Title: Nightmares
Author: Kelly
Summary: Connor has a nightmare. Murph comforts him.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, nothing like this has ever happened. Connor and Murphy belong to Troy Duffy…they only reside in my dreams.
The night was a cold one. Winter had begun to creep into the rundown apartment building. The heaters clicked and pinged, trying to give off some hint of warmth, but it seemed almost futile. And the night proved even colder when Connor and Murph were startled awake as four Russian thugs stormed through the front door. Taken off guard, they let the men muscle their way into the apartment. It wasn’t long—mere seconds—before one of the thugs had a hold of Connor, forced him onto his knees, and did the same with his twin brother, making them face one another. One man on either side of him, they grasped Murph’s arms, as if to hold him down for torture. Connor was terrified at the site—the men had a plan—but Murph seemed almost calm.
“Get your fuckin’ hands off me,” Murph grumbled to them.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” Connor shouted.
The fourth thug, (wasn’t his name Ivan? Connor thought.) stepped closer to Connor. “I come here to kill you,” he began, his Russian accent thick. “But now, I think I kill your brother. And I think you will watch.”
“You’re crazy!” Murph shouted. “It was a bar fight! Why are you takin’ this so fuckin’ far?”
“You make no fool of Ivan Chekov!” the man shouted. “I will show you who is the fool.”
Connor tried to loosen his arms from the man’s grasp. “You’ve lost it, haven’t you?” he returned. “Y’can’t expect us to just back down! Doc’s our friend! He doesn’t deserve shite like you in his place!”
“Past' zabej, padla jebanaja!” Ivan roared, knowing already that the twins knew Russian. He leaned down to Connor, pointing a finger in his face. “You set the fire. And your brother will pay for your actions!”
Connor saw Ivan retrieve something from his pocket and bucked against the man that held him down. He’s got a gun! he thought. He’s going to shoot Murph! He felt his heart pound wildly in his chest and his muscles strain as he fought. But he could not squirm out of the Russian’s grasp. “Murph!” he screamed.
Murph pulled, twisted, tugged, writhed to get out of the two men’s hold. But the attempts were futile. They held him fast, as Ivan retrieved not a gun, but knife. He flipped open the switchblade.
“Murph!” Connor screamed again, terror in his voice.
“Connor!” he returned. “Connor, don’t!” He pointed to him as best he could, a warning in his eyes. “Don’t let them get the better of you!”
Ivan stepped closer and set the knife blade to Murph’s throat. “Say good-bye, filthy Irishman,” he growled.
Murph looked up at him and clenched his jaw, proud and strong. “Póg mo thóin! Éireann go Brách!” he snarled back. (“Kiss my ass! Ireland Forever!”) He saw Ivan’s angry gaze turn furious. The Russian had no idea what he said and it enraged him that the two plant workers could be smarter than him. They had managed to get the better of him a second time! He twisted the knife into the Irishman’s throat.
Murph felt a sharp pain in his throat, and began to buck against the two men. He could feel the blood gushing down his neck, over his chest, to the floor. He could hear his brother crying out to him, he could hear his own gurgling voice trying to call back. He saw blood splatter upon Ivan’s clothes. His blood, his life. He was dead. He wished he’d been able to tell Connor how much he loved him, how much he looked up to him, how much he adored him.
“No!” Connor screamed, tears streaming down his face. “Murph, no! No!” Ivan was very good at torture. This was by far the worst thing Connor would ever have to endure. He writhed to get free, unable to hear his own voice bellowing to Murph. He watched the blood spill, wishing that it was him that was having his throat cut, to spare his twin. But he knew Murph would have wished the same thing.
When Ivan had generously slit Murph’s throat, he looked over at Connor and smiled. Murph met Connor’s eyes one last time, then fell to the apartment floor. Sobbing pathetically, his face drenched with tears, Connor watched his dead brother lay in his own blood. Ivan stepped closer to Connor and wiped the blade on the side of the Irishman’s wet face. Murph’s blood trickled down his cheek, slipping into the corner of his mouth, mixing with his tears.
“You’re brother,” Ivan growled. “He is dead, Irishman.”
Connor stared at Murph’s body, the dark blood spreading across the floor. He heard an agonized groan escape his throat and pulled against the thug that held him down. Why hadn’t they backed down at the bar? Why hadn’t they simply left as the Russian thugs had commanded? Connor knew it wasn’t in either him or Murph to give up like that, but he still harshly scolded himself.
“You will live, knowing that his death was your fault. I leave you to mourn him,” Ivan said. He nodded to his followers, then headed for the door. The men moved, filing out of the apartment.
Connor crawled over to Murph, gathering him in his arms, not caring that he was practically wading through the blood on the floor. “Murph?” he said softly. “Murph!”
His eyes were open, wide with fear, staring off into nothingness.
Despite the sizable gash upon his throat, Connor rocked him back and fourth and smiled. He set a hand over the wound, as if he could merely stop the bloodflow by pinching the gash closed. “You’ll be fine, Murph,” he whispered. “You’ll be fine. You’ll see. Shh, you’ll see.”
At the doorway, Ivan turned back and smiled at the scene. He reached over by the door and took the rosaries in his thick, rough hands. He yanked them from their hooks, breaking them and letting them fall to the bloodied floor. “Filthy Irishmen,” he chuckled.
Connor looked up just in time to see the rosaries fall to the floor. The site of the broken crosses and beads was enough to jolt him awake from the nightmare. He sat up in bed, screaming and clutching at his heart. “Murph!” he bellowed.
Murph bolted upright, spinning around to face his brother. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he swore. He jumped over to Connor’s mattress, reaching out for him. His heart pounded in his chest, sending the adrenaline speeding through his blood. “Connor!”
He continued to shout, trying to discern dreams from reality. “No! Murph!”
“Connor!” he returned. He took his brother’s face in his hands, shaking him awake. “Connor, wake up!”
Silvery blue eyes met cobalt ones as Connor awoke. He stared into his brother’s eyes, his bare chest rising and falling with each terrified breath he took. He looked over to the hooks by the door. The rosaries were there, in perfect shape. Looking back to Murph, he began to breath a bit easier. “Murph?”
He nodded his head. “Aye,” he agreed. “You had a bad dream.”
Connor could still feel Murph’s hands at either side of his face. “Fuckin’ nightmare,” he corrected, his voice breathy. “Christ, it was so real.”
Murph slid his hand across Connor’s forehead, ridding him of the beads of sweat there. He could still feel him trembling, the after-effects of the dream. “You’re fine,” he smiled.
He met his twin’s eyes. “Wasn’t me that I was worried about,” he said.
Murph’s smile faded as he gazed back. He set his forehead against Connor’s, sighing quietly. They stayed like that for a minute or two, until Connor’s trembling seemed to lessen, his breathing returning somewhat to normal. They had always been close, able to comfort each other through the toughest times. Twins seemed to have a different relationship than most siblings, and Connor and Murphy had an even more intimate connection than most twins.
Feeling that his presence was still needed, Murph settled down on the mattress. He could detect the scent of Connor’s sweat, a musky smell that was almost intoxicating. He felt his head swim, his pulse beginning to pound in his head and chest, and had a sudden need taking over him. He looked down to his twin’s mouth, unable to stop himself from leaning in for a soft kiss.
Connor felt his heart skip and his stomach flip when Murph’s lips brushed against his. This wasn’t the first kiss he’d received from his brother, but it was still a situation that worried him. He was afraid of the repercussions. Incest was a sin, it was evil, and they were going to go to hell, no doubt. But with each kiss, Connor lost more innocence, and was closer to giving in to what his brother wanted.
“Murph…” he mumbled.
Murph slid his hand across Connor’s jaw, looping his thumb over his twin’s chin. “Shh,” he hushed quietly. He pushed against the man’s chin and pressed his lips against his. He gently forced his tongue further into Connor’s, tracing the lines of his teeth, the ridges of his palate, tasting his tongue. His hands brushed across the bare skin of Connor’s chest, gracing over the line of hair down his stomach, pushing lower the elastic waistband of his boxers.
Connor sighed heavily, trying to keep himself under control. Murph had no idea what he did to him. Chills were spread across his skin, his hair standing on end. He shivered, his breath shuddering. “Murph,” he whispered, his head falling back. “You have to stop.”
And it wasn’t the first time Connor had requested that of him. But this was the first time that he was going to refuse him. He couldn’t wait for him any longer. “I can’t,” he returned, lavishing wet kisses upon Connor’s neck. He pushed him back, until Connor was lying down upon the mattress. He brushed the man’s tousled hair back from his forehead, gazing into his eyes.
Connor looked up at him, trying to will himself to calm down. He and Murph couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right. He loved his brother—with all his heart. But he was still so afraid. He could still hear the priests telling them of the burning flames in Hell that awaited the sinners. The wicked paid for their evils. “Murph,” he said again. “I’m scared.”
Murph shook his head. “Don’t be,” he smiled. “I won’t let you go to Hell.” He grinned a bit brighter, shrugging his shoulders. “At least, not without me, aye?”
Connor didn’t smile back. He couldn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes and began to pray.
Murph watched his lips move in silent prayer, and then leaned down to his mouth again. He stopped the Lord’s Prayer with a kiss, letting his hands slide across Connor’s skin. He moved to his throat again, this time using his teeth until he heard his brother gasp.
Connor reached up and laced his fingers through Murph’s hair. He grasped a handful of the dark, tousled locks, as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Oh, Murph…” he breathed. The man was very good at what he did. All the women had attested to just that, and now Connor could heartily agree with them.
Murph inched lower, stopping to circle one nipple with his tongue, and then move to the other side. Warm hands slipped inside the boxers that Connor wore, stroking the hardening flesh there. Murph’s mouth crept to the side of one nipple, biting down upon skin.
Connor hissed through his teeth, feeling Murph’s teeth sink into him. Blood welled up from the wound, beginning to trickle down his chest. “Christ, Murph,” he complained. But his nerves were gloriously attacked when he felt Murph’s tongue lap up the bit of red life, suckling needfully.
Murph drank greedily at the wound, consuming the blood that poured from it. The copperish taste of his brother’s blood sent his need soaring. He pushed his erection against Connor’s hip, continuing to lick at the wound. “Oh, Connor,” he moaned. “Tá tú go h-álainn. Táim i ngrá leat.”
Connor opened his eyes when he heard his brother’s gentle Gaelic words. You’re so beautiful. I’m so in love with you. He wanted to correct him, to tell him that he shouldn’t say such things. But he couldn’t. He found himself repeating the words, whispering them back to Murph, despite the flames of Hell threatening at his mind’s door. He pulled Murph up into a passionate kiss, almost painfully assaulting his mouth. He was reminded of his guardian, the man’s voice still harshly reprimanding him. When Da had been put in jail, and left the twins behind, they’d had a guardian assigned to them. When the man had found out that Murph had kissed Connor just once, he’d beat them both, and made them go to Confession. “Do chorp don diabhal! D'anam don diabhal!” the man had said to them, over and over again. Your body to the devil! Your soul to the devil!
But now Connor didn’t care. Fucking guardian be damned. He wanted Murph. He needed Murph. He pressed his fingers into his brother’s skin, begging him to continue. He tried to breathe against the teeth and tongue that lavished such beautiful attention upon him. His knuckles turned white as they curled into fists in Murph’s hair. He arched against him, pressing his heels into the mattress. He moaned aloud, throwing his head back into the pillows.
“I’ll go to Hell,” he whispered. “Please, Murph. I’ll go to Hell.”
Murph looked down at him, glancing across his face. That was a big step for Connor. He brushed his fingers over his brother’s lips, then leaned down for another soft kiss. He hopped up onto his knees, and began trailing kisses down Connor’s torso. He felt Connor’s hands at his head, pushing him down lower. He slipped his hand into the back of Connor’s boxers and quickly slid them down, past his ankles.
Being undressed by Murph’s tender hand sent shuddering chills across Connor’s skin. He reached up and tugged at Murph’s boxers too, more than willing to go to hell and back with his brother. Murph wiggled out of the shorts, tossing both of them to the floor, between the mattresses. He leaned over Connor, planting wet, biting kisses upon his hip, steadily inching closer to his ultimate goal.
Connor closed his eyes when he felt Murph’s hot breath upon him, his hand taking hold of his shaft to bring it to his mouth. He arched up against him when Murph’s tongue slid gently against his skin. He opened his mouth and moaned, twisting his fingers through his brother’s hair. He held his head there, helping him move up and down the shaft. He wanted him so badly that there was an ache in his stomach.
Murph moved Connor’s hands away and rested upon his side. He turned Connor to face him, almost in the classic sixty-nine position. He remained propped up on one elbow, and took Connor’s hands in his, bringing them down to his own erection. He closed his eyes when Connor’s fingers stroked him with a feather-light touch. He leaned back down and took as much of Connor into his mouth as he could.
Connor was sure that he was losing himself. He moaned aloud again, wanting to reach down to pull that beautiful mouth down upon him again, but Murph had wanted some attention too. He squeezed the flesh in his hands, glancing down at the lips that encircled him. He watched Murph wet him, his hands still stroking lovingly. He looked back up at his own hands, deciding that Murph had waited long enough. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth.
Murph was caught off guard by Connor’s adventurous mouth. His hips jerked in response, and his voice nearly exploded from his throat. He couldn’t stop himself from looking down and reaching out to touch the perfect face. “Oh, Connor,” he breathed. “Yeah.” He felt his twin’s courage increase as he began to explore further. He let his head fall back for a moment, then leaned down to continue his own exploring, still propped up on an elbow.
Lips pressed, hands stroked, tongues licked, mouths suckled, scents breathed in. Connor was sure that he’d lost his voice, for he couldn’t hear himself moaning at all. He moved his mouth in a rhythm that had Murph gasping for breath.
His twin was making his lips tight, letting Murph thrust into him, seeming tighter than a virgin. It was too much. “Connor,” he said, a warning in his voice. His body started to shudder, and he was unable to hold back any longer. He’d wanted to make this last, but it seemed that he’d waited too long for his brother. This had been building for so many years. Murph heard his own voice, repeating over and over. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fucking yes.”
Not sure what to do, Connor let Murph fill his mouth until the spasms halted. He held the essence under his tongue for a moment, glancing up at his brother. Murph’s back was still arched, his head leaning back against his shoulder. Turning, Connor spit, not caring that what was in his mouth merely landed upon the apartment floor. He turned back around and nervously inched closer again. He gingerly set his tongue against Murph, finding that the salt there was not as bad as he had initially thought. He began to lap up the remnants left on his brother’s skin.
Murph’s voice returned when Connor’s tongue continued to lick lightly. He nearly attacked Connor in return, wanting to make him scream. He sucked hard, moving up and down much faster than he had been before. Connor’s breath caught in his throat. He reached down to slow his brother, but Murph pushed his hands away.
Connor could feel his muscles tightening. He arched his back again, his cries becoming louder and louder. He looked down at his brother, wishing that Murph would let him touch him. He opened his mouth wide, passionate growls rumbling deep in his chest. He reached around his head and grabbed hold of the pillow there. He gripped it with such a force, he was sure he would pierce the cloth with his fingers.
“Murph!” he cried out. “Oh, Murph! I’m going to…to…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t find the words. Murph’s relentless ministrations were too much for him. He gripped the pillow in his hands and cried out louder than he ever had before. He breathed, begging his brother for more.
Murph moaned too as he swallowed, the vibrations sending chills across Connor’s skin. When his twin’s body stopped convulsing, Murph sat up and turned back around in bed. He propped himself up on the opposite elbow, gazing down at Connor. He grazed his thumb over the man’s bottom lip. Connor’s chest rose and fell with each heaving breath he took, staring up into his brother’s eyes. He closed them when Murph slowly leaned down for another, gentle kiss.
Connor noted that he tasted different than before, a sweet-smelling salt covering his tongue. He reached up and threaded his fingers through his twin’s hair, pulling his mouth harder down upon him. The kiss was so much more at ease now that they had tasted each other.
Murph pulled back and looked down at his brother again. “Are you feelin’ better then?” he asked, his voice soft.
Connor kept his fingers laced through Murph’s hair. He smiled, nodding his head. “Aye,” he agreed. “A bit.”
Murph nodded, a small smile gracing his pretty mouth. “Good,” he said. “No more nightmares. You aren’t going to lose me. No one could be that fuckin’ lucky.”
Connor laughed, letting his hand fall from his twin’s hair. “Nicely put,” he teased. He listened to Murph laugh, settling down on the mattress next to him. It was quiet. Murph adjusted the blankets, curling his naked form around Connor’s.
Laying on his side, Connor sighed quietly. “Murph?” he said, his voice cracking.
Not quite settled yet, Murph leaned back on both elbows. He looked over at his brother. “What?”
Though he had been smiling, Connor’s inner turmoil had resurfaced. “We’re going to Hell, aren’t we?” he asked, matter-of-factly.
Murph frowned. He knew how important this was to his twin. He sighed, nodding his head. He’d never been one to lie to Connor before, and he wasn’t going to start now. “Aye,” he agreed. “We will.”
Connor nodded his head, appreciating his brother’s candor. He sighed again, swallowing the lump in his throat. Murphy being taken away from him was one of his biggest fears. But they had both wronged in the eyes of the Church. They would both be sent to Hell. He nodded his head again, mostly to his own thoughts, and then spoke softly, “At least we’ll be together though.”
~The End~
