, the man had grabbed hold of one of Connor’s guns while Murphy was wrestling with his brother. The shot was aimed at Murphy, but Connor threw him out of the way and took the bullet in his shoulder. It gave Murphy time to draw his own guns and shoot the man dead.
Despite the man shooting his brother, Murphy still had the decency to remove the pool cue from the dead man’s arse. He wrinkled his nose at the blood and shit on the stick. Disgusted, he’d thrown it down and helped Connor to his feet.
~Now~
It came as little surprise, then, when three men, all wielding shotguns, burst into their flat. Retaliation was just one of the risks they took with their hits.
“Get up, yeh mangy bastards!” the leader shouted.
“All right, all right!”
Connor and Murphy stood up, looking much more vulnerable in only their undershorts. The men forced cloths over the brothers’ faces. Murphy noticed, as the chlorophyll began to take effect, that one of the men nicked their rosaries off the wall and shoved them in his pocket.
“‘ll ge’ tha’ back…” Murphy slurred before the world went dark.
When they came to, the brothers could tell they were being held in what seemed to be a basement. Nondescript concrete floors and a dank, musky smell greeted them. Their three captors were in standing in front of them, but only one still had a gun.
“Did you enjoy fucking my brother, you twats?” the leader asked, his voice deadly calm.
“Yer brother fucking deserved it!” Connor snarled.
“Connor!” Murphy hissed.
The leader rounded on Connor. “So it was your idea, then? You thought it acceptable to violate him before you kill him?”
“Yes,” Connor replied, holding the man’s stare.
The leader clicked his tongue. He stepped back.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said conversationally, as though asked what he’d like to eat.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Murphy muttered.
“Instead, I’m going to fuck you so hard, your mother will feel it. I want you to suffer the way you made Anton suffer. Every time you take some cunt to yer bed, I want you to remember that I ‘ad your sweet ass. And I want you to remember Anton.”
When the brothers said nothing, he added, “Or I could just kill you both.”
Murphy and Connor shared a look. It was almost unbelievable how much they could say to one another without using words.
“I’ll do it,” Connor said, almost at the same time Murphy said, “He won’t do it.”
The leader of the men holding them leered, lifting Murphy’s chin with the muzzle of his shotgun.
“Would you rather I ‘ave you, Pretty? Your brother is willing. I would ‘ate to ‘ave to kill one of you because you are fighting over me.”
“Murphy, I said I’ll do it.”
“Shut the fuck up, Connor, I owe you.”
Connor’s eyes slid to the healing gunshot wound in his shoulder.
“Murphy-” he started, but the cold barrel of a gun against his temple silenced him.
“One wrong move and your brother dies.” The leader was staring at Connor, but he was speaking to Murphy. “Like mine.”
He pressed harder for emphasis. One of the other men in the room cut the ropes binding Murphy.
“On your knees, Pretty Boy.”
Murphy knelt. His hands clenched, unconsciously itching for the feeling of his guns in his palms.
Connor growled low in his throat. The man holding the gun to his head cocked it. The sound echoed loudly in the bare room.
Murphy gave him a glance, full of love, and adoration, and pleading as the man dropped his trousers, revealing a thickly veined cock.
Tears dripped silently down his cheeks as he watched the leader take Murphy’s mouth and then his ass.
Murphy didn’t cry. He screamed, just once when the man entered him, but otherwise he was silent.
Connor watched as the leader violated his brother, his twin, his lover. His eyes were glued, not to the place where Murphy was pierced so deeply, but to his hands. Murphy’s hands were the only indication of how bad the pain was, from the way they clawed into the ground until his fingertips bled.
Connor didn’t want to watch, but he knew he owed it to his brother. It didn’t last long, but for Connor, it seemed to go on forever. He almost wished Murphy had made noise to compensate for the screams Connor couldn’t release.
When the man finished, he pulled out, leaving Murphy to collapse with his torn jeans around his thighs and blood pooling under his ass. The men pushed wet cloths over the brothers’ noses and mouths, and darkness was all they knew.
Connor woke first. His head was pounding and his vision was fuzzy. He rolled his head to the side and his gaze fell on Murphy.
“Murph!” he shouted hoarsely, rolling over to shake his brother’s shoulder. He looked up and realized they were back in their flat. Even their rosaries had been returned to the hooks by the door.
“Connor?” Murphy mumbled, coming to consciousness slower.
“Easy, hey? We’re home.”
Murphy winced, falling back against the pillow.
“How do you feel?” Connor asked, cupping Murphy’s cheek.
“Like I was dry fucked up the ass,” Murphy replied wryly.
Connor stripped off and helped Murphy to the shower. He made a mental note to burn their soiled clothes later.
He wrapped a blanket around Murphy’s shower-warm skin and pulled him close.
“Does it still hurt something awful?”
“I’ve felt better. Then again, pain is better than fucking dead.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Connor.” Murphy twisted around so he could look at him. “They would have killed us both. We’ll get our revenge.”
Connor pulled Murphy tighter against his chest, resting his chin on his brother’s shoulder. “Damn right we will.”
Author: Moit
Summary: One of the downsides to their chosen profession is retaliation. Because of that, sacrifices need to be made sometimes.
Pairing: light Connor/Murphy
Rating: heavy R
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama
Warnings: Yaoi/Slash, violence, object penetration, twincest, foul language
Author's Note: This is written for browneyes67 because she keeps uploading such shiny, pretty things for me to enjoy. Special thanks to kyliemou for the beta. Would you believe me if I told you this story originally started at "Murphy and Connor shared a look." Kylie kindly pointed out that there was no motive.. nor clear plot. There is now. May have a sequel? (In case you're wondering...)
~2 days ago~
Connor and Murphy collapsed side by side on one of the beds-it didn’t matter whose. They’d just finished their latest hit and barely had enough energy to do more than sleep.
The hit was a lower member of the Russian mob. He’d been seen prostituting young girls on the streets of Boston. Before they killed him, Connor had shoved a pool cue up the man’s arse in a fit of uncontrollable anger.
“‘ow d’yeh like bein’ fucked, yeh fucker?” he’d shouted.
Somehow, the man had grabbed hold of one of Connor’s guns while Murphy was wrestling with his brother. The shot was aimed at Murphy, but Connor threw him out of the way and took the bullet in his shoulder. It gave Murphy time to draw his own guns and shoot the man dead.
Despite the man shooting his brother, Murphy still had the decency to remove the pool cue from the dead man’s arse. He wrinkled his nose at the blood and shit on the stick. Disgusted, he’d thrown it down and helped Connor to his feet.
~Now~
It came as little surprise, then, when three men, all wielding shotguns, burst into their flat. Retaliation was just one of the risks they took with their hits.
“Get up, yeh mangy bastards!” the leader shouted.
“All right, all right!”
Connor and Murphy stood up, looking much more vulnerable in only their undershorts. The men forced cloths over the brothers’ faces. Murphy noticed, as the chlorophyll began to take effect, that one of the men nicked their rosaries off the wall and shoved them in his pocket.
“‘ll ge’ tha’ back…” Murphy slurred before the world went dark.
When they came to, the brothers could tell they were being held in what seemed to be a basement. Nondescript concrete floors and a dank, musky smell greeted them. Their three captors were in standing in front of them, but only one still had a gun.
“Did you enjoy fucking my brother, you twats?” the leader asked, his voice deadly calm.
“Yer brother fucking deserved it!” Connor snarled.
“Connor!” Murphy hissed.
The leader rounded on Connor. “So it was your idea, then? You thought it acceptable to violate him before you kill him?”
“Yes,” Connor replied, holding the man’s stare.
The leader clicked his tongue. He stepped back.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said conversationally, as though asked what he’d like to eat.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Murphy muttered.
“Instead, I’m going to fuck you so hard, your mother will feel it. I want you to suffer the way you made Anton suffer. Every time you take some cunt to yer bed, I want you to remember that I ‘ad your sweet ass. And I want you to remember Anton.”
When the brothers said nothing, he added, “Or I could just kill you both.”
Murphy and Connor shared a look. It was almost unbelievable how much they could say to one another without using words.
“I’ll do it,” Connor said, almost at the same time Murphy said, “He won’t do it.”
The leader of the men holding them leered, lifting Murphy’s chin with the muzzle of his shotgun.
“Would you rather I ‘ave you, Pretty? Your brother is willing. I would ‘ate to ‘ave to kill one of you because you are fighting over me.”
“Murphy, I said I’ll do it.”
“Shut the fuck up, Connor, I owe you.”
Connor’s eyes slid to the healing gunshot wound in his shoulder.
“Murphy-” he started, but the cold barrel of a gun against his temple silenced him.
“One wrong move and your brother dies.” The leader was staring at Connor, but he was speaking to Murphy. “Like mine.”
He pressed harder for emphasis. One of the other men in the room cut the ropes binding Murphy.
“On your knees, Pretty Boy.”
Murphy knelt. His hands clenched, unconsciously itching for the feeling of his guns in his palms.
Connor growled low in his throat. The man holding the gun to his head cocked it. The sound echoed loudly in the bare room.
Murphy gave him a glance, full of love, and adoration, and pleading as the man dropped his trousers, revealing a thickly veined cock.
Tears dripped silently down his cheeks as he watched the leader take Murphy’s mouth and then his ass.
Murphy didn’t cry. He screamed, just once when the man entered him, but otherwise he was silent.
Connor watched as the leader violated his brother, his twin, his lover. His eyes were glued, not to the place where Murphy was pierced so deeply, but to his hands. Murphy’s hands were the only indication of how bad the pain was, from the way they clawed into the ground until his fingertips bled.
Connor didn’t want to watch, but he knew he owed it to his brother. It didn’t last long, but for Connor, it seemed to go on forever. He almost wished Murphy had made noise to compensate for the screams Connor couldn’t release.
When the man finished, he pulled out, leaving Murphy to collapse with his torn jeans around his thighs and blood pooling under his ass. The men pushed wet cloths over the brothers’ noses and mouths, and darkness was all they knew.
Connor woke first. His head was pounding and his vision was fuzzy. He rolled his head to the side and his gaze fell on Murphy.
“Murph!” he shouted hoarsely, rolling over to shake his brother’s shoulder. He looked up and realized they were back in their flat. Even their rosaries had been returned to the hooks by the door.
“Connor?” Murphy mumbled, coming to consciousness slower.
“Easy, hey? We’re home.”
Murphy winced, falling back against the pillow.
“How do you feel?” Connor asked, cupping Murphy’s cheek.
“Like I was dry fucked up the ass,” Murphy replied wryly.
Connor stripped off and helped Murphy to the shower. He made a mental note to burn their soiled clothes later.
He wrapped a blanket around Murphy’s shower-warm skin and pulled him close.
“Does it still hurt something awful?”
“I’ve felt better. Then again, pain is better than fucking dead.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Connor.” Murphy twisted around so he could look at him. “They would have killed us both. We’ll get our revenge.”
Connor pulled Murphy tighter against his chest, resting his chin on his brother’s shoulder. “Damn right we will.”