Connor always wakes up before Murphy, usually it is only a few seconds before, a few seconds of feeling alone before Murphy is shifting into wakefulness beside him.

This morning though it's a few minutes and Connor relishes that. Relishes the hot body of his brother pressed up next to him, Murphy's breath warm on his neck and his legs tangled with his own, even though white hot shame surges through his body when his brother shifts, tightening his grip slightly on Connor. Relishes the calm before the storm and he has no idea what to say to Murphy. It scares him. Because he always knows that to say to Murphy, even when he doesn't say anything, words pulsing between them unseen and unheard by everyone other than them. But he doesn't have a clue right now and it only gets worse, the clenching of his stomach gets worse, tighter, when Murphy shifts. Connor knows that shift, has been wrapped around his brother before, years ago, when they were small and it wasn't frowned upon to sleep in the same bed. But Connor remembers. Remembers everything about Murphy. But he knows that shift means that Murphy is waking, sleep leaving him as the daylight creeps over the top of the couch, throwing weak sunlight over them as Murphy turns his face into Connor's chest with a groan that almost makes Connor laugh, because it sounds so normal.

Murphy doesn't speak though, not when he drags in a breath, his nose buried in Connor's side, breathing in Connor, not when he lifts his head and blinks his eyes open. Doesn't say a word as he smiles gently, fingers tracing patterns over Connor's side and he pushes himself up, lifts his hands over his head and stretches.

Connor's seen his brother naked before, not much privacy between them when they share an apartment with four walls only, not that they would want it anyway, but he's never seen him like this, sun bouncing off his skin that makes him almost look like an angel. A Fallen Angel after what they did last night, he thinks, as the memory of Murphy shaking in his arms comes flooding back.

Murphy looks easy though, happy, sated and so painfully normal that it takes Connor's breath away, because he feels like he's coming apart at the seams, everything he's ever believed crashing around down his ears. Murphy reaches a hand down to him and it takes Connor a second longer than normal to grasp it, Murphy's skin warm and dry under his own. Murphy pulls, harder than he should and Connor stumbles into him. Murphy grins the boyish grin of his, the grin that means he's done something that he's really proud of, something that usually leaves Connor with a bruise, or seeing stars and right now he's feels like its both. But Murphy grins, arms winding around Connor and Connor can only wind his back. Its then when Murphy speaks, his voice low like he's sharing a secret.

"Mornin'". Its such a simple thing to say, so normal, not that they usually say it to each other, usually wake up shit for brains or get me some fuckin' coffee cock sucker, but none of those fit now. Connor can only slide his eyes shut as Murphy kisses him lightly and whisper back "morning" before Murphy slips away, stumbling to the shower, leaving Connor feeling as though he's Wile. E. Coyote and Murphy is Road Runner and he's spinning so fast that he spins right into the ground.

They used to love those cartoons. Tom and Jerry too. Back when they were allowed to show a cat smoking on TV, back when they were allowed to show a cat wanting to eat a mouse on TV. They would curl up on a tiny armchair, legs tangled, and giggle like girls every time Tom's, Wile's, Yosemite Sam's and anyone else's plans were foiled. They always preferred the villains though. Always identified with them more, and Connor tries to ignore the irony in that.

Murphy emerges towelling his hair, his face covered and Connor takes a moment to look. Watches a drop of water as it makes its way down Murphy's chest. Connor wants to follow its path with his mouth, wants to taste the chlorine of the water, hint of soap, and Murphy. But he swallows that guilt at the same time that he realises I can do that. Murphy pulls the towel off his head and grins at Connor, flicks the towel at his bare thighs. The crack as it connects is loud and Murphy grins at the same time as Connor launches himself at his brother, crashing them both to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

And like that things are normal between them.


Murphy is careful not to push. Connor can see that. He doesn't ask much of Connor, just a few commands that Connor gives easily, nothing dangerous or serious. Nothing that's going to damn them further. Its been three days. Three days since Connor found out what his brother's mouth tastes like when he comes. And there had been nothing but hushed kisses in the darkness, Murphy arching into Connor's body, pleading with his groans. He knows Murphy needs something more but Connor can't let go just yet. Wants to know what his brother feels like inside, but can't take the final step. He can't. No matter how much Murphy wants it, no matter how much Murphy needs it. Murphy is his to take care of. He has a sneaking suspicion that he was born first. And he spent too long waiting for Murphy to follow into the world, and now he has to look after him no matter what. What kind of brother would he be if he took that final step?

Murphy is getting impatient though. He's careful, but Connor can see it. Can see it in the way Murphy's jaw muscles twitch when Connor asks him to pass something, or shut the door, and answer the phone. Can see it in the way his brother holds himself, body coiled tight like he's ready to explode. Murphy has always held himself tightly, almost like he isn't comfortable in his own skin. But Connor thinks he might be the only one to see that. But now Murphy is tight, muscles hard under Connor's hands when Connor lets himself touch him, however briefly. Hard where Murphy has always been soft.

Its takes another few days for Connor to realise what Murphy is doing. It surprises him that Murphy has been able to hide something like that from Connor. But he sees now. Sees Murphy pushing him slightly. Pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. Biting more on his nails, drawing attention to his hands and his mouth. Simple gestures that only Connor sees. Because only Connor knows that Murphy is actually a manipulative bastard that is used to getting what he wants from Connor. They're in the bar and Murphy's hands are lingering longer on Connor than necessary, not long enough for anyone to notice but Connor. Fingers trailing over skin. Its makes Connor uneasy. Makes him want to punch somebody, probably Murphy if he carries on touching the beer bottle like that.

He needs air, he needs space and he slips off his stool and almost stumbles. His legs feel like jell-o as Murphy cocks his head in a silent question and Connor shakes his once, slipping through the crowd of people and the smoke.

He can tell the second Murphy follows him. The air feels different. He's always been able to tell where Murphy is. Its not some "twin thing" either. This is different. Murphy and him are different. It's like they can't be apart for long because it hurts to much. It doesn't surprise him that he knows its Murphy. Murphy is behind him. Its dark behind the bar, the street lights don't reach round into the alley and Murphy crowds in behind him, body not quite touching but it raises the hairs on the back of Connor's neck.

"Conn..." Murphy's breath ghosts over Connor's skin, warm in the cold night and Connor turns, eyes meeting Murphy's. Connor has the urge to push his brother against the nearest solid surface and kiss that trusting look off his face. Murphy obviously sees that thought because his eyes widen slightly and his lips part and Connor's name slips out between them.

"I don't.." Connor lifts his hands, fingers just touching Murphy's face as the door from the bar opens and noise explodes into the alley and they spring apart. Connor's fingers sliding of Murphy's skin. He doesn't even know what he was going to say, Murphy has a habit of making words unnecessary between them, but Connor needed to fill the silence with words like I don't what I'm doing and I don't know how to stop touching you. Murphy already knows that though. He knows Connor, he can see the internal battle waging in his head since Murphy pushed him over the line between brothers and whatever they are know. Connor knows Murphy can see it, hence the pushing now. The small touches and the pleading eyes and the clenching jaw line that makes Connor want to reach out and lick a stripe along Murphy's skin.

It scares him how much he wants Murphy. He wants all of him, not just his body but he wants to own his mind as well. It terrifies him, truth be told, scares him right down to his soul, and he's never really been scared of anything, except loosing Murphy. But even since Murphy touched him and opened his eyes to this, its been dangerously hard to turn back. Guilt washes over him whenever he thinks of it though, guilt and shame and it makes him sick to his stomach. Turns it over, clenches hard. He doesn't know if he's willing to damn his soul further for this. But then Murphy smiles, the genuine one that very few people are allowed to see, Murphy smiles and Connor knows he would walk through hell fire for eternity just to be able to run his fingers over the wrinkles by his eyes.

Murphy is back in his seat by the time Connor manages to make it back into the bar, legs shaking and he doesn't know how Murphy can be so normal around people. Doesn't understand how Murphy isn't having a complete freak out, like the one that's bubbling under Connor's surface, threatening to happen any second. It irritates him at the same time that it sends a cold lick of thrill up his spine. Knowing that he could strip Murphy bare and bring him to his knees and two seconds later he could be back in the bar, chanting lewd songs, challenging people who don't know better than to challenge an Irishman to drinking games. Murphy flashes him a smile, mid sentence, hands spinning in the air in front of him as he weaves his magic and commands the full attention of the person he's speaking to. Murphy does that, he's always been able to do that. Connor thinks its because he doesn't often say much, but when he does speak people listen.

Connor slips back into his seat. Connor feels hot, uncomfortable, like he's sure that everyone can see that he nearly slammed his brother against a dumpster and ordered him to suck his shame and guilt out through his cock. God, the memory of Murphy's mouth around him makes him clench his hands around the slick bottle. Connor suddenly has a urge to haul Murphy into the bathroom, push him to his knees and watched that mouth wrap around his cock. He stifles the groan that threatens to escape and clenches his hands tighter round the bottle of beer in his hand.

"In't that right Conn?" Murphy leans his way slightly, his fingers digging into Connor's thigh, bringing him into the banal conversation that Murphy's having with someone, the conversation that Connor knows Murphy's had without actually thinking about it. To anyone else it looks like Murphy is balancing himself, Connor knows better. Knows that Murphy is pushing, testing, with touches and looks and it drives Connor crazy. Knows that Murphy can probably read his mind if the look in his eyes is anything to go for, the look that says I like your thinking, brother. How is he meant to want to throw his brother down across the bar and do things that no brother should even think about? How is he meant to reconcile with himself and with God that he wants to watch Murphy crumble under his hands? Does he really want this or is it some twisted sense of brotherly loyalty? Murphy's fingers tighten slightly and he licks his lips.

It's then that Connor realises he's never wanted anything else more in his entire life.

"Murphy. Pas ici." Not here. He leans forward and makes his voice low. "Go home." Murphy blinks once, his pupils expanding rapidly. He licks his lips and nods. He's out of the door before anyone even notices.

Connor feels his absence like a physical ache. Its stupid because he told Murphy to go home. Wanted to see if Murphy would, if Murphy really wanted Connor to take control. But it feels wrong to be without him, without his hands on Connor, without his easy voice in his ear.

He slides off his stool, throws some bills at Doc and is out of the door, breathing the cold night air before he can even think, feet taking him back towards Murphy.

Something snaps in Connor when he pushes the apartment door open and sees Murphy pacing. Lean body taut with pent up energy, hand running through his hair. He doesn't look up as Connor slips through the door. He jumps when Connor slams it though, but still doesn't look up, just stops pacing, fingers tangled in his hair, body turned towards Connor but eyes downcast.

"Murphy look at me." He does then, raises his eyes up at the same time that he lets his hand fall, hair sticking up where his fingers have been running through it. "Tell me that ya want this Murph." He scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing up his jaw and back. "Ya need to tell me Murph." Murphy takes a step towards him, but Connor holds up his hand and Murphy stops.

"I want this Conn." He says simply. "Do you?" The question is simple, on the other hand the answer isn't . God he wants it with everything fibre of his being, can feel the need and want humming in his veins, but its wrong and he knows it. Murphy is still looking at him though, waiting for an answer that Connor can't voice.

"Come here." Is all he says instead and Murphy is on him in less than a second, body plastered to his, pushing them both hard against the door. Connor's head hits it hard as Murphy's mouth finds his and Murphy's hands grip hard around his arms.

"Show me." Murphy says, pulling back long enough to stare into his eyes, the plea bleeding out past the desire.

It takes all of his energy and every last ounce of strength he has to swallow the last of the shame and guilt and he doesn't know how his voice manages to work, but Murphy needs this, Murphy wants this, and God help him, so does Connor. He may be terrified at how much he wants it but he does so he places his hands on Murphy's shoulders, pushes lightly and manages to rasp out "On your knees." He doesn't really recognise his own voice, it sounds darker, more dangerous, even to his own ears and Murphy shudders against him.

"Ok Connor." And he does just that. Slips to his knees in one easy movement that leaves Connor breathless, breath stuck in his throat as Murphy's fingers undo Connor's jeans and pushes them down his hips, fingers trailing over Connor's skin that feels too small for him now. Like he's going to explode if Murphy doesn't touch him soon, like Murphy is the only thing grounding him right now. Like Murphy is that split second in the cartoons when they step off a cliff, right before they plummet to their doom.

Murphy looks up at him then. Eyes warm and trusting and Connor runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the back of his neck, he knows its just this side of painful, but Murphy's eyes slide shut and he pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Connor doesn't know where it comes from, the need to make Murphy do whatever he wants, but its takes over, washes away the guilt, the wrongness of this, makes him push Murphy's head towards his already half hard cock. Makes him watch as Murphy swallows him whole, makes him slip two fingers in between Murphy's lips as Murphy hums around him. Makes him come hard into his brothers throat and shudders as Murphy pulls off with a pop that shouldn't be as hot as it is.

It suddenly becomes easy to haul Murphy to his feet and kiss him, taste himself in Murphy's mouth and push Murphy backwards till his legs hit one of the beds. It doesn't matter which one because they don't have separate beds anymore, not since the first time on the floor by the sofa. Nights are now spent curled around each other, tangled together under the forgiving cover or darkness, Connor whispering pleas of forgiveness as Murphy kisses his skin.

Murphy falls backwards, a look of surprise on his face and Connor just watches him. Watches as Murphy crawls backwards, making space for Connor, reaches his hands out and mumbles "vertrau mir" trust me as he pulls Connor down. Connor doesn't know when this became about Murphy comforting Connor but he goes willingly, covering Murphy's body with his own and Murphy hooks a leg round him and pulls him closer, arching up at the same time, eliciting a groan from him that Connor wants to hear for the rest of his life, the one that makes it sound like Murphy is splitting apart at the seams.

Connor looses all resolve when Murphy wriggles a hand between them and pops the button on his own jeans. Connor lifts himself up, ignoring the whimper from Murphy as he does it, and pulls his jeans down, denim rasping over skin, and Murphy arches his hips, breathing harsh as Connor fumbles with Murphy's laces and finally pulls off his boots, throws them to the floor, jeans following a few seconds later. Connor pulls down Murphy's boxers and swallows hard, Murphy is gorgeous. All pale skin and lean muscle, ink and scars making him all the more perfect. Connor covers him again, skin against skin, cock stiffening again as it slides over Murphy's, he sucks in a breath as Murphy groans again and wraps his legs around Connor's waist.

"Do it Conn..." Murphy whispers harshly in his ear, his voice sounds dry and hoarse and it makes Connor's cock twitch, pleasure and lust running down his spine.

"I thought I gave the orders round here Murph." He says and punctuates his words with a twist of his hips that has Murphy gasping, swearing slipping past his lips.

"Please..." Its not often that Murphy asks for anything, like he knows how much power he has over Connor and he doesn't abuse it, but Murphy needs this and Connor is not about to stop giving Murphy what he needs. And God forgive him he needs this too.

He's already hard, Murphy naked and begging under him does that to him in two seconds flat, when Murphy lifts his hips, in a silent plea that accompanies his voiced one, and Connor pushes two fingers into his brother mouth. Murphy wraps his tongue around them, licking between them and it shouldn't make Connor want to die right then and there. It shouldn't make Connor want stay in this room, this moment reliving itself over and over until the end of time. Connor pulls his fingers out, trailing Murphy's spit over his lips, reaches down and pushes one into his brother. Murphy practically comes off the bed, body arching like a bow as his heat wraps itself around Connor's finger. Connor adds another finger and nearly comes right then and there at the sound that Murphy makes, the sight of him, the flush across his cheeks, the sweat beading on his forehead.

"Fuck Conn, do it." Murphy's drags the words out, voice broken and desperate and Connor pulls his fingers out, lines up and pushes in.

"Holy fucking Christ." It says a lot about how lost they are that Murphy doesn't respond with a "Lords name Conn" just an echoing curse as Connor hips hit home. Its perfection, in such a sinful way that it makes Connor shake. His brothers heat radiating into him, he's buried in his brother, finally. He thinks he hears the same word fall from Murphy's lips a second before he moves, arches his hips and Connor pulls out far enough to slam back in.

It doesn't take long for them to find a rhythm. Connor pushing in at the same time Murphy arches upwards, legs locked around Connor's waist. Connor knows when he hits the right spot, Murphy curses loudly, and his eyes fly open, lock with Connor's. Connor almost looses it then. But he leans down and kisses Murphy, the angle awkward and messy but he needs to, needs to taste his brother, needs to taste desire and need in his kisses. He bites gently on his lower lips, teeth dragging over the delicate skin inside when he pulls back and Murphy whimpers again.

The muscles in Connor's arms are twitching, but he reaches between them with one hand, wraps his fingers around Murphy's cock and twists. Murphy comes then, with Connor's name on his lips and a shudder, hot between them, his fingers pressing into Connor's shoulders, bruises probably already blooming under his fingers and that thought makes Connor come, pushing hard in once, twice, hips stilling, muscles seizing up and he comes buried as far in his brother as he can be.

Murphy's heart beat is strong under his hands when he collapses, head landing next to Murphy's, hands on Murphy's chest. And he can feel his own heart beating hard in his chest, mirroring Murphy's, always in sync. Connor knows they should clean up, resists the urge to tell Murphy to do it, even though he knows Murphy would, sore and aching as he must be, and the thought sends a jolt through him, Murphy would do it if he asked. Murphy would suck his cock again right now if he asked. Connor runs a hand through Murphy's damp hair again, fingers running over scars and Murphy arches into the touch.

Connor's coming to terms with it though, learning to live with the guilt, even as the guilt starts bleeding away. He's more ok with it now than he was, and that scares him. He doesn't want to loose sight of how wrong this is, because then he wouldn't have a reason to hold back and not make Murphy do what ever he wanted him to. He needs the guilt and shame to keep him grounded, to keep this on the right side of wrong. Murphy shifts, tangling his legs with Connor's.

"Ok Conn?" He asks, breath hot against Connor's neck. It takes a while for Connor to answer, running fingers down Murphy's spine and pulling him close.

"Yeah Murph, I'm grand."

The bed is small, the apartment cold, come is drying sticky on his skin but he is grand. He falls asleep with a smile on his lips and Murphy's face pushed into his neck.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. And will sin again.