Nicholas: A spontaneous challenge of A Hotter Kiss a Better Touch that I wrote on the spot while she was pestering me about finishing it. I truly believe that this is the most tasteless thing I've ever written. That's interesting. Anyway, now that I've stayed up to write this, I'm going to bed because I have a test in the morning! Enjoy, and review!

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue


They drove silently for a while on their way home from wherever they'd been before. To tell the truth, Murphy wasn't quite sure. He wasn't really thinking at the moment; his mind was too full of stuck he'd rather be doing instead of sitting in a car on a rainy night waiting to get home because Connor drives like an old person in the rain. His hand slipped from the dash absently and Murphy immediately laced his fingers with Connor's. For a moment there was no problem with that.

Abruptly, Connor took his hand away and put it on the steering wheel. "Murphy, please don' do that. Just let me be fer a minute…Now don' give me that fuckin' look, I'm not in the mood fer yer shite."

Murphy pouted as his brother went back to looking out the windshield. He felt genuinely offended at Connor's reaction. "Fine." He crossed his arms in front of his chest stubbornly.

With a shake of his head, Connor tried once more to focus on the blurry road in front of him. It was pouring outside and Connor had this desperate need to get home. Not necessarily to get out of the rain, but he was getting impatient for something good after all this shit they'd gone through tonight. He really didn't want to think about that. What he really wanted to do was get home, have a few beers, maybe take a shower if there was warm water. What he really wanted to do: have some form of sex with Murphy. Then he felt something on his shoulder.

Connor only dared take his eyes from the street for a moment. In that time he saw Murphy tracing two fingers along the seam of his sleeve. With a glare: "stop, Murph."

The way that Murphy quickly retrieved his hand made Connor understand that there was no way Murphy was going to stop. The jack ass was probably bored as fuck right now, and Connor didn't blame him for that. He blamed him for being a nuisance. As soon as Connor's eyes left him, Murphy reached towards him once more and poked him in the side.

"Fuckin'-A! I'm warnin' ya now, ya little bastard: Knock it the fuck off!" Connor was so close to smacking his twin upside the head.

For a while, Murphy sat back with a smirk on his face, pleased with the other's outburst. The silence staggered its way back between them through the sounds of rainfall and the engine of their "bucket" purring like an angry cat. Connor was straining to see through the thick weather and he devoted all of his attention to it. Then, something oddly familiar on his thigh officially severed his concentration. Connor got a bit annoyed. The last thing he need was a fucking woody while he was driving.

Connor glared at Murphy for a moment before he pulled off to the curb and parked suddenly. He sat with his hands still on the steering wheel and gearshift and his fire-filled eyes trained dangerously on Murphy. The dark-haired one didn't even take his hand back that time.

"I swear ta fuckin' God, Murph! If ya keep touchin' me like that I'll kick yer fuckin' ass!" Of course, Connor wouldn't dream of it. He was in a nasty mood though, and Murphy's flirtatious actions were making him more distracted than Connor can ever be comfortable being. The hand on his thigh moved abruptly, but more towards Connor than not. 'Oh, fuck ye,' Connor thought snidely. Murphy was doing this with one intent: drive his brother insane.

It wasn't fair that Murphy had the upper hand in this…well, the occupied hand, anyway. Their eyes were completely locked on each other as Murphy's fingers ran over his brother's fly and pressed gently. That was it! Connor was now officially impatient. He was supposed to wait until he got home, and Murphy knew that. They both knew it was more comfortable when they were in bed—together at that. Oh, but Murphy's damn hands were just so…and in the right place…

Just as Murphy's thumb was applying just the right amount of pressure in just the right spot on Connor's jeans, the blond grabbed his twin's hand and pushed it steadily away from him. "Okay, ya wanna play like that, then?"

Murphy watched skeptically as Connor searched his pockets and drew out a single cigarette. "Guess what this is," Connor offered confidently. For a moment, Murphy wanted to laugh at him, but he then put his hands in his pockets—jacket and jeans—and found them empty of everything except a lighter. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. The last cigarette. "That's right, jerk off."

"Conn, that en't right. Who holds a smoke hostage?"

With a grin, Connor dangled the little paper-wrapped death-stick in front of the other's face, but he pulled it away when Murphy reached for it. "Ya want it?" Murphy's glared deepened. After a beat, Connor tossed the cigarette into the back seat.

Just as was expected, Murphy immediately followed, crawling over the back of his seat to save his favorite, little pleasure (besides Connor, that is). Connor flicked the switch to lock the doors and climbed back himself, tangling with his brother until one of them came out on top. After much wrestling in a narrow space, Connor pressed Murphy face-first into the old, leather interior.

After feeling his arm wrenched behind his back, Murphy let out a yelp. "I give!" he pleaded quickly. "Uncle!"

Connor pulled Murphy's arm just a bit farther and leaned forward to put all of his weight into holding his brother down. "I don' think I feel like lettin' ya off that easily." He didn't waste time. He undid his jeans to save those few seconds he'd need later and then grabbed both of Murphy's wrists. It took a bit of adjusting, but after some twisting and what not, Connor sat up and pulled Murphy up to him to sit between his legs.

With a bit of a struggle between them (Connor trying to hold Murphy still with both arms and Murphy trying to play hard to get), the blond brother eventually won with a bite on the other's neck. Murphy gave one last, defiant squirm before submitting. Connor's arms relaxed and his hands went straight for his brother's jeans. All but declaring "fuck foreplay," Connor awkwardly shoved Murphy's pants down and kicked them off. Then Murphy's jacket disappeared, then Murphy's shirt.

So Murphy sat in nothing but his socks and one boot (the other, Connor had kicked off) between Connor's legs while his erection was growing steadily harder without aid. Not to say he couldn't have used a bit of help. Without being asked, Connor obliged and wrapped his fingers around Murphy's half-erect dick.

The first few strokes were just to arouse him, but Murphy still found it unbearably torturous how slow and light he was being touched. Pushing himself back slightly, he tried to buck his hips up into his brother's hand.

There was a bit of movement behind him as Connor's hand tightened just slightly. Then Murphy felt that familiar pressure just in the cleft of his buttocks. "Movin' a bit fast, aren't ya, Conn?" Murphy commented quietly. A sharp pump of his brother's fist ripped the words right out of his mouth.

Connor hooked his ankles around Murphy's and snuggled his knees beneath the other's; the action spread Murphy's legs a bit and lifted him slightly, into perfect position. "If ya hadn't gotten all touchy on me, we'd be at home right now," he stated wryly. With a strained grunt, he pushed himself into his brother and held Murphy still with an arm around his waist. "It'd be much more comf'terble."

Murphy had lost his voice in a high-pitched cry, so he couldn't form a retort. He confused himself between Connor's hand stroking his hard-on and Connor's dick burying inside him. Stiffly, Murphy's head fell back onto his brother's shoulder and Connor's tongue licking at his ear added to the mixed sensation.

It was definitely too fast for him. He was losing it already, and it had only really just gotten started. He didn't want to waste this so quickly, so he tried to think of something to clear his thoughts. Something that would bring him back just long enough to maybe get a few words in here or there. (He was definitely not trying to think of the words "fuck" and "lick"). It came to him like a slap in the face. That fat, angry lesbian.

Just one memory of her almost completely turned him off, but that's not what he wanted. With a better grasp on what he was doing—and what his brother was doing (i.e. the hand job and the slow, lingering inward-outward pump of his hips)—Murphy managed to turn his head to the side and catch Connor's tongue mid-lick. He gained a little control and satisfaction feeling his twin moan into his mouth. With a hand he forgot he had, Murphy reached up and gripped Connor's hair tightly.

So suddenly it almost scared the pants off of Murphy (ironic being that he wasn't wearing pants), Connor drew himself out and then drove back in at a merciless speed and harshness. Murphy groaned and once more found himself caught between that and his twin's grip tightening and speeding up. He almost stopped kissing Connor, but that didn't actually happen for one specific reason. Murphy had a tight grip on Connor's hair, preventing his head from really moving, and that grip tightened the harder Connor fucked him and the harder Connor fucked him, the tighter Murphy's grip got.

They were both making a lot of noise and could probably be heard on the outside of the car even. Then, Murphy's other hand shot out and pressed against the foggy window, leaving a funky, tell tale hand print when it fell away.