Current mood:	accomplished
Entry tags:	cherryscott

Fic: Connor MacManus and Murphy MacManus.
Title: Jealousy
Author: cherryscott
Rating: PG-13, maybe? I have no idea.
Pairing: Murphy/Connor
Feedback: Oh, yes please! It is much appreciated.
Disclaimer: This is fiction. Not real. Never happened. Don't own Murphy and don't own Connor. No harm is meant by this, it's just for fun. Don't sue!
Summary: Murphy is jealous of Connor.
Notes: Pre-Slash, first time. Written originally for the First Time challenge over at bds_drabble, but I didn't finish in time. Crossposted to my personal journal.



Murphy tasted of power. Power and spice and all the vigor of youth in his kiss, it was all Connor could do not to be swept away by it like a sparrow in a hurricane. That was the difference between them. Connor was cautious and levelheaded, but Murphy...Murphy was headstrong and wild, the kind who found a thrill in all of those things they shouldn’t do. Murphy’s biggest thrill was the one thing he should never even contemplate.

Connor.

The fact that they were brothers was reason enough, but the fact that they were twins, for Christ’s sake -- Hail Mary, full of Grace -- should have been the last nail in the coffin. They were closer than close -- they’d shared a womb together and they’d shared everything since. Excuses, money, sometimes even girlfriends until Murphy figured out around seventeen that girls were one thing over which he and Connor shared a differing opinion.

Connor liked the softness, the sweet sensuality and the curves of a woman’s body, liked to worship a girl from head to toe and all the way back up again. He was a careful lover and all the girls in their part of town knew it. “When you’re with Connor,” they said, “it’s like you’re the only two people in the world.”

On the other hand, Murphy was hard and rough and demanding, with a mouth that would make even the foulest sailor blush. Those who didn’t know him well would say that he was the more devout of the brothers, but they didn’t know that it was just penance. Extra prayers mumbled almost constantly in hopes that God would forget his sins and still open Heaven’s doors for him when it was all over.

Murphy was cigarettes and cheap beer. Connor was a dozen roses and a fine wine. Dark and light, both opposites: Murphy all pale skin and dark, silken locks of that sable hue while Connor was sun-golden and light hair, looking like a real live Adonis, perfect and beautiful while Murphy felt awkward and a bit like the ugly duckling in wake of Connor’s good looks.

It was jealousy that had Murphy cornering Connor in their loft one night after a few rounds down at the local bar, shoving his brother back against the door as soon as they were inside. It was jealousy that crackled like electricity in the air as one strong thigh shoved itself between Connor’s legs, rubbing lewdly against the cock Murphy had nearly been caught studying time and time again. Jealousy that drew them together like opposite ends of a magnet, pulling Murphy closer until his mouth crushed Connor’s beneath it with a passion that spoke volumes.

Connor was stunned in the wake of Murphy’s insistence, tried to get a hand up to push Murphy away but only found it snatched up in mid-air and slammed back against the door to be pinned right beside his head. Oh, Christ...how many nights had he dreamed of this and snuck away in the early morning hours to the church to confess his sins? To seek absolution? How many deep, dark nights had Connor longed for this taste, for all of Murphy’s brute strength to be focused solely on him like this?

Too many.

Connor had always stayed away, had focused on girls and on religion to distract himself from the desire that always seemed to linger deep in his belly, festering and growing with every passing day. But now, now it was too close; he was standing right there on the edge of the fire and his only choice was to walk straight through it. He knew he’d be burned either way, but wasn’t it better to taste the flames first-hand than to simply look at them from afar?

“Connor,” Murphy gasped, breathless and growled out against his brother’s lips as narrow hips ground forward with a demanding insistence that they both knew Connor wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Yes,” came the simple answer, moaned out and laced with a pleading whimper as Connor’s one free hand struggled to touch, to locate bare skin and explore, even as Murphy’s other hand was groping for the button on his jeans. “Fuck, yes.”