Pay the Dearest Cost (7/12)
Title: Pay the Dearest Cost ( 7/12 )
Authors: empathicfrost (Frost) and theonemonaghan (Kacey)
Pairing: Con/Mur
Ratings: ***over-all series NC-17, for sex, sexual abuse, drug usage, language, violence and of course, the Twincest <3 ***
Disclaimer: not ours, but Kacey has a BDS shirt. >D And poster!
Summary: post-movie. Connor and Murph might be fugitives now, but they have each other. Except Yakavetta's nephew wants more than revenge.
A/N: a long bloody series.
Previous Chapters: Part One , Part Two , Part Three , Part Four , Part Five , Part Six
Chapter Seven:
Chapter Seven: Degrees of Evil
There was something feral about the Italian who sat there at the end of the bar, half in shadow, half in the dim, red light coming off the dance floor behind him.
His gaze was predatory. And even as he cupped his lighter to his cigarette, that hunting gaze never left the dancing crowd as though he were measuring out where he would find the night's most pleasurable meal.
Murphy was grinding against some faceless stranger on the dance floor, hips pressing provocatively against anything that was near him. Mouth was always half opened--tongue licking against lower lip and a smile (although fake) playing at his lips.
Except, It was hard to dance when one's attention was elsewhere. On a brother who was missing, and on a wrist that was throbbing with every jerking motion--not to mention the fact that eyes had not stopped scanning the room since he'd entered. He'd already spotted Paolo.
Murphy had seen him from the second he'd walked into the bar. But now--now he was trying to be inconspicuous. It had to be painfully obvious that Murphy was looking for any prospect of love tonight. Not for anyone special, and definitely not for Paolo.
Murphy was putting on quite the show, and was getting more than a little attention from the men around him. But he had his sights on someone else. Eyes finally allowed themselves to stay on Paolo as he danced. Fear was in his heart, but seductive confidence was in his eyes.
And Murphy's effort did not go in vain.
There were attractive men all over the room, sexy young boys filtered throughout the dancers, but there was a broken beauty that kept Paolo's attention on Murphy. It surpassed attractive and sexy.
Paolo's gaze was the hungry, patient watch of a man who always got what he wanted. When the dancing boy's attention remained held on him, Paolo only had to draw a long and deep inhale from his cigarette, eyes always on Murphy, as though sucking the sight of him into his lungs and not the smoke - before releasing a deliberately slow stream of it.
Then Paolo turned his back and faced the dark strip of the bar counter.
A dismissal?
An invitation.
It was taken for an invitation, because Murphy would have it no other way. He had demanded attention from Paolo and now he was going to get it.
A glance (small and discreet) was given to Smecker, who was nursing a beer on the other side of the room, and flicking a random man off. It didn't matter. Murph had to do this one on his own anyhow.
His hips swayed semi-seductively as he walked over to the bar, and leaned against it a bit. "Hi," He said, voice low and as non-Irish as he could make it. His mouth was near to Paolo's ear--since the Italian was still turned away from Murphy. Seduction at it's finest.
But maybe the invitation had been wrongly taken? Because Paolo only sipped from a glass as first response, seemingly uninterested and certainly unaffected by the moist greeting.
But then, perhaps the veil of indifference cracked, for green eyes that no longer hid lust, leveled on Murphy.
"Is someone afraid you’re going to get lost?" Paolo's attention was directed at the collar around Murphy’s throat and the bell attached to it. "Seems to me that’s something only an animal would wear, yes?" The Italian's eyes were dangerously close to the general area of a tattoo that Murphy was attempting to conceal. "Or someone who wanted to be treated like one."
It was all Murphy could do not to make a disgusted sound. He smiled and a hand moved up to his collar (the damned thing!), both hiding the spot where his tattoo was covered, and bringing more attention back to the jingling noise of the cat bell.
"Do you like it?" His question was purred out, and the twin missing his brother leaned in closer. "I'm not lost." Which left only the other option that the Italian had stated a moment before.
And with Murphy's outfit? Well, the idea of him asking to be treated like a slut wasn't out of the question. His acted out persona in the bar tonight was just begging to be taken home and abused as pleased.
Paolo's gaze didn’t linger for very long on the bell, but instead took a generously long, leisurely look over the rest of Murphy, like a platter that had been offered before him for inspection.
"I do like it." And just by the fact that his eyes traveled the low slope of Murphy's pants it was painstakingly evident that Paolo wasn’t talking about the little collar at all. In fact, fingers casually reached out and brushed the strip of exposed skin of Murphy's stomach between the parted edges of his shirt.
A smirk. "So you’re not lost... hmm." And Paolo's hand pulled away and he was sliding a new cigarette from his pack and offering it to Murphy with lidded eyes. "Then I suppose, finders keepers, eh?"
Murphy wanted to break off the hand that touched him. It sent shivers down his spine--and not the kind of shiver that Connor's lingering touch always left him with. Instead, he forced himself to lean into it, and gave a slim, seductive smile.
"That sounds very fair," he murmured out, lowering his eyelids ever so slightly. "I guess that makes me yours." There was something inside of Murphy that wept, but he silenced it and steeled himself. For Connor--because I love him. The thoughts of his brother calmed him, at least a little, and he was able to keep up with his role of desperate slut.
There were certain factors that all went in to how easily Paolo was swayed into the younger boy's false seduction. He didn’t have a very long amount of time available to linger in a place like this; in fact, he had a car waiting for him outside. Paolo also couldn’t be far from the hotel in case his father tried to contact him there from Chicago. So the Italian was in somewhat of a hurry, though it showed little.
But in fact, it was also the boy himself that caused Paolo’s urgency to leave. The boy’s blue eyes were lidded yet looked fierce enough to match Paolo's gaze. The way the boy's mouth never fully closed, even when sexily scraping the edge of his lip with his teeth. Paolo was standing, with suit coat slipping up his arms.
"Well if you are mine - then I suppose its only right to take you ...home." Paolo clearly wanted him. The Italian's cool exterior didn’t twitch with that need, but the eyes did. And with them, he beckoned Murphy to follow as they abandoned the gay bar through an entrance in the back, where in an alley, Paolo's car was waiting to take them to the hotel.
There was always a bodyguard with them, even when they got to that hotel, through the private parking lot reserved for those staying in the pent house, and even in the elevator to the towering floor above all the others. The suite that had one main lobby and two halls, one that led to three rooms, all the doors shut and dark and silent. The other hall held the soft light of a lamp from one of the suites bedrooms, and the mini bar was highlighted in lights as well. Paolo began pouring two drinks.
"Feel free to get comfortable." The words could only mean one thing. Paolo's mouth held a jagged, dark smile as he said them. There was still one guard at the door; another was walking around in the larger part of the suite.
Murphy’s blue eyed glance turned toward the guard at the door, and so he found that he was still being forced to act like a slut until he and the Italian were alone. There was no way he could possibly get past both Paolo and a guard with only a small knife.
So he smiled again, and let out something of a purr as he wiggled his rump into the bed and let his fingers (a few of them harboring shiny silver rings for effect) slide over the buttons to his shirt--undoing each one in a playfully seductive manner.
This was not even something he'd ever done for Connor, and Murphy felt bad, and more than a little dirty for doing it for his brother's captor first. He went on, anyway, aware now more than ever that he was in the same building as Connor.
The shirt--red and silky--slipped off his shoulders and was left in a little crumpled ball on the bed. It didn't matter too much--it had already been revealing, and his tattoos were cleverly covered by make-up. He was fine. He could do this. Deep mental breath. Exhale.
"You must be rich," he marveled, as if really surprised and in awe of the fact. He hated this man.
Paolo dismissed the comment, something he heard frequently enough from all his other unfortunate guests. He brought the drinks over to the bed and sat himself close enough to the headboard to lean back on it. Somewhere between the mini bar and the bed, his suit jacket had been shed, but he didn’t appear to be undressing any farther than that yet.
"Your nervous." An almost hissed whisper and Paolo's expression was blank. He'd detected even the slightest murmur of tension in the ease that Murphy was attempting. But he was still unsuspicious - in fact, his lifted eyebrow almost translated concern. "Here, have a drink. Relax a little more." A chuckle, casual, and Paolo was delivering the drink to Murphy's hand and picking up the discarded shirt near by, holding it in his hand like he might want to use it for something if the notion struck him.
Murphy took the drink with a gracious smile and brought it to his still-slightly opened lips and took a drink. "You're gorgeous," the twin complimented, instead of actually facing the spoken notation. Nervous? Oh, hell yes. There was a lot at stake tonight, and Murphy was beginning to worry over the fact that the guard was still there, and that he might actually have to sleep with this man.
Disgusting. ...And what would he do to explain the knife Smecker had so carefully holstered to his leg? His wrist throbbed ever so slightly, and Murphy was glad he'd taken painkillers right before he got to the bar. Will alone was all that was letting him use it (and had him thinking that maybe it wasn't broken, but only sprained badly).
Another drink was taken and Murphy smiled sweetly--unassumingly. Everything was good.
Paolo was placing his own drink down beside the bed -- had he even sipped it? -- to allow hands free for another cigarette. The compliment going without response once more until the Mafia under boss was tilting his head a little and smiling again. Appreciation for the compliment? Amusement.
"Then it's fitting for me to have such a pet as you, hm?" With that spoken confirmation of Murphy's status to obey him, Paolo was issuing him to move closer to where he was sitting. "Come. By me."
It truly did appear as though Paolo expected his night's entertainment to have an audience. But with a look to the door and gesture with his hand - the guard was leaving, the guard was even closing the door behind him. They were alone.
Another drink (gulp) was taken of his glass of liquor, and then Murphy was balancing it in his hurting hand and managing to crawl over to Paolo on hands and knees. It was quite a feat to wiggle his hips seductively, and only use one hand for balance at the same time, but somehow, Murph managed it.
He was nearly pressed against Paolo's side now, acting as much of the pet as was expected of him. Jump? For Connor? How damned high--Murph would double it. If he could get close enough to Paolo like this, he could more quietly, easily, threaten the Italian to find out information.
Alcohol was transferred to his good hand, and Murphy was smiling. "Here?" Inwardly, he was wondering how far away that guard was. Right outside the door? Down the hall? Would Paolo have time to scream or fight back while Murph pulled out his knife and stabbed him to death?
Another drink, and he smiled around the curve of the glass.
Paolo was openly focused on the slut's mouth as it clung to or licked the clear glass and the alcohol that left a glossy residue on the smiling mouth. He let his hand lift to ride the exposed side of Murphy's hip, skating up over ribs and swell of the boy's shoulder. Admiring, enjoying.
The fingers only had to lift a little more to follow Murphy's shoulder, to his neck, to his chin - until Paolo was the one holding the glass that was against his guest's mouth and tilting it a little to drain the last little bit of drops into Murphy's mouth, where the slut's tongue was already reaching out to claim them.
Pleased, Paolo withdrew the glass away and simply held it.
"That's perfect, Murphy."
MacManus almost hadn't caught it. Had almost been so into the game where he wouldn't realize something so subtle, or casual as his own name. Almost.
With a small gasp, the Irish man was backing up a little away from Paolo. Vision doubled with the sudden movement and he couldn't quite understand why--it did not go back to normal. If anything, it worsened.
"What?" Murphy attempted to play it cool. You are mistaken. That's not my name. But he knew it was all over now. Paolo knew! He damned well knew from the beginning.
The drink! Murphy shook his head, trying to deny and clear his head both. "N-no," he allowed himself to mutter out.
But Paolo's pleased grin never wavered - even when the sexual lust in his eyes was replaced with a blood lust as heated and sparking as fire. He was the predator whose prey was weakening and fading, waiting to be feasted on.
Paolo pressed a soft kiss on the shocked open mouth, passing cigarette smoke. "Don’t worry. You'll be with him soon." His grin was the only visible image to Murphy through the smoke as everything went black.
-----
tbc.
-----
Next Chapter: To torture both brothers, torture one.
Authors: empathicfrost (Frost) and theonemonaghan (Kacey)
Pairing: Con/Mur
Ratings: ***over-all series NC-17, for sex, sexual abuse, drug usage, language, violence and of course, the Twincest <3 ***
Disclaimer: not ours, but Kacey has a BDS shirt. >D And poster!
Summary: post-movie. Connor and Murph might be fugitives now, but they have each other. Except Yakavetta's nephew wants more than revenge.
A/N: a long bloody series.
Previous Chapters: Part One , Part Two , Part Three , Part Four , Part Five , Part Six
Chapter Seven:
Chapter Seven: Degrees of Evil
There was something feral about the Italian who sat there at the end of the bar, half in shadow, half in the dim, red light coming off the dance floor behind him.
His gaze was predatory. And even as he cupped his lighter to his cigarette, that hunting gaze never left the dancing crowd as though he were measuring out where he would find the night's most pleasurable meal.
Murphy was grinding against some faceless stranger on the dance floor, hips pressing provocatively against anything that was near him. Mouth was always half opened--tongue licking against lower lip and a smile (although fake) playing at his lips.
Except, It was hard to dance when one's attention was elsewhere. On a brother who was missing, and on a wrist that was throbbing with every jerking motion--not to mention the fact that eyes had not stopped scanning the room since he'd entered. He'd already spotted Paolo.
Murphy had seen him from the second he'd walked into the bar. But now--now he was trying to be inconspicuous. It had to be painfully obvious that Murphy was looking for any prospect of love tonight. Not for anyone special, and definitely not for Paolo.
Murphy was putting on quite the show, and was getting more than a little attention from the men around him. But he had his sights on someone else. Eyes finally allowed themselves to stay on Paolo as he danced. Fear was in his heart, but seductive confidence was in his eyes.
And Murphy's effort did not go in vain.
There were attractive men all over the room, sexy young boys filtered throughout the dancers, but there was a broken beauty that kept Paolo's attention on Murphy. It surpassed attractive and sexy.
Paolo's gaze was the hungry, patient watch of a man who always got what he wanted. When the dancing boy's attention remained held on him, Paolo only had to draw a long and deep inhale from his cigarette, eyes always on Murphy, as though sucking the sight of him into his lungs and not the smoke - before releasing a deliberately slow stream of it.
Then Paolo turned his back and faced the dark strip of the bar counter.
A dismissal?
An invitation.
It was taken for an invitation, because Murphy would have it no other way. He had demanded attention from Paolo and now he was going to get it.
A glance (small and discreet) was given to Smecker, who was nursing a beer on the other side of the room, and flicking a random man off. It didn't matter. Murph had to do this one on his own anyhow.
His hips swayed semi-seductively as he walked over to the bar, and leaned against it a bit. "Hi," He said, voice low and as non-Irish as he could make it. His mouth was near to Paolo's ear--since the Italian was still turned away from Murphy. Seduction at it's finest.
But maybe the invitation had been wrongly taken? Because Paolo only sipped from a glass as first response, seemingly uninterested and certainly unaffected by the moist greeting.
But then, perhaps the veil of indifference cracked, for green eyes that no longer hid lust, leveled on Murphy.
"Is someone afraid you’re going to get lost?" Paolo's attention was directed at the collar around Murphy’s throat and the bell attached to it. "Seems to me that’s something only an animal would wear, yes?" The Italian's eyes were dangerously close to the general area of a tattoo that Murphy was attempting to conceal. "Or someone who wanted to be treated like one."
It was all Murphy could do not to make a disgusted sound. He smiled and a hand moved up to his collar (the damned thing!), both hiding the spot where his tattoo was covered, and bringing more attention back to the jingling noise of the cat bell.
"Do you like it?" His question was purred out, and the twin missing his brother leaned in closer. "I'm not lost." Which left only the other option that the Italian had stated a moment before.
And with Murphy's outfit? Well, the idea of him asking to be treated like a slut wasn't out of the question. His acted out persona in the bar tonight was just begging to be taken home and abused as pleased.
Paolo's gaze didn’t linger for very long on the bell, but instead took a generously long, leisurely look over the rest of Murphy, like a platter that had been offered before him for inspection.
"I do like it." And just by the fact that his eyes traveled the low slope of Murphy's pants it was painstakingly evident that Paolo wasn’t talking about the little collar at all. In fact, fingers casually reached out and brushed the strip of exposed skin of Murphy's stomach between the parted edges of his shirt.
A smirk. "So you’re not lost... hmm." And Paolo's hand pulled away and he was sliding a new cigarette from his pack and offering it to Murphy with lidded eyes. "Then I suppose, finders keepers, eh?"
Murphy wanted to break off the hand that touched him. It sent shivers down his spine--and not the kind of shiver that Connor's lingering touch always left him with. Instead, he forced himself to lean into it, and gave a slim, seductive smile.
"That sounds very fair," he murmured out, lowering his eyelids ever so slightly. "I guess that makes me yours." There was something inside of Murphy that wept, but he silenced it and steeled himself. For Connor--because I love him. The thoughts of his brother calmed him, at least a little, and he was able to keep up with his role of desperate slut.
There were certain factors that all went in to how easily Paolo was swayed into the younger boy's false seduction. He didn’t have a very long amount of time available to linger in a place like this; in fact, he had a car waiting for him outside. Paolo also couldn’t be far from the hotel in case his father tried to contact him there from Chicago. So the Italian was in somewhat of a hurry, though it showed little.
But in fact, it was also the boy himself that caused Paolo’s urgency to leave. The boy’s blue eyes were lidded yet looked fierce enough to match Paolo's gaze. The way the boy's mouth never fully closed, even when sexily scraping the edge of his lip with his teeth. Paolo was standing, with suit coat slipping up his arms.
"Well if you are mine - then I suppose its only right to take you ...home." Paolo clearly wanted him. The Italian's cool exterior didn’t twitch with that need, but the eyes did. And with them, he beckoned Murphy to follow as they abandoned the gay bar through an entrance in the back, where in an alley, Paolo's car was waiting to take them to the hotel.
There was always a bodyguard with them, even when they got to that hotel, through the private parking lot reserved for those staying in the pent house, and even in the elevator to the towering floor above all the others. The suite that had one main lobby and two halls, one that led to three rooms, all the doors shut and dark and silent. The other hall held the soft light of a lamp from one of the suites bedrooms, and the mini bar was highlighted in lights as well. Paolo began pouring two drinks.
"Feel free to get comfortable." The words could only mean one thing. Paolo's mouth held a jagged, dark smile as he said them. There was still one guard at the door; another was walking around in the larger part of the suite.
Murphy’s blue eyed glance turned toward the guard at the door, and so he found that he was still being forced to act like a slut until he and the Italian were alone. There was no way he could possibly get past both Paolo and a guard with only a small knife.
So he smiled again, and let out something of a purr as he wiggled his rump into the bed and let his fingers (a few of them harboring shiny silver rings for effect) slide over the buttons to his shirt--undoing each one in a playfully seductive manner.
This was not even something he'd ever done for Connor, and Murphy felt bad, and more than a little dirty for doing it for his brother's captor first. He went on, anyway, aware now more than ever that he was in the same building as Connor.
The shirt--red and silky--slipped off his shoulders and was left in a little crumpled ball on the bed. It didn't matter too much--it had already been revealing, and his tattoos were cleverly covered by make-up. He was fine. He could do this. Deep mental breath. Exhale.
"You must be rich," he marveled, as if really surprised and in awe of the fact. He hated this man.
Paolo dismissed the comment, something he heard frequently enough from all his other unfortunate guests. He brought the drinks over to the bed and sat himself close enough to the headboard to lean back on it. Somewhere between the mini bar and the bed, his suit jacket had been shed, but he didn’t appear to be undressing any farther than that yet.
"Your nervous." An almost hissed whisper and Paolo's expression was blank. He'd detected even the slightest murmur of tension in the ease that Murphy was attempting. But he was still unsuspicious - in fact, his lifted eyebrow almost translated concern. "Here, have a drink. Relax a little more." A chuckle, casual, and Paolo was delivering the drink to Murphy's hand and picking up the discarded shirt near by, holding it in his hand like he might want to use it for something if the notion struck him.
Murphy took the drink with a gracious smile and brought it to his still-slightly opened lips and took a drink. "You're gorgeous," the twin complimented, instead of actually facing the spoken notation. Nervous? Oh, hell yes. There was a lot at stake tonight, and Murphy was beginning to worry over the fact that the guard was still there, and that he might actually have to sleep with this man.
Disgusting. ...And what would he do to explain the knife Smecker had so carefully holstered to his leg? His wrist throbbed ever so slightly, and Murphy was glad he'd taken painkillers right before he got to the bar. Will alone was all that was letting him use it (and had him thinking that maybe it wasn't broken, but only sprained badly).
Another drink was taken and Murphy smiled sweetly--unassumingly. Everything was good.
Paolo was placing his own drink down beside the bed -- had he even sipped it? -- to allow hands free for another cigarette. The compliment going without response once more until the Mafia under boss was tilting his head a little and smiling again. Appreciation for the compliment? Amusement.
"Then it's fitting for me to have such a pet as you, hm?" With that spoken confirmation of Murphy's status to obey him, Paolo was issuing him to move closer to where he was sitting. "Come. By me."
It truly did appear as though Paolo expected his night's entertainment to have an audience. But with a look to the door and gesture with his hand - the guard was leaving, the guard was even closing the door behind him. They were alone.
Another drink (gulp) was taken of his glass of liquor, and then Murphy was balancing it in his hurting hand and managing to crawl over to Paolo on hands and knees. It was quite a feat to wiggle his hips seductively, and only use one hand for balance at the same time, but somehow, Murph managed it.
He was nearly pressed against Paolo's side now, acting as much of the pet as was expected of him. Jump? For Connor? How damned high--Murph would double it. If he could get close enough to Paolo like this, he could more quietly, easily, threaten the Italian to find out information.
Alcohol was transferred to his good hand, and Murphy was smiling. "Here?" Inwardly, he was wondering how far away that guard was. Right outside the door? Down the hall? Would Paolo have time to scream or fight back while Murph pulled out his knife and stabbed him to death?
Another drink, and he smiled around the curve of the glass.
Paolo was openly focused on the slut's mouth as it clung to or licked the clear glass and the alcohol that left a glossy residue on the smiling mouth. He let his hand lift to ride the exposed side of Murphy's hip, skating up over ribs and swell of the boy's shoulder. Admiring, enjoying.
The fingers only had to lift a little more to follow Murphy's shoulder, to his neck, to his chin - until Paolo was the one holding the glass that was against his guest's mouth and tilting it a little to drain the last little bit of drops into Murphy's mouth, where the slut's tongue was already reaching out to claim them.
Pleased, Paolo withdrew the glass away and simply held it.
"That's perfect, Murphy."
MacManus almost hadn't caught it. Had almost been so into the game where he wouldn't realize something so subtle, or casual as his own name. Almost.
With a small gasp, the Irish man was backing up a little away from Paolo. Vision doubled with the sudden movement and he couldn't quite understand why--it did not go back to normal. If anything, it worsened.
"What?" Murphy attempted to play it cool. You are mistaken. That's not my name. But he knew it was all over now. Paolo knew! He damned well knew from the beginning.
The drink! Murphy shook his head, trying to deny and clear his head both. "N-no," he allowed himself to mutter out.
But Paolo's pleased grin never wavered - even when the sexual lust in his eyes was replaced with a blood lust as heated and sparking as fire. He was the predator whose prey was weakening and fading, waiting to be feasted on.
Paolo pressed a soft kiss on the shocked open mouth, passing cigarette smoke. "Don’t worry. You'll be with him soon." His grin was the only visible image to Murphy through the smoke as everything went black.
-----
tbc.
-----
Next Chapter: To torture both brothers, torture one.