Title: The Drink 1/2

Author: drainbamage954

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: The Boondock Saints (Connor/Murphy)

Genre: PWP, General, slight angst

Wordcount: 2,839

Warnings: Swearing and yaoi (boyxboy)

Summary: Waking up the morning after is never fun, especially when you can't really remember and the other blames it on the alcohol.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Boondock Saints. Well, I own the movie, but I don't think that's the same thing.

Notes: Part one of a two shot, because I love two shots. The second half is not PG-13 for those wondering. This is just the lead up. I'm following the trend I began in 'Fuck Me.' ENJOY! Sorry it's so short. Part two is much longer... and more fun.


He blamed it on the drink.

I don't know if he knew how much it broke me when he said that. When he said it meant nothing to him, when it was just a means to an end, a mistake, a slip up due to inebriation.

Fuck that.

We've been drunker than that many times before. Last night was just the first night something happened because of it. The first night that we didn't care, that I wasn't afraid. Some say, it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

Fuck them this fuckin' hurts.

I'd rather have never loved him at all, not this way at least, because it's forbidden and wrong and, even if he did feel the same way he'd say no because it's wrong. This morning does nothing but shatter whatever hope I had, shatter whatever is left of me, whatever is left over from wasting years and years sneaking small looks and trying to cover my tracks.

I'm sure this wasn't what God meant in the bible when he said love thy brother.

I can't stand this. I can't stand sitting in the apartment right now. This disgusting crappy little loft apartment that I mostly call home with fondness. The place I don't remember coming back to last night, don't remember how I ended up in a mess of musty blankets and limbs on the floor with my own flesh and blood.

I need a cigarette.

"Where th' fuck are ya goin'?"

I say nothing as I shrug on my black peacoat and leave, the door banging behind me, blocking him out and our small dingy home.

I need air. I need space. I need something to get my mind off of things.

Nothing happened he said. Of course, neither of us really knows that. Sure, I was still wearing my jeans and he was wearing his boxers and socks, but really, neither of us remembers. Well, I remember some, and judging from the faint marks on my neck and his shoulder, something did happen.

Plus my lip is busted and bitten. I can feel the teeth marks with my tongue. Teeth marks that I'm pretty sure aren't my own.

Nothing happened he said.

Nothing happened my arse. I would argue with him, but I know it's useless. Useless because he'll just tell me we were drunk, not thinking, that it was a mistake.

We were confused.

Fuck that, I'm almost never confused.

Well, except that one time and I swear to god I thought that was a girl. That's an experience I never want to repeat.

It's cold as I walk outside, glad of the coat. Of course, what else should I expect of early March in New England. The convenience store is just a few blocks down, a walk which I can complete in my sleep at this point. I'm sure the clerk would even sell me cigarettes and whatever I wanted if I was asleep. Actually, I wonder if that's ever happened. I used to sleep walk when I was a kid. Used to freak Ma out something fantastic.

Walking in today, I'm barely there two moments and the clerk has my choice cigarettes in hand and is smiling at me. I suppose being a creature of habit has its perks. He raises an eyebrow to seeing me alone.

"Where's the other half?" I try not to let that hit me like a grand piano. I can see that he has another pack ready to be grabbed, ready for the brother not here. Goddamnit. I put on a smirk for appearances.

"Contending with th' effects o' alcohol an' bein' trounced by his brother," I say, easily being the joking funny twin. "Didn' want ta show his face fer th' shame of it."

The clerk laughs, letting me buy my cancer sticks without further question, obviously amused at my description of my twin. "I'm sure it'll be him next time telling me the same thing," he says, handing me my change and cigarettes. I try to smile at him for the comment, taking my leave as fast as possible. As soon as I'm in the cold air again, I'm putting a cigarette between my lips and fumbling with a lighter, desperate for that calming rush of the smoke.

I want to get back to the loft and hit him, tell him it's not the goddamn drink, that I'm not confused, that it wasn't a mistake. I want to walk as far away as I can, walk for hours, smoking and thinking of anything but him. Let him sit in the goddamn empty room for a while and think for once.

I can't do both so instead I settle for leaning against the railing of someone's garden, smoking absently and scowling at the asphalt.

I'm apparently lost in my own world because I don't hear the yelling until it's right in my ear.

"Where th' fuck did ya go?"

Ooh he's angry. I can see it in his eyes and the way his shoulders are tense. And the flaring nostrils also. They always flare when he's pissed. Pissed as in angry, not drunk. They don't flare when he's drunk.

"What th' fuck da ya care?" I snap at him, not bothering to really look him in the face. That always makes him more annoyed.

I can see him try to keep from hitting me. It's kinda funny to watch him battle with himself. I'd be amused if I'm not already pissed. Angry pissed, not drunk pissed. We were both drunk pissed last night. It's because we were drunk pissed that I'm now angry pissed. "Ya fuckin' left fer no reason!" He's yelling now, gesturing somewhat. "Ya barely say more 'n five words ta me all mornin' before stormin' out with no word as ta where yer goin'. Fuck! Ya coulda been leavin' fer all I knew."

"I WAS leavin'!" I shout at him, finally snapping to look at him, cigarette half crushed in my hand as I shove at him. "I don' need ta tell ya everythin' do I? Yer not Ma, Con." I shove him again. "Christ, it was just fuckin' cigarettes."

He shoves me back almost instantly, a snarl curling his lip as he glares at me. "Fuck you!" He shouts, suddenly fisting his hand in my coat and pulling me right to his face. His snarling angry face with flaring nostrils. I finally notice he's not wearing his coat, that he left the flat without it. "Then ya shoulda told me it was fuckin' cigarettes!" he shouts directly in my face. "Not stormed out like a fuckin' woman. Fuck Murph, ya coulda been leavin' me fer all I knew."

I'm confused and angry and his mouth is much too close to mine. I can feel his spit from all the consonants. "What th' fuck would I be leavin' fer, ya retard?!" I've fisted my own hands in his shirt, feeling the fabric strain in my fingers. "The only reason I'd be fuckin' leavin' is because ya force me out."

He shakes me, throwing me harshly back out and into his grip, hands still curled in the lapels of my coat. "Fuck you!" He shakes me again as if to emphasize a point. "Then why th' fuck didn't ya come back!"

"Oh!" I shove him away, hard enough that it breaks his grip on me. "So I can't even have a moment to myself now, huh? I'm not yer fuckin' property!" I throw my arms out, gesturing to him that I am, though his twin, not physically connected to him. Fuck. Right now I can't tell if I want to run away or into him. I don't know if I want to run into him to beat the shit out of him or to molest him. "Since when do ya dictate what th' fuck I do? If I wanna go on me own for a bit, yer not one ta tell me no."

He jerks his head agitatedly, a sign that he's really angry. His teeth are almost bared as he looks back at me, brow creased and eyes burning as his shoulders are stiff and square, ready for anything. "Tha's not th' point!"

"Then what is th' fuckin' point, Connor?" I demand, leaning forward to get right in his face. "Why th' fuck did ya chase me here fer? Ta yell at me? Ta make me feel like shit?" I can feel my own anger pulsing in my body, eyes sharp as they glare into his burning gaze. "Cuz ya don' have ta follow me down here, I already feel like shit thanks ta ya. So fuck off!" Glaring furiously, I turn from him, viciously kicking the railing I was previously leaning against.

I've settled on a choice. I'm getting the fuck away. I can't deal with this right now. I've barely had my moment to think since I left for cigarettes, since he blamed it on the drink, since a large part of me broke. I need to get away, to think, to scream, to hit something, to nurse my wounds, whatever, I just need to get away. However, apparently Connor doesn't like the idea of me leaving, considering that I barely get five strides before he bowls into me, slamming into my back and sending us nearly to the pavement.

"What the fuck!" I shout at him, turning and glaring, trying to keep my balance with a twin latched onto my back and practically spitting fire. "Get off!"

"Tell me what th' fuck yer talkin' about!" Connor yells back at me, not letting go and instead kicking me awkwardly, sending a nasty pain up my calf. I grunt as we begin to scrapple, me trying to shove him off and walk away and him trying to keep his hold on me and drag me to the ground so I can't move at all.

I want to talk to him about this.

I don't want to talk to him about this.

I want to talk to him about this but I don't want to talk to him about this like this.

Fuck I'm confusing myself.

"Get th' fuck off!" I yell at him, throwing a punch or two against his back, unconsciously missing his head as I try to jerk him off(1). It's actually quite hard to remain standing with someone's dead weight dragging you down to the ground, especially when that dead weight is doing everything in their power to pull you to the ground.

Connor says nothing to me, instead growling through bared teeth as his hands dig into my waist, feet shuffling as he attempts to pull me away from my destination of the fuck away from him. It's usually not so bad, scuffling with him. Usually because it's in good fun. I'm usually not pissed as hell at him and he's usually not angrier than a wolf that some dickheaded kid is poking in the side with a stick at the zoo. Then he yanks me with his arm and, much to my dismay, I've lost my balance, falling to the ground with a yell and a grunt.

Goddamnit cement hurts.

"Connor!" I yell angrily, kicking sharply at him as he lies half on top of me, pinning me to the ground.

"What's got ya' so pissed, huh?" Connor yells at me, forcefully dragging himself up to face me, pressing himself down on me to make sure I can't really get away. He looks downright pissed as he glares at me. "What's so bad tha' ya can't ev'n tell yer own brother?"

"Fuck you!" I yell, trying to buck him off of me so I can just run, leave him behind me so he doesn't have to see my face. A face which I'm sure is too close to tears for my liking and too full of anger for his liking.

"That tells me nothin'!" Connor yells, whapping me in the side painfully, causing me to grunt and lurch to the side. He's directly on top of my now, pinning me to the ground and making it almost impossible to do anything. Thrash, buck, kick, punch, none of it is possible with him as he is now, pining my arms and legs beneath him. All I can do is turn my head to the side as far as I can and try to hide.

This says a lot. I never hide.

Connor immediately stills, apparently realizing maybe I really do want to be left alone, maybe there is something wrong with me that I really can't talk to him about. Maybe he can't fix this. Now he's still, if I wanted to, I could shove him off and run. But I can't. Not now because I'm too tired, too broken, and I can't do anything.

After a moment, Connor sighs, shifting slightly so he's not pressed down as hard on top of me. "Come back t' th' flat," he says, his voice now much softer and slightly resigned. I say nothing, just continue to breathe at the pavement with my eyes firmly closed. "Hey." He gives me a slight little shove. "C'mon. We're goin' home."

Then he's gone, moved off of me and I'm just lying there, alone on the pavement with my eyes closed and face pointedly facing the ground. "Go yerself," I say softly, no longer wanting to keep the anger in my voice. Next thing I know, I've been hauled off the ground onto my feet by his strong arms and hands, standing half on my own to face him, directing in front of him. I don't look at him, just keep my face to the side.

I've never felt this disconnected from Connor before, this far away, this cut off.

I've never hated alcohol this much before in my life for what its done to me. Done to us.

"Is this because o' last night?"

The words hit me like a building but I make to display of it, no reaction, just keep my face and eyes away from him. Away from that face which is my undoing. He's quiet except for his soft breathing, just barely grazing against my face as his hands strongly grip my coat, keeping me upright. He sighs, letting his hands slack slightly, entrusting me to keep myself upright. "Look, Murph, I'm sorry, alright?"

I close my eyes.

Please stop.

"I just don' feel the way you do-"

I wish I could close my ears too.

Please, please just stop.

"-I didn't mean fer this ta happen-"

God this hurts.

"-But I can't change th' way I feel-"

Just shut up.

"-Or th' way ya feel I guess."

Just shut the fuck up.

"Can't we just forget about it?"

I hate him right now as my eyes suddenly flash open, head jerks to face him and body goes rigid.

"No, Conner, I can't just forget it," I snap at him, feeling furious as his expression mimics being slapped in the face, his features falling. "I can't forget it no matter how hard I try." His face grows more and more somber. "Fuck," I shout and shove at him.

The shove snaps him out of his 'pity me' moment as he stumbles back, angry look returning to his face. "Look, it's not like yer th' only one hurt an' confused here!" he shouts at me, face flushing slightly. "Stop actin' like yer th' only one that's been fucked over."

"Oh, an' yer gonna tell me ya feel like yer dyin' inside, huh?" I snap back, throwing an arm out angrily.

"So what if I am," he yells, gesturing furiously. "S'not like ya care. Fuck!"

I'm much too angry right now. "Well, why don't ya just go an' blame that on th' alcohol too. Worked fine b'fore fer ya," I sneer.

"Goddamn-" he throws his hands down in frustration. "Fuck you! It wasn't the alcohol!"

To Be Continued... .

A/N: I love cliff hangers. Mainly because I already have part two of this with Connor set up and ready to go. Also, kudos to those who can guess where this goes following Connor's line. Yeah, I suppose I'm evil... but I like being mean sometimes.

(1) I laughed when I was rereading this mainly because it can be taken soooo badly. Not meant sexually here, just sayin'.

The second half will be out shortly. Merrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (--- sound, not word)