Summary: It's here, it's fluffy, it's kinda plot-less but fluff can be.
A/N: Had no idea where this was going. I just liked the idea of them eating Rice Krispie squares.
Murphy was still lying on the couch of his friend's apartment, one arm tucked under his head, staring blankly up at the ceiling – which, he decided, could use a good paint job – when the front door opened, closed, locked.
"Hey," Connor greeted his brother, dropped a plastic shopping bag on the kitchen table. Digging through it, he pulled out a package of cigarettes, opened it. "Want some breakfast?"
"Not really," Murphy replied quietly, not moving.
"Ya havin' an all right day so far, Peewee?" Connor used his pet name for his brother, hoping it might produce a smile.
Connor stuck a cigarette in his lips, one more behind his ear and joined his brother on the couch, moving Murphy's legs so they rested on his own. He felt his own pockets for a lighter, but, not being able to, reached over Murphy's jean-clad legs and into his pocket, pulled out a Zippo lighter, which was something Murphy enjoyed showing off, for the mere fact that is was the first and last thing he'd ever stolen. "Been thinkin' too much or what?"
Murphy didn't respond, just closed his eyes.
So Connor lit the cigarette, took a puff and held it to Murphy's lips, who did the same.
"Yea, I guess I have been... I kinda miss it all, you know?" Murphy broke the short silence, opened his eyes, blew out a ring of smoke.
"I know," Connor nodded empathetically, racking his mind for a way to cheer his brother up. "I've got an idea. Ya wanna eat something totally disgustin' for brecky? Just like we used to?" He grinned playfully, the cigarette in his hand more than half-gone.
Murphy raised an eyebrow questioningly at his brother.
"It might cheer you up," Connor said, and Murphy shrugged, sat up, pulled his legs in and sat cross-legged, sideways on the couch.
"What did you have in mind?" Murphy asked, a twinge of emotion finally showing in his words, and he took the cigarette from Connor, took a long drag, then passed the rest back.
Connor knelt down on the floor, pushed himself backwards, rolled over one shoulder, and stood triumphantly, the cigarette still dangling from between his lips. "Rice Krispie squares," he announced, grinning once more.
"No, you have to stir faster than that," Connor remarked, lightly shoving away the cat that circled his feet, meowing.
"Well I can't pour the damned stuff into the bowl at the same time that I stir it, ya know," Murphy replied, scraping burnt marshmallow off the bottom of the pot, spooning the last into the bowl.
"Always complaints with ya," Connor grinned, letting his brother know he was teasing, and he dumped the cereal on top of the marshmallows, took the spoon from Murphy, and pushed him away gently with his hip.
Murphy took the pot to the sink, placed it in, and wondered how much damage would be done to a scalding hot pot if he poured freezing water on it. After a moment of contemplation, he figured the last thing he wanted was Rocco to try and murder him. He chuckled at the thought, though. That guy couldn't even kill a cat.
Done stirring, Connor knelt down and searched through the cupboards for a dish for the squares. The cat nosed its way in and Connor closed the beaten wooden door, knowing full-well that the cat was in there.
"Con," Murphy scooped the mixture into the dish.
"Aye, Murph?" Connor took leaned against the cupboard door that Skippy was now scratching at.
"Are you aware of the fact that dear lil' Skippy is probably a-pissin' with fear and/or hatred all over those nice pots and pans of Rocco's?"
Connor nodded, used one foot to open the cupboard door, and Skippy ran out. The man grinned innocently.
"You're terrible, Con, you know that," Murphy's lips showed the faintest smile and he smoothed the squares, licked the spoon.
"Aye, Murph, but you love me all the same," Connor threw one arm around his brother's neck, kissed his cheek, then, taking the spoon he ruffled Murphy's hair playfully.
"That I do," Murphy grinned, grabbing the spoon back and returning the kiss.
Murphy let Skippy lick the rest of the marshmallow off his fingers before washing them under the cold water of the tap, drying his hands on his jeans. The cat rubbed against his leg, purring, so Murphy picked him up, half-smiling, went to lie back down on the couch.
On his back once more – but this time, with a cat keeping his bare chest considerably warmer than the last time – he thought about those sugary little squares.
It was strange, because he thought that all the little strings of marshmallow looked like spider-webs, and it almost made him sad, because it reminded him that his old house had had spider-webs in it, and their loft had spider-webs. (Rocco's apartment didn't; he had a maid to clean the place). An odd, but very Murphy-esque thought.
It was a tradition to eat them once a month for breakfast, when he and Connor first moved over here. More often than not, they'd make them more often, but eventually they stopped. Traditions died quickly over here, it seemed. This whole place was depressing to him, to Murphy. He didn't know how Connor could stay so cheerful, even as he unpacked groceries.
"Con? Why'd you buy... anything?"
"Well, the least we could do for good ol' Roc is eat all his food while we play baby-sitter with the apartment, but I figured it might do some good to replace at least half of what we ate."
"Aye, he's pretty well-off, don't you think?"
"Why? You wanna marry him and then divorce?"
Murphy chuckled. "Don't you wish."
"Nah, not really. I can't exactly picture you and Rocco at the wedding... Who'd wear the dress?"
"Rocco, of course."
"'Cause he's got the legs for it?"
Connor grinned. "Enjoy your honeymoon."
"Aye, I will."
"Mind if I videotape it?"
"Aye, of course you can. Join in the fun, too, while you're at it."
Connor made a face, something between amusement and disgust. "Want a cigarette?"
"You're gonna need one, when I'm done with ya."
"Fine, then, that's a no," Connor sat at a chair, lit one for himself.
"Aye, I'm gonna need to cut down if I'm doin' two men in one night."
"And what a night it shall be."
"Oh, I'm hopin' so."
"You don't 'know so'?"
"Well, I'll need to practice a bit, ya know."
"Well, maybe you don't – Midget."
"What? I'm taller than you!"
"I wasn't talkin' about height."
Connor paused, grinned. "And how would you know?"
"We don't really have a shower curtain, haven't you noticed?"
"I thought you were sleeping!" He faked shock.
""I'm not a woman."
Connor paused, thinking.
"'Not tonight, dear, I'm tired,'" Murphy said in a high-pitched voice.
"Yea, that's what the ladies always say to you."
"Aye... And then they run to me."
"You mean, they stumble a few feet to your mattress?"
"Whatever works for them."
"Obviously not you, then."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, 'cause if it was enough, they wouldn't have to come back to you... See, when I'm with the ladies, she never comes back, 'cause even one dose of Murphy McManus is more than enough for ya."
"Oh, I know."
"I didn't mean it like that... I meant that you can't satisfy a lady right 'cause you're a midget, Midget."
"Shut up, Peewee."
"Better to be a peewee than a midget."
"Hey, Peewee?" Connor grabbed some of their breakfast off the table – although there wasn't a lot left – and stood over Murphy.
"Aye, Midgets 'R Us?"
"Shut your fuckin' mouth," Connor grinned, shoved the piece of square into his brother's mouth. Leaning down, he pressed one hand over Murphy's lips and kissed the back of his hand, then went to sit at the table and have another cigarette.