Who The Fuck Is Murphy?
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A/N: Written for TWD kinkmeme on Livejournal. Role playing Boondock Saints characters during sexytimes. Because Glenn just can’t get over how similar Daryl looks to a certain someone. Bonus: If Daryl is all like “WTF…How do I do an Irish accent?
This wasn’t edited or anything. All mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I do not own. All rights go to Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, Troy Duffy and all other involved.
Part One: Who The Fuck Is Murphy?
“Fuck, Murphy!” Glenn called out, eyes closed, his kiss-bruised lips parted.
“What the fuck did you just call me, Korea?” Daryl pulled back with an incredulous look on his face. Glenn looked at him, confused, before he realized what he had said; he sat up quickly, grabbing Daryl’s bicep in the process and looking guilty. “Who’s Murphy, Glenn?” Daryl actually felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Shit, Daryl, it’s not what you think.” Glenn said reassuringly, attempting to pull Daryl closer to him.
“I think you just said someone else’s name while I was suckin’ yer dick, that’s what I think.” Daryl yanked his arm from Glenn’s grasp.
“It’s not that, Daryl! You have to believe me.” Glenn was pleading now, voice desperate and cracking. When Daryl didn’t respond Glenn signed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, have you ever seen The Boondock Saints?”
“What?” Daryl asked. He was flustered and self-conscious, buttoning his shirt back up.
“The Boondock saints? It’s a movie.”
“That one ‘bout those stupid micks killin’ people?” Daryl still didn’t look at the other man.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Glenn ignored the mick comment. “Well the one brother, Murphy…I think you look like him.”
“You think I look like some Irish faggot?” Daryl laughed at that.
“It’s actually uncanny how much you look like him. The face, the eyes, that sexy little beauty mark.” Glenn reached out to touch said beauty mark.
“I still don’t get why you said his name.” Daryl licked his lips. “If I look so much like him then you shouldn’t have gotten us confused or nothin’.”
“I didn’t get you confused, I just want…” Glenn trailed off muttering under his breath. He suddenly looked very bashful.
“You just wanted what?” Daryl asked picking up on how uncomfortable his lover was becoming.
“I just wanted to pretend you were him. You know, mix things up a bit.” Glenn ducked his head.
“So I ain’t good enough for you?” Daryl teased Glenn, failing to sound angry.
“No! Of course you’re good enough! God, Daryl, I fucking love you.” Glenn stressed, taking hold of each of Daryl’s shoulders. When Daryl started laughing Glenn smiled, punching Daryl lightly. “Come on, man! Don’t fuck with me like that. I thought you were serious.”
“Come on, Chinaman, you know I can’t resist givin’ you a hard time.” Daryl settled back down. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Oh. Do?” Glenn seemed shocked.
“Yer callin’ me Murphy. Means you must want somethin’. What can I do?”
“Shit. Really?” Glenn’s pupils dilated. “Can you do an Irish accent?”
“You gotta be kiddin’ me. How the fuck do I do an Irish accent?”
“I don’t know! You just do it.” Glenn was fidgeting.
“Ok. So an Irish accent. What else?” Daryl asked.
“Do you remember anything else about the movie?”
“Some. Haven’t seen it since Merle and I got drunk on St. Patty’s day a few years back.” Daryl was trying to remember as much of the movie as possible.
“Well, just, you know…use an Irish accent and play off Murphy’s character.” Glenn leaned in for a kiss but Daryl stopped him.
“So are you his brother or are you Glenn?”
“I’m just Glenn. No way can an Asian guy pass for Connor.” Glenn said after a moment of thought.
“Alright, then,” Daryl said, Irish brogue surprisingly accurate and strong. “How ‘bout ye lay down before that brother o’ mine gets back.”
Glenn immediately fell to his back, reaching to pull Daryl down on top of him. With one hand on Daryl’s back and the other on his face Glenn pulled the other man’s bottom lip between his teeth, moaning loudly. They lay like that until neither of them could breathe, chests heaving with labored pants. Daryl laid a trail of kisses down Glenn’s neck, across his chest and caressed each muscle in his stomach. The younger man’s body was quivering, fingers clenched in the thick sleeping bag below him.
“Shit, Daryl.” Glenn yelped when he felt hot breath on his cock.
“Now who ta fuck do ye think yer callin’ ‘Daryl’?” Murphy asked, raising his head to throw a cocky smirk at Glenn. “Me name’s Murphy.” Murphy lowered his head again, licking Glenn’s cock from root to tip.
“Fuck!” Glenn grabbed hold of the other man’s hair. “Murphy, Jesus.”
“Lord’s fuckin’ name.” Murphy said and Glenn couldn’t help but laugh. His laugh was cut short, however, when his cock was engulfed in the most perfect wet, hot heat. Glenn slammed his head back not even noticing the pain when it hit the hard ground. Glenn closed his eyes and pictured Murphy MacManus, shirt off, crucifix dangling from his neck. He imagined the smell of cigarette smoke heavy in the air and the taste of whisky in his mouth. A hand pinched his nipple and he groaned, pulling at the hair tangled between his fingers.
“I’m gonna-” Glenn stopped, gasping when he felt the slight scrape of teeth on the underside of his cock. He wasn’t happy this was ending so soon but fuck was his boyfriend hot. He came a second later, yelling Murphy’s name so loudly he was sure the rest of camp heard.
“Shit, Chinaman,” Daryl said-it was Daryl again-coming up to lay next to Glenn, placing a soft kiss on his neck. “You tryin’ to wake everyone up?”
“I think you just broke me.” Glenn was gasping for breath. When he turned to face Daryl he saw the older man smiling widely at him, a glint in his eye. “What is it?”
“Next time you can put on yer old work hat and deliver me a pizza.”
-Fin
A/N: Please let me know what you think!
A/N: Written for TWD kinkmeme on Livejournal. Role playing Boondock Saints characters during sexytimes. Because Glenn just can’t get over how similar Daryl looks to a certain someone. Bonus: If Daryl is all like “WTF…How do I do an Irish accent?
This wasn’t edited or anything. All mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I do not own. All rights go to Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, Troy Duffy and all other involved.
Part One: Who The Fuck Is Murphy?
“Fuck, Murphy!” Glenn called out, eyes closed, his kiss-bruised lips parted.
“What the fuck did you just call me, Korea?” Daryl pulled back with an incredulous look on his face. Glenn looked at him, confused, before he realized what he had said; he sat up quickly, grabbing Daryl’s bicep in the process and looking guilty. “Who’s Murphy, Glenn?” Daryl actually felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Shit, Daryl, it’s not what you think.” Glenn said reassuringly, attempting to pull Daryl closer to him.
“I think you just said someone else’s name while I was suckin’ yer dick, that’s what I think.” Daryl yanked his arm from Glenn’s grasp.
“It’s not that, Daryl! You have to believe me.” Glenn was pleading now, voice desperate and cracking. When Daryl didn’t respond Glenn signed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, have you ever seen The Boondock Saints?”
“What?” Daryl asked. He was flustered and self-conscious, buttoning his shirt back up.
“The Boondock saints? It’s a movie.”
“That one ‘bout those stupid micks killin’ people?” Daryl still didn’t look at the other man.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Glenn ignored the mick comment. “Well the one brother, Murphy…I think you look like him.”
“You think I look like some Irish faggot?” Daryl laughed at that.
“It’s actually uncanny how much you look like him. The face, the eyes, that sexy little beauty mark.” Glenn reached out to touch said beauty mark.
“I still don’t get why you said his name.” Daryl licked his lips. “If I look so much like him then you shouldn’t have gotten us confused or nothin’.”
“I didn’t get you confused, I just want…” Glenn trailed off muttering under his breath. He suddenly looked very bashful.
“You just wanted what?” Daryl asked picking up on how uncomfortable his lover was becoming.
“I just wanted to pretend you were him. You know, mix things up a bit.” Glenn ducked his head.
“So I ain’t good enough for you?” Daryl teased Glenn, failing to sound angry.
“No! Of course you’re good enough! God, Daryl, I fucking love you.” Glenn stressed, taking hold of each of Daryl’s shoulders. When Daryl started laughing Glenn smiled, punching Daryl lightly. “Come on, man! Don’t fuck with me like that. I thought you were serious.”
“Come on, Chinaman, you know I can’t resist givin’ you a hard time.” Daryl settled back down. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Oh. Do?” Glenn seemed shocked.
“Yer callin’ me Murphy. Means you must want somethin’. What can I do?”
“Shit. Really?” Glenn’s pupils dilated. “Can you do an Irish accent?”
“You gotta be kiddin’ me. How the fuck do I do an Irish accent?”
“I don’t know! You just do it.” Glenn was fidgeting.
“Ok. So an Irish accent. What else?” Daryl asked.
“Do you remember anything else about the movie?”
“Some. Haven’t seen it since Merle and I got drunk on St. Patty’s day a few years back.” Daryl was trying to remember as much of the movie as possible.
“Well, just, you know…use an Irish accent and play off Murphy’s character.” Glenn leaned in for a kiss but Daryl stopped him.
“So are you his brother or are you Glenn?”
“I’m just Glenn. No way can an Asian guy pass for Connor.” Glenn said after a moment of thought.
“Alright, then,” Daryl said, Irish brogue surprisingly accurate and strong. “How ‘bout ye lay down before that brother o’ mine gets back.”
Glenn immediately fell to his back, reaching to pull Daryl down on top of him. With one hand on Daryl’s back and the other on his face Glenn pulled the other man’s bottom lip between his teeth, moaning loudly. They lay like that until neither of them could breathe, chests heaving with labored pants. Daryl laid a trail of kisses down Glenn’s neck, across his chest and caressed each muscle in his stomach. The younger man’s body was quivering, fingers clenched in the thick sleeping bag below him.
“Shit, Daryl.” Glenn yelped when he felt hot breath on his cock.
“Now who ta fuck do ye think yer callin’ ‘Daryl’?” Murphy asked, raising his head to throw a cocky smirk at Glenn. “Me name’s Murphy.” Murphy lowered his head again, licking Glenn’s cock from root to tip.
“Fuck!” Glenn grabbed hold of the other man’s hair. “Murphy, Jesus.”
“Lord’s fuckin’ name.” Murphy said and Glenn couldn’t help but laugh. His laugh was cut short, however, when his cock was engulfed in the most perfect wet, hot heat. Glenn slammed his head back not even noticing the pain when it hit the hard ground. Glenn closed his eyes and pictured Murphy MacManus, shirt off, crucifix dangling from his neck. He imagined the smell of cigarette smoke heavy in the air and the taste of whisky in his mouth. A hand pinched his nipple and he groaned, pulling at the hair tangled between his fingers.
“I’m gonna-” Glenn stopped, gasping when he felt the slight scrape of teeth on the underside of his cock. He wasn’t happy this was ending so soon but fuck was his boyfriend hot. He came a second later, yelling Murphy’s name so loudly he was sure the rest of camp heard.
“Shit, Chinaman,” Daryl said-it was Daryl again-coming up to lay next to Glenn, placing a soft kiss on his neck. “You tryin’ to wake everyone up?”
“I think you just broke me.” Glenn was gasping for breath. When he turned to face Daryl he saw the older man smiling widely at him, a glint in his eye. “What is it?”
“Next time you can put on yer old work hat and deliver me a pizza.”
-Fin
A/N: Please let me know what you think!