Fic: New York, New York (BDS/TBD Crossover) (Tommy/Murphy, Connor/Murphy)
Title: New York, New York
Author/Artist: wook77
Requestor: quarterturn
Fandom: Crossover (Boondock Saints/The Black Donnellys)
Pairing: Tommy/Murphy, Connor/Murphy
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~7500
Warnings: misuse of religion, incest, religious (Catholic) imagery, language!kink
Summary: Murphy confesses but the sin's still there.
Disclaimer: Neither of these fandoms nor the inhabitants belong to me. No profit is made and written for enjoyment purposes only.
A/N: This sort of took a left turn away from the original prompt. It's more Connor/Murphy and less Tommy/Murphy than you were probably looking for, quarterturn. I've a major language and religion kink so I sort of used your prompt to have fun with that. There are translations provided at the bottom and were taken from here. Beta'd by why_me_why_not, who is the most awesome of awesome betas and puts up with my panicked requests. However, I made some changes since she beta'd so all remaining mistakes are my own.
He makes the sign of the Cross, thumbnail touching his forehead, his heart, his left breast and then his right as he bows his head. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been three days since me last Confession."
Three days isn't so long in the scheme of things, not with the universe as it is and Murphy's own relationship with God. But he's not here about his relationship with God. That's the wrong relationship that he's needing to discuss. It's his relationship with his brother that wants confessing. It's that he can't quite keep his eyes from watching Connor's hands, lightning quick with long fingers, and his mind from wondering what those hands would feel like on his body.
That'd be enough to send his soul to eternal damnation, but then there's Connor's lips as well. He's always talking, doing Murphy's talking for him at times, and Murph can't quite keep his eyes off the way those lips move and the tongue shifts to form the sounds of whatever language it is that Connor's spouting off in. Christ Jesus but Murph shouldn't want to know what that tongue would feel like brushing against his own, invading his mouth and whispering secrets.
As the priest goes on with his part, Murphy pulls his mind back to his Confession. He's been to the Confessional in most every town they've visited since accepting the Lord's mission to rid the world of the wicked but he lost his nerve in every one. Every fecking one. Truth be known, he's afraid that he'll be one of the wicked that need purging from the Earth if he vocalizes this desire that churns in his gut.
What a sad state of affairs this is that he could face down ten men with guns as they all took aim at him but he isn't able to tell the priest that he wants carnal knowledge of his brother.
"My son?" The priest's soothing voice comes from the other side of the grate and startles Murph out of his contemplations.
"Aye, Father, it's sorry I am but I'm not sure how to be starting this." Murph crosses himself once more, taking the time to pull himself together.
"Take your time, my son, and remember that nothing is so great a burden that God cannot forgive it. He is the Creator."
"Would God be able to forgive me wanting a man, then?" Murphy lays his head against the back wall of the small wooden Confessional box.
"If you were truly repentant about it, then he would be able to. Do you want a man?"
"Aye and that's not the worst of it." This is it, he decides, he's going to vocalize his want and damn himself to eternal suffering.
"What is the worst of it then?" As the priest speaks, Murphy opens his mouth, shuts it and opens it again. The words can't quite come out. "When you're ready."
"It's me brother, Father. I'm wanting me twin brother and Christ but the Lord can't quite forgive that, can He?" He pushes his palms into his eyes until spots burst into life on the back of his eyelids.
"The Lord gives us no more than we can bear. Unnatural urges are just one of the burdens we must bear like Christ bore the weight of his own suffering upon his back. Give these inclinations up to the Lord and He shall release you from their weight." Other than a quick inhalation at Murphy's blunt declaration, the priest sounds unfazed by Murphy's confession.
"And how am I to be doing that?" His hands shift so that they now cup his cheeks as he stares at the grate.
"Prayer, my son, the power of prayer shall heal you. An Act of Contrition would not be amiss either. Do you have a rosary?"
"Of course, Father." Murphy's hand grips the heavy wooden cross.
"Make your way around it three times, then do the Lord's work and when it's completed, you'll be free of your unnatural burden and longings."
"Just that simple?"
"It's as simple as you wish to make it."
"Aye, then. Thank you, Father." Once more, Murphy's thumbnail touches his skin as he crosses himself.
"Did you have other sins to confess, my son?"
"No, Father."
"Then, Absolvo te a peccatis tuis: in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti."
"Amen."
"Go in Peace."
"Thank you, Father." Murphy's thumb traces the familiar path, pausing over his heart for a moment, before he leaves the Confessional.
It's easy work to slide into the pew next to Connor. It's far harder work to ignore the quick glance that Connor shoots him. The kneeler's hard even with the thin padding as his knees touch it and bear his weight. Putting the cross between his thumb and forefinger, he starts, "Creidim i nDia, an tAthair Uilechumhachtach, Cruthaitheoir Nimhe agus Talún…"
As Murphy prays in Irish, Connor stands and makes his way into the Confessional. His lips don't falter on the words even as his mind debates just what it is that Connor could've done in the past three days to warrant a visit to the Confessional. If his eyes watch that slight limp a bit too long, then he'd be forgiven for it shortly, freed from his burden by the beads in his hand and the routine in his mind. It will work this time, it has to.
As the final prayer trips off his lips, "A Athair Shíoraí, gur cheannaigh t'Aonmhac dúinn, lena bheatha, lena bhás, is lena aiséirí, aoibhneas síoraí na bhFlaitheas, tabhair dúinn, achnaímíd ort, do ghrásta, ionas ag machnamh dúinn ar na mistéiribh seo na Corónach Mhuire, go dtiocfadh linn do thoil naofa a dhéanamh agus an t-aoibhneas síoraí sin do shroisint, trí Íosa Críost ár dTiarna.," Connor steps out of the Confessional and won't look at him.
"You about done, then?" Connor sounds abrupt and cold.
"Aye, just finished." As Murphy stands, he crosses himself and then leaves the pew, genuflecting before exiting the church right behind Connor. In perfect synchronization, they pull out a cigarette each and then light them. The rhythm and the routine of it soothes Murphy as they exchange a quick glance and then go down the steps.
Murphy has forgotten how many churches they've been in, how many towns and cities they've visited while on their mission as the Hammers of the Lord. Their father never comes with them as he'd said he had his own relationship with God, one that doesn't require a visit to His house. Somehow, though, Murphy knows he'll remember St. Patrick's Cathedral for more than its architecture and history.
They walk through the downtown section near the church, looking around and getting a feel for the place. The streets are busy but there's a hush there as well. Murphy appreciates the quiet as it gives him time to mull over what work for the Lord the priest had meant.
He is already doing the Lord's work, isn't he? Does that mean that there's an end in sight for all the killing? He shakes his head because he's not so naive as to believe that there wouldn't be wicked no matter what city they went to. They'd be doing this until they die.
Here's where his wants veer from the wants of Connor and their da. He doesn't want to be doing this until he's either killed or old and grey. He's not his da and, more importantly, doesn't want Connor to be either.
Murphy can see it already, in the coldness of Connor's expression and the way he's withdrawn. Laughter's turned into a rare occurrence. Some days, Murphy thinks he'd rather be back at the meatpacking plant and working side by side with the ball-kicking lesbian than traveling across the States and leaving a trail of dead behind them. The miserable life would be worth it because he'd be hearing Connor's laugh.
He misses the casual touches between them; the quick cuff, the shoulder squeeze, the companionable arm slung around his body. He misses all of it more than is healthy. That thought brings him right back around to his confession and the fact that the want's gotten even worse since they've started traveling and he's been forced to share a bed with Connor in countless hotels and motels.
There's not much of a chance that he can hide the fact that he gets hard when Connor flips an arm around him and snuffles into the crook of his neck. The feel of Connor's inhalations teasing his bare skin coupled with the weight of the fisted hand resting on his chest torment him on an almost nightly basis. It's divine and profane at the same time.
"Murph? Have you heard a fucking word I've said?" Connor slugs him on the shoulder and he's forced out of his thoughts.
"Aye, of course, I always listen to you," he responds sarcastically while rolling his eyes.
"Fuck off," Connor shoots back before slinging an arm around him and the divinely profane feeling sweeps over him. "Let's get something to eat before we're back with da."
"Alright then, what're you thinking?" There's a small diner, hidden between a couple of garish shops and Murph gestures towards it. "That good enough?"
Connor slaps his shoulder and dashes across the street, pausing to yell over his shoulder, "Last in has to buy!"
Murphy takes off after him but Connor still wins. "Cheating just outside of church? You'll be right back in the Confessional with that sort of behavior."
Connor only tosses a rude gesture towards him as they slide into a booth and start talking about what brought them to New York. "We'll start in the Irish section, get a feel for the lay of the land, and then we'll clean out everyone that feeds on their own first."
"Aye, sound plan though I'm not sure if da'll feel the same." Murphy stops there and orders his food. The waitress can't get enough of their accents and he wants to kick Connor for pouring it on for her, thickening it up until he sounds like he's fresh off the boat and half as smart. After a quick look around, Murphy decides that Russian is the language to use right now.
"What're you doing? Stop drawing attention to us, you know they have our pictures everywhere." Murphy leans in close as he whispers in Russian. Connor rolls his eyes and this time, Murphy can't resist the urge to kick Connor under the table.
"What the fuck you do that for?" Connor's too loud and, yet again, drawing needless attention to them.
"Would you shut it? Fuck's sake, Conn, think before you speak," Murphy chastises and focuses only on the attention and not the jealousy pooling in his gut.
"What the fuck you kick me for?" Connor whispers back though it's loud enough that the woman at the next table over is still watching them. Murphy switches back to Russian again.
"Because you're being an ass. One of these people could be calling the cops even now. We're not home in Boston anymore. These people don't know us and won't protect us. We're on our own and you're pouring on the charm and making sure that the waitress remembers us. You think about what'll happen if she watches the news and they flash our pictures?" The woman that had been watching them goes back to her own food and Murphy breathes a bit easier as he whispers in a pleasant tone though he's sure that Connor can feel how pissed off he is.
"You're so worried all the time. Since when are you like this? You've changed and…" Connor breaks off.
"And what? Someone's got to worry about getting caught as you and da are too busy planning the next mark. Da's off watching everyone now and, fuck's sake. I'm trying to keep us out of jail." He threads his hands into his hair before toying with his fork. "Smecker can only do so much for us, he can't throw his weight around everywhere we go or they'll catch on to his involvement. We have to protect him too."
Connor shakes his head and doesn't respond. Murphy knows that expression, knows that it means that Connor's thinking about what he's said and that's enough for now. Maybe he's finally gotten through or maybe Connor's finally realizing that the path they're on isn't the right one or… or maybe Connor's just thinking about the waitress.
"You've a point," Connor finally says and Murphy looks up, shocked.
"About damn time you realize that I'm the smarter of the two of us. That's what being the oldest means, being smarter than you." Murphy wants a cigarette, his food or anything to stick in his hands to keep him from reaching out and touching Connor when Connor's smile and laughter break out.
"You're a fucking dick, you know that? Mam's like as said that I'm the oldest."
"You mean when she said that the bigger cock was the older? Considering the shriveled bits between your legs, I'm thinking that means me." Murphy can't help but think about how many times he's seen Connor shower or even take a piss, can't help but remember the way that his own hands have wanted to lather and touch. He starts reciting the Hail Mary in his head in a vain attempt to stop the want.
"Checking out me cock, are you?" Connor leers and Murphy glares. All in all, the waitress couldn't have picked a more awkward moment to bring their meals around. She quickly slides the plates onto the table and disappears as quickly as she'd come. The awkward silence breaks as they laugh again.
The rest of the meal is just like they were before this whole mission thing. There's teasing and laughing. There're those hands that won't stop moving and the want is curling inside, closer to the surface than it's been in a year. Murphy can't resist reaching out and grabbing Connor's hand, giving it a quick squeeze and releasing it. Connor cocks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything.
It's enough for now. It has to be as another Hail Mary trips through his mind.
~~**~~
Murphy's cursing under his breath. Fucking da and his fucking ideas of who next. They've walked right into a fucking pissing contest between a bunch of brothers and the current bastard leading the rest as they prey on their own. They're all Irish, for fuck's sake. How the hell can they be attacking their own?
It'd be more understandable if it was Irish versus Russian or Italian or any other nationality. But it's not, it's Irish versus Irish and that strikes a bit too close for Murphy's comfort level. Da, on the other hand, is all for wiping them all out, those Donnelly brothers and that prick with the axe, Dokey or Hokey or whatever the hell he's wanting to go by.
After watching the situation for a few days, Murphy isn't so sure that the Donnellys are really as bad as their Da thinks. That could be part of the doubt that Murphy has regarding their da. These brothers are just the catalyst for Murphy to break away from the extremism of the courtroom revelation and the overt workings. Murphy'd much rather not see a sketch of his face on the television and in the papers.
Add in the fact that da keeps playing with Connor, trying to mold him into a carbon copy of himself and Murphy's not at all comfortable with the situation. It's as he's reflecting on all of this that he walks into the Firecracker and sits down to get a pint. The bar's empty, not anything that he hasn't noticed before. The young lad behind the counter doesn't look quite old enough to be manning a bar but Murphy just orders a pint and the kid wanders off, happy to have a customer.
"Sean, come give me a hand," a voice calls out from near the pool tables and Murphy's tempted to wander that way, get an idea of where all people could be hiding.
"Got a customer, be there in a minute," the kid, Sean, answers. "Here's your pint, that's five and a quarter."
The price is outrageous but Murphy puts the money down anyway. The kid takes it, rings it into the register and then heads towards the back where he disappears behind a wall. Murphy nurses his pint, sipping at it and thinking that the kid has quite a bit to learn about the proper building of a Guinness. What's in front of him is one of the shittiest builds he's ever had the misfortune to taste and that includes the guy who just poured it out of a can in Tucson.
The door opens and Murphy turns to face it, reaching a hand under his peacoat. The weight of the gun is comforting in his hand as one of the other brothers enters. This one, he thinks, is Tommy. Which means that it's either Jimmy or Kevin that's down below the wall. Tommy is the first one that da wants to kill which means that he's the one that Murphy wants to protect.
"Seen my brothers around?" the bloke demands.
"I'm thinking they slipped downstairs for a bit, if your brothers are the ones working here." Murphy hopes he covers his slip well enough that Tommy doesn't notice.
"Not from the neighborhood, are you?" Tommy heads behind the bar.
"Not from the country, really." Murphy gets up as Tommy reaches for the phone. Now's the time for him to fuck with his da's plans. He puts his hand over Tommy's as he starts to dial and then says, "I wouldn't be calling anyone just yet. Things're going on that you're not privy to and you should be."
"Oh yeah? Like what?" Tommy's sounding aggressive and his free hand starts reaching under his own peacoat.
"Heard of the Saints?"
"Those guys going around the country killing? Yeah, I've heard of 'em. Everyone's heard of 'em. The hell's that got to do with me making a call?"
"I wouldn't be pulling out that gun just yet as I've one of me own." Murphy pulls his out with the silencer attached and Tommy's hand drops away from his coat. Sliding it back in, he continues, "Rumor has it that you're next, you and your kin. I'm thinking that you might want to be making plans about that. Might want to lay low a wee bit so that the Saints'll concentrate more on the other lad in the neighborhood."
"Christ, you're one of them, aren't you? You're telling me that you're planning on killing me and you want me to keep you from doing it? This your normal way of operating?"
"Not at all, lad. 'M here as a free agent, you might say. I'm willing to strike a deal with you, information for pointing the rest at Dokey. We're needing a bit more information into the way he works, where he'll be, that sort of thing."
Murphy steps closer as he whispers, "It's a good deal and you'll be protecting your family."
"What do you care about my family? Who the hell do you think you are to walk in here and give me demands?" Tommy's face twists into a sneer as he leans in aggressively.
"Take the deal. Don't take the deal, either way doesn't make a difference to me in the long run." Murphy removes his hand from Tommy's and starts to walk to the door. It's as he's going through the vestibule that he hears Tommy speak.
"What sort of information?"
It's the beginning of an interesting dynamic. Murphy meets with Tommy at least once a day and it's a nice break from the way Connor laps up everything that their da spouts off like it's coming from the mouth of God himself. Murphy would much rather be meeting Tommy for a pint.
Besides, it means that he's concentrating on someone other than his twin when he wanks at night. His soul feels a bit lighter when he thinks of Tommy's hands and the way they grip a pencil while he sketches out a quick map of the hall where Dokey meets his thugs or the way he gestures when he talks about his brothers. His fingers are long and lean, like Connor's, and Murphy wonders what they'd feel like on his skin, tracing the skin over his ribs, gripping his cock or even pressing into his hips as those lips suck him.
Hard to believe that he's only known Tommy a week when Tommy shoves him against a wall and kisses him out of the blue. Completely unexpected but appreciated all the same, Murphy delves his hands into Tommy's hair and kisses him back. He pointedly doesn't think about Connor, won't think about how Connor's a fraction taller than him just like Tommy. He refuses to compare the way their hair feels under his fingers and he won't contemplate the way that Tommy is as lean as Connor.
Instead, he tries to concentrate on the sensation of hands, any hands, on his chest as Tommy pushes his shirt up and off, leaving him bare-chested in the hotel room that he's been sharing with Connor. The breeze from the rattling air conditioning unit causes his nipples to harden and Tommy takes advantage by pinching them hard. Murphy breaks the kiss to throw his head backwards as he moans at the sensation.
Tommy's muttering something about showing her that he doesn't need her but Murphy doesn't care much because his hands are undoing the belt and then the jeans, pushing them down and freeing Murphy's cock. There isn't any conversation between them, the panting breaths and the metallic snick of zippers opening is conversation enough. When those long artistic fingers grip his cock, Murphy wants to cry out but he's afraid that the wrong name will leave his lips so he leans forward and thrusts his tongue into Tommy's mouth, brutally knocking their teeth together as he flips them around and pushes Tommy against the wall.
Then it's his turn to remove clothing as he tugs Tommy's shirt over his head, trapping his arms and then biting down on the exposed collarbone. His hands fumble over the belt, sliding leather across denim. There's sweat pooling at the base of his spine as Tommy's hand works his cock, up and down, squeezing and rubbing. Murphy fumbles with the button and then the rasp of metal sliding down echoes in the preternatural silence. Tommy's not wearing any underwear so when Murphy starts pushing the jeans down, his cock springs out and Murphy takes it into his hand.
Closing his eyes, he leans his head back and feels the teeth on his neck, his collarbone, his chest. It's easy to pretend that it's Connor nipping at his skin, easy to pretend that it's Connor's cock in his hand instead of Tommy's. He won't burn in Hell if it's just pretending, right? It's easy to think that God won't damn him for playing pretend but He's already said that homosexuality wasn't the way to go and Murphy, even in the game of pretend, is still flaunting that.
It's a twisted path he's on, easily breaking commandments in one situation and fearing breaking tenets in another. No wonder he's mixed up, considering that he's trying to do the Lord's work by breaking the Lord's commandments. Does this make him one of the wicked, though? Does the way he's thinking about sucking that cock make him worthy of being killed by others who think they're doing the Lord's work?
He's fucked in the head and not paying attention to anything other than his circular thoughts and that hand on his cock when the door to the room opens and he hears the gasp. Then, Tommy's flesh is ripped away from him and he's slapped across the face. Opening his eyes, he punches blindly and connects with Connor's face. The spray of blood from his mouth is almost beautiful as it flies from his mouth and then Connor tackles him, sending him flying into the dresser. The mirror crashes to the ground as Murphy grabs Connor around the waist and pushes forward.
Landing on the bed, they roll around and pummel each other. They've done this before and they know exactly where to hit for the most damage. Murphy's kidneys are sobbing with pain while his ribs throb. They fight dirty, always have on the rare occasions when they've come to blows. Meanwhile, Tommy jumps in and starts hitting Connor as well. Protective instincts well up and Murphy takes a hit meant for Connor.
"This isn't about you," Murphy says as he shoves Tommy away from them. "Just get out and oomph fuck's sake, Connor, that's below the, Jesus Christ, stop!"
Connor lays there panting underneath Murphy while Murphy holds one of his hands to the bed. Turning to Tommy again, Murphy finishes what he'd been trying to say, "This isn't about you. Just go and I'll catch up to you later."
Tommy doesn't look like he's buying it but Murphy repeats himself and then watches as Tommy dresses and leaves without another glance. As soon as the door closes behind him, Connor grabs Murphy's hair and then wrenches them over so that Connor's on top.
"What the fuck was that that I just walked into? The fuck do you think you're doing?" Connor shouts and a drop of spit hits Murphy in the face as they stare at one another, a hairsbreadth from each other.
"Getting a handjob, the fuck it looked like?"
"From one of the marks, you ass, you were fucking around with one of the marks." Connor smacks him across the forehead with the palm of his hand and Murphy pushes at his shoulders.
"It's none of your business, not at all!"
"Christ Jesus, what a fucking mess. Think about what da'll do if he ever finds out. This what you've been confessing at every church?"
"Fuck off, you've been in the Confessional just as much as me. The fuck you confessing?"
"This is a fucking mess, Murphy, a big fucking mess." Connor's switched to Gaelic, speaking softly as they lay there. His hand reaches out and wipes at a smear of blood across Murphy's forehead and the touch makes Murphy shudder.
"You going to tell da?" Connor shakes his head and continues to wipe at Murphy's skin.
It's then that Murphy realizes that he's hard, his erection pressing into Murphy's leg. He wonders if Connor's noticed and he's so mortified that all he can think is to get away. He bucks up into Connor, trying to dislodge him. A second time and Murphy feels Connor's dick pressing down into him though there's no way possible that Conn would ever be hard because Murphy's lying naked underneath him. A third time and he's quite certain that Conn's hard.
"What the hell's gotten in to you? You want me off, just say it." Connor gets up and walks over to the cloudy mirror to look at his face. Murphy rolls off the bed and grabs his pants, tugging them on and hiding his cock.
"You didn't answer, you going to tell da?"
"You know I wouldn't do that! Not any of his business , is it?"
"Don't know anything of the like. Turning into the old man, aren't you? Always acting like he's the Second Coming or the Word of God."
"I don't!" Connor turns around and it's Murphy's turn to suckerpunch him.
"Aye, sure you're not. That why he says jump and you're already in the air? Oh da, you're right, we have to have the fortitude, we're doing the right thing, the Lord works in mysterious ways, here, da, can I kiss your ass?" Murphy mocks as he does a falsetto impersonation of Connor. He's braced for Connor to come back at him and he's shocked into silence when Connor only sits down on the edge of the bed. Murphy drops next to him, still waiting for that sneak attack.
"'M thinking you're right. Da's off about this whole thing. The Donnelly brothers aren't so different from us, are they? They're just doing what they have to to protect each other." Resting his elbows on his thighs, Connor drops his head to his knees. Murphy hasn't seen Connor look this defeated before.
"Aye, that's me problem with it. Dokey, he's an evil man, but the rest of them? What's the youngest do to anyone?"
"Been spending a lot of time with them, have you?" There's a bite to Connor's words.
"They're good lads and Tommy's been getting me information on Dokey. 'M thinking we can make a move. Not much else we can find out. We know what we need to. Da'll have to go along with it, won't he?"
"Don't know, Murph, don't know at all."
~~**~~
The Lord talks to Murphy in the middle of the night. First, there was the police station, the clear voice of the priest followed by the voice of God telling him just what they're to be doing to help. Connor'd gotten the same message at the same time. Now, while Murphy lies awake and listening to the sound of Connor's breathing, he wonders if Connor's gotten this message - the one demanding that Murphy turn around and press against Connor, kiss him and touch him - as well.
He can't help but fake sleep as Connor snuffles into his neck, while curled around him. Arm resting, heavy and comfortable, over his waist, Connor's hand is tracing patterns on his chest. He's harder than he's been in awhile because this is the first time he can remember Connor touching him like this. He's also afraid that if he moves, interrupts the breathing rhythm at all, that Connor'll stop or shift away or keep going.
He mouths the Lord's Prayer, hoping for the fortitude not to reach behind him and grab Connor's ass, pull him closer and bury his cock. As it is, Connor's pushing at his boxers, shifting them. By the time he's finished, Connor's cock is half-hard and brushing against the sensitive flesh at the top of Murphy's crack. The sensation of being surrounded by Connor is sinful, sinfully amazing.
This is a cross he's bearing and he wonders how Christ bore up underneath his own burden as he'd done. A crown of thorns would be less painful than Connor's hand drifting down his chest and brushing his hip, his thigh, his, oh Christ send his saints to preserve him cock. He hardens further under the teasing fingers that brush down and then back up, thumbing the tip of his cock, and the moan that erupts takes him by surprise.
That's when he knows that Connor's been faking sleep as well. He knows because there's a slight stiffening and an indrawn breath out of the sleep rhythm. Murphy tries to relax but he can't, not with the way that the hand starts its movement again, and then there're lips on the nape of his neck, mouthing him wetly and it's going to send him over the edge if he doesn't move away.
He moves on to the Hail Mary - Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. His lips keep moving, variations flowing over his tongue - O Vergin benedetta, sempre tu Ora per noi a Dio, che ci perdoni, E diaci grazia a viver si quaggiu Che'l paradiso al nostro fin ci doni..
Connor's hand slips so that it fully engulfs his cock, no longer teasing with finger tips. Murphy's lips stutters before he prayed in French Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce. Le Seigneur est avec vous. Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni. Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, Priez pour nous, pauvres pécheurs,maintenant et à l'heure de notre mort.. The cock slipping between his cheeks distracts him from the prayer, keeps him from concentrating on anything but the knowledgeable grip and that hardness. As he's done a thousand times before, he wonders what it would feel like to have it inside of him.
He switches to German as he feels the orgasm building - Gegrüßet seist du, Maria, voll der Gnade, der Herr ist mit dir. Du bist gebenedeit unter den Frauen, und gebenedeit ist die Frucht deines Leibes, Jesus. Heilige Maria, Mutter Gottes, bitte für uns Sünder jetzt und in der Stunde unseres Todes. Dirty and sinful, he bucks in time with the prayers, almost as if the familiar recitation sets the pace for Connor's hand as it brings him to the brink and then slides him the rest of the way over.
The sheets are wet and Murphy knows he's going to burn in hell for this moment. Mary hasn't heard his prayers, he blasphemed her name and he'll need to confess. He can't go back to St. Patrick's. The priest would recognize him and judge him for the failure of spirit.
Beyond his immortal soul, he doesn't quite know how he'll explain the spot on the sheets to Connor in the morning. Perhaps this is all a dream, except that there's still a hard cock rubbing his ass. Its tip is wet, which sends shivers up and down Murphy's spine. He shifts backwards, taking it just a bit deeper until the tip presses against his balls. Connor shifts forward and then pulls back. Murphy matches the rhythm.
He can't quite believe that they're doing this, that they're both pretending to be asleep when it's obvious that they aren't, that they're fucking and it feels so good, so much better than he'd imagined and Connor hasn't done more than tease his flesh. Hell, he hasn't done much other than squeeze his ass, trapping Connor's cock. Hand sliding from Murphy's cock to his lower leg's thigh, Connor forces them even closer together. Murphy finally opens his eyes and stares towards the bathroom while they work against each other's bodies. There's a spot of light on the wall, reflected from the parking lot's lights. It shifts and dances as the bed slowly rocks with the force of Connor's thrusts.
When Connor comes, he murmurs, "Murph" and it's almost enough to break Murphy.
~~**~~
They don't have time to be awkward in the morning. Their da's banging on the door and they scramble for their clothing. They're not looking at one another but there isn't much time, not when Murphy's jeans are on one side of the room while his shirt is on the other. His cross, he can't find his cross right away and he panics as Connor opens the door. Perhaps this is the Lord's way of chastising him, he's lost the right to wear the cross.
He's tossing bed sheets and comforters everywhere as he digs for it. He knows it has to be here somewhere. Always careful to place it just so, Murphy last saw it on the bedside table but it isn't there. Maybe the actions from last night pushed it off or maybe the Lord's talking but whatever it is, Murphy needs his cross. His chest feels empty and he clutches at his shirt.
The heavy familiar weight of it slips over his head and Murphy looks up to see Connor standing a bit too close. There's an odd expression on his face and Murphy desperately wants to reach out and touch his face, run a finger down his cheek as a physical sign of his gratitude. Instead, he simply stares at Connor and hopes that he doesn't remember last night.
"Today, my boys, we start the cleaning," their da says as he stands in the doorway.
"Who're we starting with, da?" Connor asks and breaks the moment. Murphy sits on the edge of the bed and slides his feet into his boots.
"We'll start with the worst and work our way through."
"Dokey, then?" Murphy asks as he tightens the laces. "I know that there's to be a meeting in the afternoon."
"Then we'll clear out that nest of vipers."
They gather their weapons and head out the door. It's a short drive to the center where Dokey normally holds court. The only problem is that no one's there. Next on their list is the warehouse and there's no one there either. They go to the Firecracker next and no one is there either.
It's like the entire Irish section has cleared out and it doesn't bode well. They all exchange looks before separating to find out what's been happening.
Murphy goes in search of Tommy. The lad's not at his mam's and he's not at O'Reilly's diner. Then he sees the old Corolla ahead. He looks to the sides, expecting his da to jump out at any point. The brothers are arguing over the beat up car and Tommy's winning the argument like he's always been able to.
"Have a minute?" Murphy asks as he reaches them.
"Not going to argue with you, Sean, I'm taking it." Tommy turns and walks towards the car, gesturing for Murphy to follow. "What do you want?"
"Da's decided to go for Dokey but he's nowhere around."
"We had a parting of the ways and now, I'm just trying to get my family out of here. We're not sticking around." Tommy takes off into traffic.
"Getting out would be the best bet," he agrees with Tommy as he leans into the seat and plucks a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket.
"No smoking in the car, I've got to sell this piece of shit." Murph puts the cigarette back into the pack and watches traffic zip past until they pull into the lot of the dealership. It's fairly obvious that yesterday's intimacies aren't going to be repeated, that it was a brief oddness and Tommy doesn't want to talk about it. In fact, Tommy isn't talking about anything, no matter how many conversations Murphy tries to start.
Tommy trades the Corolla and the little bit of cash for a large van. Murphy declines the ride and makes his way back towards the motel they've been staying at. He enters the room he and Connor are sharing and doesn't find anyone around. Briefly wondering if either Connor or their da found Dokey, he hopes they haven't, not without him, before making his way into the shower.
He washes himself, lathering soap all over. The slick slide of his hands on his body reminds him of those teasing touches from last night. When he closes his eyes, he's able to pretend that they're Connor's, Connor's hands drifting down his chest, tweaking his nipples. They're Connor's hands brushing across his upper thighs before pressing back up and taunting his cock with a quick brush. They're Connor's hands all over his body and turns so that his back faces the mirror and door as he leans his head against the wall.
He moans out Connor's name as he wraps his hand around his cock while the water beats down on him. The force is almost enough that he can pretend that it's someone back there, that it's Connor behind him as he tugs. He moans out Connor's name again as he reaches behind him and encounters bare skin.
Turning around so fast that he slips and has to brace himself against the plastic of the shower stall, he watches Connor step into the small space. Then he's trapped between the wall and Connor as they're both naked and closer than they've been since they were kids in Ireland.
"I can explain," Murphy stammers out as he knows it's completely obvious exactly what he'd been doing. Connor shakes his head and presses his lips against Murphy's.
Stunned into silence and inactivity, he lets Connor nip at his lower lip, lets Connor put his hands on his body. When Connor's hands slide around and cup Murphy's ass, bringing their groins together, that's when Murphy regains his ability to move. He pushes at Connor's chest and tries to free himself. He's confused and disbelieving. Connor's still kissing him, still touching him and they're both hard.
Connor leans in and kisses him, this time forcing Murphy's mouth open, tongue piercing the opening of lips. The taste of Connor bursts over Murphy, sweeping him under and into the experience. Unsure, his hands come up and rest against Connor's hips before circling around and touching the small of Connor's back. One hand traces down into the crack and Murphy teases at Connor's ass.
When Connor breaks the kiss to lean his head against the wall of the shower, Murphy looks at them in the foggy mirror, only seeing a blur of entwined flesh. The surreal view makes the whole encounter more real and he watches as his own hand rubs up the expanse of muscled back and then thrusts into the hair at the exposed nape.
"What's happening here?" Murphy asks in the lull.
"Can't do it anymore, Murph, can't keep resisting and resisting. Can't do it."
"Resisting what, Connor?"
"This," and Connor reinforces what he means by threading a hand between their bodies and grasping their hard cocks. Murphy bucks into that touch. "Been confessing and praying and I can't do it. Can't have it and can't let someone else have it. I'm fucked one way or the other. Might as well burn for a sinner as a saint."
"You've been wanting this?" Murphy sounds young as he asks though he's still certain he's the eldest.
"I'll make a confession to you. I've been wanting this since before we embarked on this mission. Tried not to but then I walked in on you and that Donnelly and I couldn't resist anymore." Connor still hasn't moved his forehead from the wall and Murphy shifts so that he can press his lips against Connor's.
"Been trying to confess at every church we've been to that I've wanted you and finally found the courage at the last church. Priest told me that if I prayed enough and did the Lord's work, I'd be freed of the burden."
Connor's hand moves and Murphy shivers in the warm foggy dampness.
"Truly?"
"Aye." Murphy's hand slides from Connor's hair to entwine fingers together around their cocks.
There's no more speaking as they start to move. They kiss, lipping at each other, tasting and combining flavors until Murphy can't remember which is whom's. They touch, brushing against flesh and bringing them closer until, in the fog-drenched mirror, they look like one mass. There's no need to fake sleep or concentrate on breath. Murphy knows that he isn't going to regret this enough to ever repent and mean it. He's cursing himself but he can't quite bring himself to care. Perhaps their work will redeem them, perhaps it won't.
All that matters, right now, is the too-full feel of Connor's finger in his ass. Like he's dreamed in the past, Connor slides another finger in before pulling out. Bracing Murphy against the wall, he pulls Murphy's legs around his waist and then, Murphy slides down onto Connor's cock while Connor thrusts. There's a slow penetration each time, just a bit deeper and the burn increases. Murphy's reciting prayers in English, French and Spanish to keep from stopping Connor because it hurts, it fucking hurts but this is Connor and it'll be right again.
Finally, Connor's deep within him and they're touching forehead to forehead as Murphy adjusts to the feeling. It's not so bad now so Murphy clenches and Connor withdraws a bit only to push back in. This is better than before and Connor repeats, this time harder. Murphy's head bangs against the wall as Connor does it a third time, even harder.
Fourth time and pleasure spreads through him. Murphy tries to keep himself where he is, legs clenching at Connor's waist to support himself. He's tempted to reach a hand up to the showerhead to help as well but it wobbles in his hand so he stops. "Connor," he whispers and Connor answers, "Murphy".
The speed picks up until Connor comes with a cry. Murphy needs a bit more touch, a bit more something. It's almost like Connor's able to read his mind and he reaches down and takes Murphy's cock into his hands and tugs at him. Being surrounded by Connor - inside, outside, around, near, everywhere - Murphy succumbs to the orgasm and cries out Connor's name as he comes.
Boneless, he slides down the wall and shivers in the cooling water.
~~**~~
Da's gone along with quite a few of their guns and what little cash they'd been able to scrimp together. The Donnellys are at the hospital with their mum and Murphy visits just once, promising to take care of Dokey while Tommy isn't able. Connor and Murphy pass a church in the neighborhood and when they enter, the peace they feel is just as strong as the touch of a hand to a hand.
It's not perfect but it's theirs and that's enough for now. God works in mysterious ways and Murphy's thankful that, in this case, He's been loud and clear.
Translations:
Absolvo te a peccatis tuis: in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti Latin: I absolve you of your sins: in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit
Creidim i nDia, an tAthair Uilechumhachtach, Cruthaitheoir Nimhe agus Talún Irish: I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth (First line of the Apostles Creed)
A Athair Shíoraí, gur cheannaigh t'Aonmhac dúinn, lena bheatha, lena bhás, is lena aiséirí, aoibhneas síoraí na bhFlaitheas, tabhair dúinn, achnaímíd ort, do ghrásta, ionas ag machnamh dúinn ar na mistéiribh seo na Corónach Mhuire, go dtiocfadh linn do thoil naofa a dhéanamh agus an t-aoibhneas síoraí sin do shroisint, trí Íosa Críost ár dTiarna. Irish: Let us pray. O GOD, whose only begotten Son, by His life, death, and resurrection, has purchased for us the rewards of eternal life, grant, we beseech Thee, that meditating upon these mysteries of the Most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we may imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise, through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen. (Final Prayer of the Rosary)
O Vergin benedetta, sempre tu Ora per noi a Dio, che ci perdoni, E diaci grazia a viver si quaggiu Che'l paradiso al nostro fin ci doni Italian: Oh blessed Virgin, pray to God for us always, that He may pardon us and give us grace, so to live here below that He may reward us with paradise at our death. (Variation of the Hail Mary)
Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce. Le Seigneur est avec vous. Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni. Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, Priez pour nous, pauvres pécheurs,maintenant et à l'heure de notre mort. French: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. (traditional Hail Mary)
Gegrüßet seist du, Maria, voll der Gnade, der Herr ist mit dir. Du bist gebenedeit unter den Frauen, und gebenedeit ist die Frucht deines Leibes, Jesus. Heilige Maria, Mutter Gottes, bitte für uns Sünder jetzt und in der Stunde unseres Todes. German: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. (traditional Hail Mary)
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.
Author/Artist: wook77
Requestor: quarterturn
Fandom: Crossover (Boondock Saints/The Black Donnellys)
Pairing: Tommy/Murphy, Connor/Murphy
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~7500
Warnings: misuse of religion, incest, religious (Catholic) imagery, language!kink
Summary: Murphy confesses but the sin's still there.
Disclaimer: Neither of these fandoms nor the inhabitants belong to me. No profit is made and written for enjoyment purposes only.
A/N: This sort of took a left turn away from the original prompt. It's more Connor/Murphy and less Tommy/Murphy than you were probably looking for, quarterturn. I've a major language and religion kink so I sort of used your prompt to have fun with that. There are translations provided at the bottom and were taken from here. Beta'd by why_me_why_not, who is the most awesome of awesome betas and puts up with my panicked requests. However, I made some changes since she beta'd so all remaining mistakes are my own.
He makes the sign of the Cross, thumbnail touching his forehead, his heart, his left breast and then his right as he bows his head. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been three days since me last Confession."
Three days isn't so long in the scheme of things, not with the universe as it is and Murphy's own relationship with God. But he's not here about his relationship with God. That's the wrong relationship that he's needing to discuss. It's his relationship with his brother that wants confessing. It's that he can't quite keep his eyes from watching Connor's hands, lightning quick with long fingers, and his mind from wondering what those hands would feel like on his body.
That'd be enough to send his soul to eternal damnation, but then there's Connor's lips as well. He's always talking, doing Murphy's talking for him at times, and Murph can't quite keep his eyes off the way those lips move and the tongue shifts to form the sounds of whatever language it is that Connor's spouting off in. Christ Jesus but Murph shouldn't want to know what that tongue would feel like brushing against his own, invading his mouth and whispering secrets.
As the priest goes on with his part, Murphy pulls his mind back to his Confession. He's been to the Confessional in most every town they've visited since accepting the Lord's mission to rid the world of the wicked but he lost his nerve in every one. Every fecking one. Truth be known, he's afraid that he'll be one of the wicked that need purging from the Earth if he vocalizes this desire that churns in his gut.
What a sad state of affairs this is that he could face down ten men with guns as they all took aim at him but he isn't able to tell the priest that he wants carnal knowledge of his brother.
"My son?" The priest's soothing voice comes from the other side of the grate and startles Murph out of his contemplations.
"Aye, Father, it's sorry I am but I'm not sure how to be starting this." Murph crosses himself once more, taking the time to pull himself together.
"Take your time, my son, and remember that nothing is so great a burden that God cannot forgive it. He is the Creator."
"Would God be able to forgive me wanting a man, then?" Murphy lays his head against the back wall of the small wooden Confessional box.
"If you were truly repentant about it, then he would be able to. Do you want a man?"
"Aye and that's not the worst of it." This is it, he decides, he's going to vocalize his want and damn himself to eternal suffering.
"What is the worst of it then?" As the priest speaks, Murphy opens his mouth, shuts it and opens it again. The words can't quite come out. "When you're ready."
"It's me brother, Father. I'm wanting me twin brother and Christ but the Lord can't quite forgive that, can He?" He pushes his palms into his eyes until spots burst into life on the back of his eyelids.
"The Lord gives us no more than we can bear. Unnatural urges are just one of the burdens we must bear like Christ bore the weight of his own suffering upon his back. Give these inclinations up to the Lord and He shall release you from their weight." Other than a quick inhalation at Murphy's blunt declaration, the priest sounds unfazed by Murphy's confession.
"And how am I to be doing that?" His hands shift so that they now cup his cheeks as he stares at the grate.
"Prayer, my son, the power of prayer shall heal you. An Act of Contrition would not be amiss either. Do you have a rosary?"
"Of course, Father." Murphy's hand grips the heavy wooden cross.
"Make your way around it three times, then do the Lord's work and when it's completed, you'll be free of your unnatural burden and longings."
"Just that simple?"
"It's as simple as you wish to make it."
"Aye, then. Thank you, Father." Once more, Murphy's thumbnail touches his skin as he crosses himself.
"Did you have other sins to confess, my son?"
"No, Father."
"Then, Absolvo te a peccatis tuis: in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti."
"Amen."
"Go in Peace."
"Thank you, Father." Murphy's thumb traces the familiar path, pausing over his heart for a moment, before he leaves the Confessional.
It's easy work to slide into the pew next to Connor. It's far harder work to ignore the quick glance that Connor shoots him. The kneeler's hard even with the thin padding as his knees touch it and bear his weight. Putting the cross between his thumb and forefinger, he starts, "Creidim i nDia, an tAthair Uilechumhachtach, Cruthaitheoir Nimhe agus Talún…"
As Murphy prays in Irish, Connor stands and makes his way into the Confessional. His lips don't falter on the words even as his mind debates just what it is that Connor could've done in the past three days to warrant a visit to the Confessional. If his eyes watch that slight limp a bit too long, then he'd be forgiven for it shortly, freed from his burden by the beads in his hand and the routine in his mind. It will work this time, it has to.
As the final prayer trips off his lips, "A Athair Shíoraí, gur cheannaigh t'Aonmhac dúinn, lena bheatha, lena bhás, is lena aiséirí, aoibhneas síoraí na bhFlaitheas, tabhair dúinn, achnaímíd ort, do ghrásta, ionas ag machnamh dúinn ar na mistéiribh seo na Corónach Mhuire, go dtiocfadh linn do thoil naofa a dhéanamh agus an t-aoibhneas síoraí sin do shroisint, trí Íosa Críost ár dTiarna.," Connor steps out of the Confessional and won't look at him.
"You about done, then?" Connor sounds abrupt and cold.
"Aye, just finished." As Murphy stands, he crosses himself and then leaves the pew, genuflecting before exiting the church right behind Connor. In perfect synchronization, they pull out a cigarette each and then light them. The rhythm and the routine of it soothes Murphy as they exchange a quick glance and then go down the steps.
Murphy has forgotten how many churches they've been in, how many towns and cities they've visited while on their mission as the Hammers of the Lord. Their father never comes with them as he'd said he had his own relationship with God, one that doesn't require a visit to His house. Somehow, though, Murphy knows he'll remember St. Patrick's Cathedral for more than its architecture and history.
They walk through the downtown section near the church, looking around and getting a feel for the place. The streets are busy but there's a hush there as well. Murphy appreciates the quiet as it gives him time to mull over what work for the Lord the priest had meant.
He is already doing the Lord's work, isn't he? Does that mean that there's an end in sight for all the killing? He shakes his head because he's not so naive as to believe that there wouldn't be wicked no matter what city they went to. They'd be doing this until they die.
Here's where his wants veer from the wants of Connor and their da. He doesn't want to be doing this until he's either killed or old and grey. He's not his da and, more importantly, doesn't want Connor to be either.
Murphy can see it already, in the coldness of Connor's expression and the way he's withdrawn. Laughter's turned into a rare occurrence. Some days, Murphy thinks he'd rather be back at the meatpacking plant and working side by side with the ball-kicking lesbian than traveling across the States and leaving a trail of dead behind them. The miserable life would be worth it because he'd be hearing Connor's laugh.
He misses the casual touches between them; the quick cuff, the shoulder squeeze, the companionable arm slung around his body. He misses all of it more than is healthy. That thought brings him right back around to his confession and the fact that the want's gotten even worse since they've started traveling and he's been forced to share a bed with Connor in countless hotels and motels.
There's not much of a chance that he can hide the fact that he gets hard when Connor flips an arm around him and snuffles into the crook of his neck. The feel of Connor's inhalations teasing his bare skin coupled with the weight of the fisted hand resting on his chest torment him on an almost nightly basis. It's divine and profane at the same time.
"Murph? Have you heard a fucking word I've said?" Connor slugs him on the shoulder and he's forced out of his thoughts.
"Aye, of course, I always listen to you," he responds sarcastically while rolling his eyes.
"Fuck off," Connor shoots back before slinging an arm around him and the divinely profane feeling sweeps over him. "Let's get something to eat before we're back with da."
"Alright then, what're you thinking?" There's a small diner, hidden between a couple of garish shops and Murph gestures towards it. "That good enough?"
Connor slaps his shoulder and dashes across the street, pausing to yell over his shoulder, "Last in has to buy!"
Murphy takes off after him but Connor still wins. "Cheating just outside of church? You'll be right back in the Confessional with that sort of behavior."
Connor only tosses a rude gesture towards him as they slide into a booth and start talking about what brought them to New York. "We'll start in the Irish section, get a feel for the lay of the land, and then we'll clean out everyone that feeds on their own first."
"Aye, sound plan though I'm not sure if da'll feel the same." Murphy stops there and orders his food. The waitress can't get enough of their accents and he wants to kick Connor for pouring it on for her, thickening it up until he sounds like he's fresh off the boat and half as smart. After a quick look around, Murphy decides that Russian is the language to use right now.
"What're you doing? Stop drawing attention to us, you know they have our pictures everywhere." Murphy leans in close as he whispers in Russian. Connor rolls his eyes and this time, Murphy can't resist the urge to kick Connor under the table.
"What the fuck you do that for?" Connor's too loud and, yet again, drawing needless attention to them.
"Would you shut it? Fuck's sake, Conn, think before you speak," Murphy chastises and focuses only on the attention and not the jealousy pooling in his gut.
"What the fuck you kick me for?" Connor whispers back though it's loud enough that the woman at the next table over is still watching them. Murphy switches back to Russian again.
"Because you're being an ass. One of these people could be calling the cops even now. We're not home in Boston anymore. These people don't know us and won't protect us. We're on our own and you're pouring on the charm and making sure that the waitress remembers us. You think about what'll happen if she watches the news and they flash our pictures?" The woman that had been watching them goes back to her own food and Murphy breathes a bit easier as he whispers in a pleasant tone though he's sure that Connor can feel how pissed off he is.
"You're so worried all the time. Since when are you like this? You've changed and…" Connor breaks off.
"And what? Someone's got to worry about getting caught as you and da are too busy planning the next mark. Da's off watching everyone now and, fuck's sake. I'm trying to keep us out of jail." He threads his hands into his hair before toying with his fork. "Smecker can only do so much for us, he can't throw his weight around everywhere we go or they'll catch on to his involvement. We have to protect him too."
Connor shakes his head and doesn't respond. Murphy knows that expression, knows that it means that Connor's thinking about what he's said and that's enough for now. Maybe he's finally gotten through or maybe Connor's finally realizing that the path they're on isn't the right one or… or maybe Connor's just thinking about the waitress.
"You've a point," Connor finally says and Murphy looks up, shocked.
"About damn time you realize that I'm the smarter of the two of us. That's what being the oldest means, being smarter than you." Murphy wants a cigarette, his food or anything to stick in his hands to keep him from reaching out and touching Connor when Connor's smile and laughter break out.
"You're a fucking dick, you know that? Mam's like as said that I'm the oldest."
"You mean when she said that the bigger cock was the older? Considering the shriveled bits between your legs, I'm thinking that means me." Murphy can't help but think about how many times he's seen Connor shower or even take a piss, can't help but remember the way that his own hands have wanted to lather and touch. He starts reciting the Hail Mary in his head in a vain attempt to stop the want.
"Checking out me cock, are you?" Connor leers and Murphy glares. All in all, the waitress couldn't have picked a more awkward moment to bring their meals around. She quickly slides the plates onto the table and disappears as quickly as she'd come. The awkward silence breaks as they laugh again.
The rest of the meal is just like they were before this whole mission thing. There's teasing and laughing. There're those hands that won't stop moving and the want is curling inside, closer to the surface than it's been in a year. Murphy can't resist reaching out and grabbing Connor's hand, giving it a quick squeeze and releasing it. Connor cocks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything.
It's enough for now. It has to be as another Hail Mary trips through his mind.
~~**~~
Murphy's cursing under his breath. Fucking da and his fucking ideas of who next. They've walked right into a fucking pissing contest between a bunch of brothers and the current bastard leading the rest as they prey on their own. They're all Irish, for fuck's sake. How the hell can they be attacking their own?
It'd be more understandable if it was Irish versus Russian or Italian or any other nationality. But it's not, it's Irish versus Irish and that strikes a bit too close for Murphy's comfort level. Da, on the other hand, is all for wiping them all out, those Donnelly brothers and that prick with the axe, Dokey or Hokey or whatever the hell he's wanting to go by.
After watching the situation for a few days, Murphy isn't so sure that the Donnellys are really as bad as their Da thinks. That could be part of the doubt that Murphy has regarding their da. These brothers are just the catalyst for Murphy to break away from the extremism of the courtroom revelation and the overt workings. Murphy'd much rather not see a sketch of his face on the television and in the papers.
Add in the fact that da keeps playing with Connor, trying to mold him into a carbon copy of himself and Murphy's not at all comfortable with the situation. It's as he's reflecting on all of this that he walks into the Firecracker and sits down to get a pint. The bar's empty, not anything that he hasn't noticed before. The young lad behind the counter doesn't look quite old enough to be manning a bar but Murphy just orders a pint and the kid wanders off, happy to have a customer.
"Sean, come give me a hand," a voice calls out from near the pool tables and Murphy's tempted to wander that way, get an idea of where all people could be hiding.
"Got a customer, be there in a minute," the kid, Sean, answers. "Here's your pint, that's five and a quarter."
The price is outrageous but Murphy puts the money down anyway. The kid takes it, rings it into the register and then heads towards the back where he disappears behind a wall. Murphy nurses his pint, sipping at it and thinking that the kid has quite a bit to learn about the proper building of a Guinness. What's in front of him is one of the shittiest builds he's ever had the misfortune to taste and that includes the guy who just poured it out of a can in Tucson.
The door opens and Murphy turns to face it, reaching a hand under his peacoat. The weight of the gun is comforting in his hand as one of the other brothers enters. This one, he thinks, is Tommy. Which means that it's either Jimmy or Kevin that's down below the wall. Tommy is the first one that da wants to kill which means that he's the one that Murphy wants to protect.
"Seen my brothers around?" the bloke demands.
"I'm thinking they slipped downstairs for a bit, if your brothers are the ones working here." Murphy hopes he covers his slip well enough that Tommy doesn't notice.
"Not from the neighborhood, are you?" Tommy heads behind the bar.
"Not from the country, really." Murphy gets up as Tommy reaches for the phone. Now's the time for him to fuck with his da's plans. He puts his hand over Tommy's as he starts to dial and then says, "I wouldn't be calling anyone just yet. Things're going on that you're not privy to and you should be."
"Oh yeah? Like what?" Tommy's sounding aggressive and his free hand starts reaching under his own peacoat.
"Heard of the Saints?"
"Those guys going around the country killing? Yeah, I've heard of 'em. Everyone's heard of 'em. The hell's that got to do with me making a call?"
"I wouldn't be pulling out that gun just yet as I've one of me own." Murphy pulls his out with the silencer attached and Tommy's hand drops away from his coat. Sliding it back in, he continues, "Rumor has it that you're next, you and your kin. I'm thinking that you might want to be making plans about that. Might want to lay low a wee bit so that the Saints'll concentrate more on the other lad in the neighborhood."
"Christ, you're one of them, aren't you? You're telling me that you're planning on killing me and you want me to keep you from doing it? This your normal way of operating?"
"Not at all, lad. 'M here as a free agent, you might say. I'm willing to strike a deal with you, information for pointing the rest at Dokey. We're needing a bit more information into the way he works, where he'll be, that sort of thing."
Murphy steps closer as he whispers, "It's a good deal and you'll be protecting your family."
"What do you care about my family? Who the hell do you think you are to walk in here and give me demands?" Tommy's face twists into a sneer as he leans in aggressively.
"Take the deal. Don't take the deal, either way doesn't make a difference to me in the long run." Murphy removes his hand from Tommy's and starts to walk to the door. It's as he's going through the vestibule that he hears Tommy speak.
"What sort of information?"
It's the beginning of an interesting dynamic. Murphy meets with Tommy at least once a day and it's a nice break from the way Connor laps up everything that their da spouts off like it's coming from the mouth of God himself. Murphy would much rather be meeting Tommy for a pint.
Besides, it means that he's concentrating on someone other than his twin when he wanks at night. His soul feels a bit lighter when he thinks of Tommy's hands and the way they grip a pencil while he sketches out a quick map of the hall where Dokey meets his thugs or the way he gestures when he talks about his brothers. His fingers are long and lean, like Connor's, and Murphy wonders what they'd feel like on his skin, tracing the skin over his ribs, gripping his cock or even pressing into his hips as those lips suck him.
Hard to believe that he's only known Tommy a week when Tommy shoves him against a wall and kisses him out of the blue. Completely unexpected but appreciated all the same, Murphy delves his hands into Tommy's hair and kisses him back. He pointedly doesn't think about Connor, won't think about how Connor's a fraction taller than him just like Tommy. He refuses to compare the way their hair feels under his fingers and he won't contemplate the way that Tommy is as lean as Connor.
Instead, he tries to concentrate on the sensation of hands, any hands, on his chest as Tommy pushes his shirt up and off, leaving him bare-chested in the hotel room that he's been sharing with Connor. The breeze from the rattling air conditioning unit causes his nipples to harden and Tommy takes advantage by pinching them hard. Murphy breaks the kiss to throw his head backwards as he moans at the sensation.
Tommy's muttering something about showing her that he doesn't need her but Murphy doesn't care much because his hands are undoing the belt and then the jeans, pushing them down and freeing Murphy's cock. There isn't any conversation between them, the panting breaths and the metallic snick of zippers opening is conversation enough. When those long artistic fingers grip his cock, Murphy wants to cry out but he's afraid that the wrong name will leave his lips so he leans forward and thrusts his tongue into Tommy's mouth, brutally knocking their teeth together as he flips them around and pushes Tommy against the wall.
Then it's his turn to remove clothing as he tugs Tommy's shirt over his head, trapping his arms and then biting down on the exposed collarbone. His hands fumble over the belt, sliding leather across denim. There's sweat pooling at the base of his spine as Tommy's hand works his cock, up and down, squeezing and rubbing. Murphy fumbles with the button and then the rasp of metal sliding down echoes in the preternatural silence. Tommy's not wearing any underwear so when Murphy starts pushing the jeans down, his cock springs out and Murphy takes it into his hand.
Closing his eyes, he leans his head back and feels the teeth on his neck, his collarbone, his chest. It's easy to pretend that it's Connor nipping at his skin, easy to pretend that it's Connor's cock in his hand instead of Tommy's. He won't burn in Hell if it's just pretending, right? It's easy to think that God won't damn him for playing pretend but He's already said that homosexuality wasn't the way to go and Murphy, even in the game of pretend, is still flaunting that.
It's a twisted path he's on, easily breaking commandments in one situation and fearing breaking tenets in another. No wonder he's mixed up, considering that he's trying to do the Lord's work by breaking the Lord's commandments. Does this make him one of the wicked, though? Does the way he's thinking about sucking that cock make him worthy of being killed by others who think they're doing the Lord's work?
He's fucked in the head and not paying attention to anything other than his circular thoughts and that hand on his cock when the door to the room opens and he hears the gasp. Then, Tommy's flesh is ripped away from him and he's slapped across the face. Opening his eyes, he punches blindly and connects with Connor's face. The spray of blood from his mouth is almost beautiful as it flies from his mouth and then Connor tackles him, sending him flying into the dresser. The mirror crashes to the ground as Murphy grabs Connor around the waist and pushes forward.
Landing on the bed, they roll around and pummel each other. They've done this before and they know exactly where to hit for the most damage. Murphy's kidneys are sobbing with pain while his ribs throb. They fight dirty, always have on the rare occasions when they've come to blows. Meanwhile, Tommy jumps in and starts hitting Connor as well. Protective instincts well up and Murphy takes a hit meant for Connor.
"This isn't about you," Murphy says as he shoves Tommy away from them. "Just get out and oomph fuck's sake, Connor, that's below the, Jesus Christ, stop!"
Connor lays there panting underneath Murphy while Murphy holds one of his hands to the bed. Turning to Tommy again, Murphy finishes what he'd been trying to say, "This isn't about you. Just go and I'll catch up to you later."
Tommy doesn't look like he's buying it but Murphy repeats himself and then watches as Tommy dresses and leaves without another glance. As soon as the door closes behind him, Connor grabs Murphy's hair and then wrenches them over so that Connor's on top.
"What the fuck was that that I just walked into? The fuck do you think you're doing?" Connor shouts and a drop of spit hits Murphy in the face as they stare at one another, a hairsbreadth from each other.
"Getting a handjob, the fuck it looked like?"
"From one of the marks, you ass, you were fucking around with one of the marks." Connor smacks him across the forehead with the palm of his hand and Murphy pushes at his shoulders.
"It's none of your business, not at all!"
"Christ Jesus, what a fucking mess. Think about what da'll do if he ever finds out. This what you've been confessing at every church?"
"Fuck off, you've been in the Confessional just as much as me. The fuck you confessing?"
"This is a fucking mess, Murphy, a big fucking mess." Connor's switched to Gaelic, speaking softly as they lay there. His hand reaches out and wipes at a smear of blood across Murphy's forehead and the touch makes Murphy shudder.
"You going to tell da?" Connor shakes his head and continues to wipe at Murphy's skin.
It's then that Murphy realizes that he's hard, his erection pressing into Murphy's leg. He wonders if Connor's noticed and he's so mortified that all he can think is to get away. He bucks up into Connor, trying to dislodge him. A second time and Murphy feels Connor's dick pressing down into him though there's no way possible that Conn would ever be hard because Murphy's lying naked underneath him. A third time and he's quite certain that Conn's hard.
"What the hell's gotten in to you? You want me off, just say it." Connor gets up and walks over to the cloudy mirror to look at his face. Murphy rolls off the bed and grabs his pants, tugging them on and hiding his cock.
"You didn't answer, you going to tell da?"
"You know I wouldn't do that! Not any of his business , is it?"
"Don't know anything of the like. Turning into the old man, aren't you? Always acting like he's the Second Coming or the Word of God."
"I don't!" Connor turns around and it's Murphy's turn to suckerpunch him.
"Aye, sure you're not. That why he says jump and you're already in the air? Oh da, you're right, we have to have the fortitude, we're doing the right thing, the Lord works in mysterious ways, here, da, can I kiss your ass?" Murphy mocks as he does a falsetto impersonation of Connor. He's braced for Connor to come back at him and he's shocked into silence when Connor only sits down on the edge of the bed. Murphy drops next to him, still waiting for that sneak attack.
"'M thinking you're right. Da's off about this whole thing. The Donnelly brothers aren't so different from us, are they? They're just doing what they have to to protect each other." Resting his elbows on his thighs, Connor drops his head to his knees. Murphy hasn't seen Connor look this defeated before.
"Aye, that's me problem with it. Dokey, he's an evil man, but the rest of them? What's the youngest do to anyone?"
"Been spending a lot of time with them, have you?" There's a bite to Connor's words.
"They're good lads and Tommy's been getting me information on Dokey. 'M thinking we can make a move. Not much else we can find out. We know what we need to. Da'll have to go along with it, won't he?"
"Don't know, Murph, don't know at all."
~~**~~
The Lord talks to Murphy in the middle of the night. First, there was the police station, the clear voice of the priest followed by the voice of God telling him just what they're to be doing to help. Connor'd gotten the same message at the same time. Now, while Murphy lies awake and listening to the sound of Connor's breathing, he wonders if Connor's gotten this message - the one demanding that Murphy turn around and press against Connor, kiss him and touch him - as well.
He can't help but fake sleep as Connor snuffles into his neck, while curled around him. Arm resting, heavy and comfortable, over his waist, Connor's hand is tracing patterns on his chest. He's harder than he's been in awhile because this is the first time he can remember Connor touching him like this. He's also afraid that if he moves, interrupts the breathing rhythm at all, that Connor'll stop or shift away or keep going.
He mouths the Lord's Prayer, hoping for the fortitude not to reach behind him and grab Connor's ass, pull him closer and bury his cock. As it is, Connor's pushing at his boxers, shifting them. By the time he's finished, Connor's cock is half-hard and brushing against the sensitive flesh at the top of Murphy's crack. The sensation of being surrounded by Connor is sinful, sinfully amazing.
This is a cross he's bearing and he wonders how Christ bore up underneath his own burden as he'd done. A crown of thorns would be less painful than Connor's hand drifting down his chest and brushing his hip, his thigh, his, oh Christ send his saints to preserve him cock. He hardens further under the teasing fingers that brush down and then back up, thumbing the tip of his cock, and the moan that erupts takes him by surprise.
That's when he knows that Connor's been faking sleep as well. He knows because there's a slight stiffening and an indrawn breath out of the sleep rhythm. Murphy tries to relax but he can't, not with the way that the hand starts its movement again, and then there're lips on the nape of his neck, mouthing him wetly and it's going to send him over the edge if he doesn't move away.
He moves on to the Hail Mary - Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. His lips keep moving, variations flowing over his tongue - O Vergin benedetta, sempre tu Ora per noi a Dio, che ci perdoni, E diaci grazia a viver si quaggiu Che'l paradiso al nostro fin ci doni..
Connor's hand slips so that it fully engulfs his cock, no longer teasing with finger tips. Murphy's lips stutters before he prayed in French Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce. Le Seigneur est avec vous. Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni. Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, Priez pour nous, pauvres pécheurs,maintenant et à l'heure de notre mort.. The cock slipping between his cheeks distracts him from the prayer, keeps him from concentrating on anything but the knowledgeable grip and that hardness. As he's done a thousand times before, he wonders what it would feel like to have it inside of him.
He switches to German as he feels the orgasm building - Gegrüßet seist du, Maria, voll der Gnade, der Herr ist mit dir. Du bist gebenedeit unter den Frauen, und gebenedeit ist die Frucht deines Leibes, Jesus. Heilige Maria, Mutter Gottes, bitte für uns Sünder jetzt und in der Stunde unseres Todes. Dirty and sinful, he bucks in time with the prayers, almost as if the familiar recitation sets the pace for Connor's hand as it brings him to the brink and then slides him the rest of the way over.
The sheets are wet and Murphy knows he's going to burn in hell for this moment. Mary hasn't heard his prayers, he blasphemed her name and he'll need to confess. He can't go back to St. Patrick's. The priest would recognize him and judge him for the failure of spirit.
Beyond his immortal soul, he doesn't quite know how he'll explain the spot on the sheets to Connor in the morning. Perhaps this is all a dream, except that there's still a hard cock rubbing his ass. Its tip is wet, which sends shivers up and down Murphy's spine. He shifts backwards, taking it just a bit deeper until the tip presses against his balls. Connor shifts forward and then pulls back. Murphy matches the rhythm.
He can't quite believe that they're doing this, that they're both pretending to be asleep when it's obvious that they aren't, that they're fucking and it feels so good, so much better than he'd imagined and Connor hasn't done more than tease his flesh. Hell, he hasn't done much other than squeeze his ass, trapping Connor's cock. Hand sliding from Murphy's cock to his lower leg's thigh, Connor forces them even closer together. Murphy finally opens his eyes and stares towards the bathroom while they work against each other's bodies. There's a spot of light on the wall, reflected from the parking lot's lights. It shifts and dances as the bed slowly rocks with the force of Connor's thrusts.
When Connor comes, he murmurs, "Murph" and it's almost enough to break Murphy.
~~**~~
They don't have time to be awkward in the morning. Their da's banging on the door and they scramble for their clothing. They're not looking at one another but there isn't much time, not when Murphy's jeans are on one side of the room while his shirt is on the other. His cross, he can't find his cross right away and he panics as Connor opens the door. Perhaps this is the Lord's way of chastising him, he's lost the right to wear the cross.
He's tossing bed sheets and comforters everywhere as he digs for it. He knows it has to be here somewhere. Always careful to place it just so, Murphy last saw it on the bedside table but it isn't there. Maybe the actions from last night pushed it off or maybe the Lord's talking but whatever it is, Murphy needs his cross. His chest feels empty and he clutches at his shirt.
The heavy familiar weight of it slips over his head and Murphy looks up to see Connor standing a bit too close. There's an odd expression on his face and Murphy desperately wants to reach out and touch his face, run a finger down his cheek as a physical sign of his gratitude. Instead, he simply stares at Connor and hopes that he doesn't remember last night.
"Today, my boys, we start the cleaning," their da says as he stands in the doorway.
"Who're we starting with, da?" Connor asks and breaks the moment. Murphy sits on the edge of the bed and slides his feet into his boots.
"We'll start with the worst and work our way through."
"Dokey, then?" Murphy asks as he tightens the laces. "I know that there's to be a meeting in the afternoon."
"Then we'll clear out that nest of vipers."
They gather their weapons and head out the door. It's a short drive to the center where Dokey normally holds court. The only problem is that no one's there. Next on their list is the warehouse and there's no one there either. They go to the Firecracker next and no one is there either.
It's like the entire Irish section has cleared out and it doesn't bode well. They all exchange looks before separating to find out what's been happening.
Murphy goes in search of Tommy. The lad's not at his mam's and he's not at O'Reilly's diner. Then he sees the old Corolla ahead. He looks to the sides, expecting his da to jump out at any point. The brothers are arguing over the beat up car and Tommy's winning the argument like he's always been able to.
"Have a minute?" Murphy asks as he reaches them.
"Not going to argue with you, Sean, I'm taking it." Tommy turns and walks towards the car, gesturing for Murphy to follow. "What do you want?"
"Da's decided to go for Dokey but he's nowhere around."
"We had a parting of the ways and now, I'm just trying to get my family out of here. We're not sticking around." Tommy takes off into traffic.
"Getting out would be the best bet," he agrees with Tommy as he leans into the seat and plucks a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket.
"No smoking in the car, I've got to sell this piece of shit." Murph puts the cigarette back into the pack and watches traffic zip past until they pull into the lot of the dealership. It's fairly obvious that yesterday's intimacies aren't going to be repeated, that it was a brief oddness and Tommy doesn't want to talk about it. In fact, Tommy isn't talking about anything, no matter how many conversations Murphy tries to start.
Tommy trades the Corolla and the little bit of cash for a large van. Murphy declines the ride and makes his way back towards the motel they've been staying at. He enters the room he and Connor are sharing and doesn't find anyone around. Briefly wondering if either Connor or their da found Dokey, he hopes they haven't, not without him, before making his way into the shower.
He washes himself, lathering soap all over. The slick slide of his hands on his body reminds him of those teasing touches from last night. When he closes his eyes, he's able to pretend that they're Connor's, Connor's hands drifting down his chest, tweaking his nipples. They're Connor's hands brushing across his upper thighs before pressing back up and taunting his cock with a quick brush. They're Connor's hands all over his body and turns so that his back faces the mirror and door as he leans his head against the wall.
He moans out Connor's name as he wraps his hand around his cock while the water beats down on him. The force is almost enough that he can pretend that it's someone back there, that it's Connor behind him as he tugs. He moans out Connor's name again as he reaches behind him and encounters bare skin.
Turning around so fast that he slips and has to brace himself against the plastic of the shower stall, he watches Connor step into the small space. Then he's trapped between the wall and Connor as they're both naked and closer than they've been since they were kids in Ireland.
"I can explain," Murphy stammers out as he knows it's completely obvious exactly what he'd been doing. Connor shakes his head and presses his lips against Murphy's.
Stunned into silence and inactivity, he lets Connor nip at his lower lip, lets Connor put his hands on his body. When Connor's hands slide around and cup Murphy's ass, bringing their groins together, that's when Murphy regains his ability to move. He pushes at Connor's chest and tries to free himself. He's confused and disbelieving. Connor's still kissing him, still touching him and they're both hard.
Connor leans in and kisses him, this time forcing Murphy's mouth open, tongue piercing the opening of lips. The taste of Connor bursts over Murphy, sweeping him under and into the experience. Unsure, his hands come up and rest against Connor's hips before circling around and touching the small of Connor's back. One hand traces down into the crack and Murphy teases at Connor's ass.
When Connor breaks the kiss to lean his head against the wall of the shower, Murphy looks at them in the foggy mirror, only seeing a blur of entwined flesh. The surreal view makes the whole encounter more real and he watches as his own hand rubs up the expanse of muscled back and then thrusts into the hair at the exposed nape.
"What's happening here?" Murphy asks in the lull.
"Can't do it anymore, Murph, can't keep resisting and resisting. Can't do it."
"Resisting what, Connor?"
"This," and Connor reinforces what he means by threading a hand between their bodies and grasping their hard cocks. Murphy bucks into that touch. "Been confessing and praying and I can't do it. Can't have it and can't let someone else have it. I'm fucked one way or the other. Might as well burn for a sinner as a saint."
"You've been wanting this?" Murphy sounds young as he asks though he's still certain he's the eldest.
"I'll make a confession to you. I've been wanting this since before we embarked on this mission. Tried not to but then I walked in on you and that Donnelly and I couldn't resist anymore." Connor still hasn't moved his forehead from the wall and Murphy shifts so that he can press his lips against Connor's.
"Been trying to confess at every church we've been to that I've wanted you and finally found the courage at the last church. Priest told me that if I prayed enough and did the Lord's work, I'd be freed of the burden."
Connor's hand moves and Murphy shivers in the warm foggy dampness.
"Truly?"
"Aye." Murphy's hand slides from Connor's hair to entwine fingers together around their cocks.
There's no more speaking as they start to move. They kiss, lipping at each other, tasting and combining flavors until Murphy can't remember which is whom's. They touch, brushing against flesh and bringing them closer until, in the fog-drenched mirror, they look like one mass. There's no need to fake sleep or concentrate on breath. Murphy knows that he isn't going to regret this enough to ever repent and mean it. He's cursing himself but he can't quite bring himself to care. Perhaps their work will redeem them, perhaps it won't.
All that matters, right now, is the too-full feel of Connor's finger in his ass. Like he's dreamed in the past, Connor slides another finger in before pulling out. Bracing Murphy against the wall, he pulls Murphy's legs around his waist and then, Murphy slides down onto Connor's cock while Connor thrusts. There's a slow penetration each time, just a bit deeper and the burn increases. Murphy's reciting prayers in English, French and Spanish to keep from stopping Connor because it hurts, it fucking hurts but this is Connor and it'll be right again.
Finally, Connor's deep within him and they're touching forehead to forehead as Murphy adjusts to the feeling. It's not so bad now so Murphy clenches and Connor withdraws a bit only to push back in. This is better than before and Connor repeats, this time harder. Murphy's head bangs against the wall as Connor does it a third time, even harder.
Fourth time and pleasure spreads through him. Murphy tries to keep himself where he is, legs clenching at Connor's waist to support himself. He's tempted to reach a hand up to the showerhead to help as well but it wobbles in his hand so he stops. "Connor," he whispers and Connor answers, "Murphy".
The speed picks up until Connor comes with a cry. Murphy needs a bit more touch, a bit more something. It's almost like Connor's able to read his mind and he reaches down and takes Murphy's cock into his hands and tugs at him. Being surrounded by Connor - inside, outside, around, near, everywhere - Murphy succumbs to the orgasm and cries out Connor's name as he comes.
Boneless, he slides down the wall and shivers in the cooling water.
~~**~~
Da's gone along with quite a few of their guns and what little cash they'd been able to scrimp together. The Donnellys are at the hospital with their mum and Murphy visits just once, promising to take care of Dokey while Tommy isn't able. Connor and Murphy pass a church in the neighborhood and when they enter, the peace they feel is just as strong as the touch of a hand to a hand.
It's not perfect but it's theirs and that's enough for now. God works in mysterious ways and Murphy's thankful that, in this case, He's been loud and clear.
Translations:
Absolvo te a peccatis tuis: in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti Latin: I absolve you of your sins: in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit
Creidim i nDia, an tAthair Uilechumhachtach, Cruthaitheoir Nimhe agus Talún Irish: I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth (First line of the Apostles Creed)
A Athair Shíoraí, gur cheannaigh t'Aonmhac dúinn, lena bheatha, lena bhás, is lena aiséirí, aoibhneas síoraí na bhFlaitheas, tabhair dúinn, achnaímíd ort, do ghrásta, ionas ag machnamh dúinn ar na mistéiribh seo na Corónach Mhuire, go dtiocfadh linn do thoil naofa a dhéanamh agus an t-aoibhneas síoraí sin do shroisint, trí Íosa Críost ár dTiarna. Irish: Let us pray. O GOD, whose only begotten Son, by His life, death, and resurrection, has purchased for us the rewards of eternal life, grant, we beseech Thee, that meditating upon these mysteries of the Most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we may imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise, through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen. (Final Prayer of the Rosary)
O Vergin benedetta, sempre tu Ora per noi a Dio, che ci perdoni, E diaci grazia a viver si quaggiu Che'l paradiso al nostro fin ci doni Italian: Oh blessed Virgin, pray to God for us always, that He may pardon us and give us grace, so to live here below that He may reward us with paradise at our death. (Variation of the Hail Mary)
Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâce. Le Seigneur est avec vous. Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni. Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, Priez pour nous, pauvres pécheurs,maintenant et à l'heure de notre mort. French: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. (traditional Hail Mary)
Gegrüßet seist du, Maria, voll der Gnade, der Herr ist mit dir. Du bist gebenedeit unter den Frauen, und gebenedeit ist die Frucht deines Leibes, Jesus. Heilige Maria, Mutter Gottes, bitte für uns Sünder jetzt und in der Stunde unseres Todes. German: Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. (traditional Hail Mary)
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.