It is silence he hates; silence and boredom both. Usually work distracts him when the boredom-attack strikes, but they are on the run, so it is not exactly an option.

They rent two rooms in a shackled rundown motel off the road. Da occupies the other room, smaller room with one bed while they take the one with the master bed because their cash is not enough to pay for two beds. The only thing Murphy minds about the room is the thin wall barricades Da's room to theirs.

A lot of sounds are coming from the next room, definitely two people fucking, he guesses. Murphy wants to knock at their door and tell them to keep it quiet because, Jesus fucking Christ, they can practically punch a new hole bare-handed on this wall. He covers his head with the pillow as Connor settles down, naked saved for the boxer, beside him.

Connor mutters a few curses under his breath and Murphy tunes to the steady beating of his brother's heart when the other suddenly hisses.

"Ahh, fuck me," groans Connor, painful. Murphy shifts to stare at him, lifts his hips a bit, hands trailing down the length of his brother's side. Connor's breath catches, muscles tense underneath his wandering fingers. He digs his nails deep, eliciting a shiver down the blonde's spine and a barely-audible moan from those chapped parted lips. Connor looks at him, ridiculously wide-eyed with deep flushed cheeks.

"Da's next door!" he hisses and yes, Murphy thinks, translates that it is not a rejection. So he straddles his brother's lap, lips latched intimately on the tattoo on Connor's neck.

"'m bored," Murphy states, mutters. "Plus I take some things a bit seriously, Con, ya know that."

Murphy breaks the silence with Connor's moans against his skin.