A/N: Birthday fic for one Little Miss Tightly Wound who requested Murphy and Maggie after the ZA. If you are reading my story Two Brother's Walk Into a Bar this is not part of that time line. This is happens before the Atlanta Survivors show up at the Greene Farm. Murphy and Connor are just passing through.

WARNING there are a few bits in here that some may find blasphemous. If there is a chance you might find use of religious items during sex upsetting, I would avoid this.

"Again, Hershel, we want ta thank ya for lettin' us stay with ya the last few days," Connor started, shaking the man's eyes loose from the looks Murphy and Maggie were throwing at each other across the crowded table.

Hershel cleared his throat. "Well, my thanks to you and your brother for the help you've given us the past few days."

The boys had found themselves out tending the fences with Hershel, Jimmy and Otis, lending a couple of extra backs to moving hay for the horses, moving canning supplies from a shed out back to the kitchen for Patricia and Hershel's two daughters.

"It was the least we could do," Murphy mumbled around the half of a biscuit in his mouth. He grinned sheepishly as he held the back of his wrist against his lips and quickly finished chewing and swallowing before continuing. "The food the ladies've provided us the past two days've been the best thing we've eaten since the world went to he- pieces. And it's nice to not have ta sleep on the ground a couple a nights."

In the fading light, Maggie sat perched on the railing of the porch, facing Connor in the rocker. Murphy had drug a chair from the dining room and was leaned back against the wall, balanced on two legs. The three were chatting about life before things went to shit when Hershel popped out to say goodnight to everyone. He hugged Maggie about the shoulders, and kissed the side of her head.

"Night, Daddy," she mumbled closing her eyes as his lips met her temple.

The boys stood, each extending their hand to the man. "We should be outta here in the mornin'," Connor began. "So if ya aren't up to say goodbye ta sir, thank ya again."

"You are both welcome. God bless you both on your journey," Hershel said before heading into the house, with one last pointed look at his daughter, who just rolled her eyes as he shut the door behind him.

Silently, Maggie watched her father's shadow walk up the stairs. As soon as she was sure he was in his bedroom, she held up a finger to the two men on the porch and slipped back in the house.

The boys glanced at each other, matching questioning eyebrows arched high on their foreheads as they settled back into their chairs. Murphy just shrugged, wishing like hell for a cigarette. His fingers itched to hold one. He didn't know how long it had been since he last had one, but it seemed like an eternity.

The door popped open and they watched Maggie attempt to juggle three glasses, a full bottle of Jack and a Mason jar of clear liquid, while closing the door behind her. Connor was the first to leap out of his chair, grabbing for things she had tucked under her arms, painfully conscious of how close his hands were to the part of her anatomy that Murphy's eyes had been glued to the past few days.

Grateful for the help, Maggie handed him the glasses before catching the Jack that was falling out from under her elbow. She slipped the bottle into Murphy's hand extended over Connor's shoulder.

Twirling his lighter through his fingers one last time before tucking it in his pocket, Murphy gestured to the jar left in her grip as she shut the door firmly behind her. " 's that?"

Maggie just grinned at him. "Finest 'shine this side of Atlanta," she confessed, cracking open the ring on top, lifting the seal. She took a sip before passing it to Connor, who arranged the glasses precariously on the railing where she was sitting earlier.

"Stay," he commanded the glasses, before taking the glass jar from her. Bringing the jar to his lips, Connor took a long draw. Maggie's eyebrows shot up to her hairline as she watched him take fill his mouth.

"Boy, you may wanna watch that," she mumbled.

Connor swallowed. "Nah, I can handle it," he bragged, turning to hand the jar to Murphy who waved it off as he cracked open the bottle in his hand.

"Pussy," Connor assessed, taking another draw, before returning it to the hands of the farmer's daughter.

Murphy snorted, bringing the bottle up to his lips again "Sin an plean, deartháir."

His twin just smiled and nodded. That's the plan, dear brother. As if Connor needed to be told that was what Murphy was trying for. Maggie certainly was throwing just as many looks in his direction as he was hers.

Connor settled on the railing behind him, patting his pocket, out of habit, then shook his head at himself. With alcohol on his tongue, he could not help but want a cigarette between his lips. He missed them. Even though it had been so long since he had one.

Pouring a couple fingers full of the 'shine in a glass, Maggie propped herself back against the
column at the top of the stairs. Dropping one leg to dangle and tucking the other up against her chest, she asked, "So, where ya headed next?"

Murphy pulled his dining room chair across the porch, and leaned it back on two legs next to the door, and Connor sat down in the rocking chair with the Mason jar in hand. "'s far as that tank a gas gets us, I guess."

An hour or so after Hershel went to bed, Connor passed out in his chair, snoring. Maggie and Murphy laughed at his snores, which got progressively louder with each passing breath.

Murphy leaned over and plucked the jar of liquid from his brother's lap and sniffed it once. "What the hell's in this to make an Irishman pass out that fast?" He handed the jar to Maggie before grabbing the front of Connor's shirt. "C'mon, man. Let's get ya ta bed."

Connor grumbled and swatted at his brother's hands. "Seriously, get your ass up." Connor only snuffled in his sleep and sighed. "Fucker." Murphy grabbed his brother and lifted him over his shoulder, like one would a sack of dog food, carrying him toward the house. "Could ya be a sweetheart and get the doors, Maggie?"

She was more than happy to open doors for him, leading them into the downstairs bedroom where the boys had slept the night before.

Murphy dropped him unceremoniously on the bed, letting him lay where he landed. Grabbing the blanket, he pulled it over his brother, and watched one eye crack open. "You're welcome," Connor slurred softly in Gaelic, aware that Maggie was on the other side of the bed. "Next one's mine."

Faker, Murphy thought, as he smirked at his brother. "There's always the little sister," he continued in Gaelic.

Connor closed his eyes and drunkenly snorted. "Don't think I didn't give it a thought or two."

"Want me to go find her?"

Closing his eyes, Connor put a hand on his brother's face, and pushed him away from the bed. "Go fuck this one already and leave me to my sleep. One of us has to be awake enough to drive tomorrow."

What the hell am I doing, Maggie thought to herself.

Murphy's warm hand was in hers, as she led him up the stairs to her bedroom. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind that this was not one of her smarter moves. There was very little chance she would ever see Murphy MacManus again. But another part of her knew that was the very reason she should be doing this. Who the hell knew when a man as pretty as this was going to be on her Daddy's porch again?

Her heart pounding as she walked by her father's room, she tiptoed down the hall to the furthest room on the left. Even before the door clicked shut, Murphy's mouth was back on hers, his tongue searching for hers, as it had downstairs, outside the bedroom they put Connor in. His hands moved down her neck over her shoulders and ran quickly down her sides, pulling at the shirt, yanking it from her body. He dropped it to the floor before one hand settled on her hip, the other on her rib cage.

Maggie reached behind her and popped her bra loose, letting it slide down her arms before tossing it aside. The faint moonlight that came through the open window gave everything about her a soft black and white tint, and her nipples were no different. Murphy gently cradled her breasts in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the charcoal-colored tips. Maggie moaned against his mouth, her hands settling on Murphy's upper arms as she leaned into him and his mouth, and his touch.

Murphy held her bottom lip between his for a moment longer as he pulled back, letting it snap into place before pressing a kiss to her chin, dotting small open mouthed kisses along her neck, down her collarbone. He rubbed his chin over her shoulder, letting the hairs gently scratch against her sensitive skin, making her shrug and giggle as she leaned back against the wall. Dragging his chin across her chest, he grinned as she groaned softly, feeling it below his face more than hearing it with his ears. He made a return trip swiping his tongue along the same path. Maggie's hands wound in the hairs on the back of his head, and he could tell by the way her fingers flexed, she was frustrated with his progress towards the little buds his thumbs were occasionally glancing against, making her shiver with each brush.

"Murph," she whispered, nothing more than air leaving her lips, but he heard her—heard her whine in the whisper, felt her impatience as she pressed her shoulders back against the wall behind her, arching her chest up toward his mouth. "Please."

Murphy leaned down and licked one nipple with a long, broad, slow swipe of his tongue, then pulled back to yank his own shirt over his head.

Maggie's eyes snapped open as she felt him pull away from her, her hands moving to grab him, to pull him back to her. That smug-ass smirk of his was back and was planted firmly on his face. If it wasn't so damn sexy, she would want to smack it off of him. But on him smug was sexy—God, so sexy.

Pushing away from the wall, Maggie walked toward him, stalked toward him, her hands reaching for his belt buckle, pulling at the leather as her mouth found his again, crashing against his. He wound both hands into the hair on the side of her head, his fingers tightening, drawing her mouth where he wanted it, so he could devour her. His tongue darted across her bottom lip, searching for hers.

Distracted by a blur of tongues and teeth and lips, Murphy felt cool air against his backside, and felt his pants and shorts pool at his feet. She was good; he didn't even notice, really, until the cool breeze touched his heated flesh.

The cool breeze did not last long as her hand circled him, her fingers gently moving over the silken steel between his legs. His mouth stilled over hers, his breath panting over her lips, as a groan welled up from his chest to spill into her mouth. Her hand moved in a slow deliberate pattern over him, driving him nuts. Finally, with a hoarse groan, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away, bringing it up to his mouth. He laid an open mouth kiss on her palm before ghosting his lips to each digit, depositing a kiss on the tip of each finger.

Once done, Murphy twined her hand with his as he pulled her closer, tucking their joined hands behind her back pressing their naked chests together tightly in their embrace. His other hand cupped her ass, dragging her lower body against him. She groaned in his mouth and moved her free hand over his shoulder, down his arm, her hand moving to his chest where she ran a nail lightly over a nipple that quickly tightened under her movements.

He groaned again and released her hand, bringing his to her face, tongue drawing soft patterns across her lower lip, the tip just dancing with hers. His hands moved down her back and over her hips, grabbing her ass, tight through her jeans, pulling her closer to him, to his body.

Too many clothes, too much rough denim. His hands pushed between them, searching for the button at the top of her jeans, popping it loose before yanking the zipper apart. He pushed her pants down just enough, just past her ass before moving her to sit on the bed behind him. Kicking his own pants free, he crouched in front of her, pulling her jeans down her legs by the cuffs, dragging them off her body.

Tossing the pants behind him, his hands slid up her legs, his mouth smoothing over the top of her right leg. Leaving a nip mid-thigh, Murphy straightened, swiftly and smoothly, his mouth sealing over hers as he pressed her back against the quilt covering her bed. His hands moved over her body, drawing her hands up, tugging them over her head, lacing his fingers through hers.

Maggie lifted her head pressing into his kiss as she felt him straddle her hips. She ran her hands over the planes of his body, her fingers mapping each bump each bulge, each ridge and each valley. Releasing her hands, he ran his hands down her arms, over her sides, making her giggle as he tickled her lightly. He smirked down at her, kissing her nose before standing up.

Maggie propped up on her elbows, her legs dangling over the side of her bed, and looked at the man standing between her knees.

Just his rosary. Only his rosary. That is all the man wore.

The cross at the end dangled less than 5-inches from the weeping hard-on that was straining back toward his stomach. Maggie was unsure if she should cross herself first or just get on her knees. Deciding she was already neck deep in blasphemy what was one more mark on her records, she crossed her quickly before trying to rise up on her knees before him.

As she moved to do that, Murphy leaned over to kiss her soft belly, his tongue whirling around her navel, flicking in and around it, making her gasp and throw her head back, her hair falling down her shoulders, barely brushing the mattress. Her eyes closed as she let the movement of his mouth and tongue send waves of fire through her veins.

He kissed his way up her stomach to her chest, his tongue and mouth twirling around one nipple, then moving to the other. Maggie groaned lowly, pressing her hips up against his belly. She hooked one leg around the back of his, tugging him closer, pulling him over her.

As he moved up her body, she felt a soft dragging weight against her—something brushing over her panties, dragging over her center. He moved again, shifting further up her body and she felt a small catch above her panty clad clit. His hands were busy with her tits, and it was much too small to be his cock.
Her eyes widened as she sat up, pushing Murphy back slightly. There between her thighs, up against her pussy was the tip of his rosary.

Christ, she thought, as her body involuntarily clenched and she groaned, her hand sliding over her stomach between them.

Murphy watched her, his lower lip trapped under his teeth, as her hand caught the cross, and rubbed it against her panties, let it slide against the cotton as she arched against him, trapping her hand between his lower abdomen and the cross and the soft swell of her pussy, warm beneath cotton.

"Dirty, dirty girl," Murphy's lust filled brogue caught in her ears and ran through her veins, making her pussy pulse, and a moan escape her lips.

Maggie let go of the cross as he cupped her ass, yanking her hips to his. She fisted her fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to hers as he gathered the rosary in his hand, moving away from her for a second to pull it from around his neck. Blindly, he looped it over the bed post, letting it jingle against the metal frame.

With his hands now empty, Murphy cupped her ass again, his finger abruptly hooking under the waistband of her panties, pulling the lace down and over the curve of her ass, over her soft skin. He pulled them down her legs, letting them drop to the floor. His hand reached between them, between her legs, and cupped her gently.

Maggie's hips jumped at the touch, and she groaned as he curled just one finger to gently slide between her folds—just the beginning of his finger sliding so softly, so gently through her slick heat. Maggie's fingers latched onto his shoulders and she growled into his mouth. "You are a fucking tease," she attempted to say, but the 'tease' got caught in her throat, as he suddenly thrust his finger inside of her, making her clench tightly. "Mother fucker."

Her head flopped down to the bed in frustration, when he withdrew his finger before pulling his hand away completely. She was wound up beyond words at that point. She was done playing—so very much done playing. She nudged his shoulders, sitting up before pushing him back against the bed.

A wicked grin spread on his face, as she took control of the situation. Her mouth found his as she put her legs on either side of his stomach, her hot wet pussy pressing against his navel. He hooked his hands behind her thighs and tried pulling her forward, but he met with resistance. He broke the kiss, and stared up at her. "Just a taste," he muttered, tugging harder at her legs.

Maggie just shook her head. "You had your fun. My turn."

Murphy wasn't one to play fair, though. He took the finger that had briefly been inside her, and touched it to her lips. Her tongue flicked out and danced with the tip, before she nipped at it. "Thought you wanted the taste," she muttered, leaning down to run the tip of her tongue over his lips.

Murphy growled as her faint taste hit his tongue. He grabbed her and flipped her on her back, his hands gliding over her sides, as he moved swiftly down her body. "No," Maggie insisted, grabbing at his head, trying to pull him back. He just shook his head, throwing her hands off before they could get purchase.

"Oh, aye," was the last thing she heard before she felt his tongue on her. Maggie hissed, and her hips arched off the bed. He danced over her, one hand opening her for his tongue to fully explore.

"How's that taste workin' out for ya?" Maggie asked between gasps of air. His only reply was a hum of contentment, which reverberated up his tongue, and across her skin. Oh, fucking hell. If she wasn't already turned on...

"Yes. God, yes!" Her body quickly spiraled up toward the peak of release.

Murphy slid one finger inside her, sharply, and pulled back roughly, adding a second to the mix on his next pass, pulling them out completely before pushing them back in again, hooking across the front wall of her pussy.

"Jesus." Maggie's legs constricted around his ears, her fingers stiffened, almost too tightly, in his hair. Murphy groaned, and she felt it run up her body, detonating her system. Biting her bottom lip hard, Maggie whimpered her release, her face pressed into the arm she threw across her face, knowing she would wake the whole house, if she weren't careful.

Murphy gently removed his fingers from her tightened core, and trailed kisses from her clit up to her throat, as she laid limp and panting on her bed, not even moving her arm.

"You gonna be ok?" he asked, huskily, teasing.

Maggie could only nod from under her arm. "Fucking Hell. Why didn't we do this last night?"

He grinned down at her, pulling her arm out of the way, making her look at him. "Cuz I was too shy."

"Do you even know the meaning of that word?" She blinked at him.

Murphy nodded, kissing her jaw, his lips moving over her skin, petal soft. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Maggie encouraged him to lie over her, settling between her legs. Their mouths found each other, as she felt him at her entrance, his hard cock, dancing, glancing off of her wet skin.

"Fuck," she groaned into his mouth, grabbing him firmly in one hand and guiding him, holding him where she wanted him most. Setting her feet on the bed, she ground up against him, seating just the head of his cock inside her. She mumbled and whispered her pleas against his mouth, as he pushed forward, achingly slowly, making her tilt her head back just as slowly. "Oh, God, please."

Murphy's breath puffed against her neck as he tried hard to hold back; his body wanted to fuck her through the mattress. The way she opened up for him, the way she gripped him. "Oh, fuck." It was his turn to groan, as he pushed as far as her pussy would let him in. "Fuckin' spectacular, love."

Maggie's fingers tightened into his shoulders as his word, his accent hit her ears. Oh, fuck. How could she be climbing so fast already?

"More," she gasped in his ear. "More, please—God, please."

Murphy began sliding into her harder, more force behind each stroke, until her hips moved in perfect concert with his. God, she felt incredible below him, below his hands. He could die right here a very, very happy man. Sliding one hand under her, he squeezed her amazing ass cheek in one hand, his grip getting tighter as he fucked her faster, harder.

"Murph," she wailed before catching herself and curling her face into the pillow, letting it catch each of her not-so-soft noises. Her body was on fire. And he was doing little to put it out. Each movement, each thrust made the flames lick higher, burn faster through her.

He fucked her hard into the mattress, his own breath becoming short and choppy. "Maggie, goddamnit." He knew he was close, his balls were tightening; he knew it was just a matter of seconds. "Lass," he pleaded with her, wanting to feel her come below him.

"Almost, almost… oh, God… fuck," she cursed, as her body tightened around him, her pussy fluttering, drawing him into her. Her hands grabbed his ass, dragging him, keeping him between her legs as she rode out her orgasm. Murphy jammed himself up inside of her with choppy thrusts until he was done—his toes curling in the quilt on her bed, stars dancing behind his eyes.

Maggie's brain tried to surface through the fog, their breathing the only sounds that could be heard in the dark room. Her hands lazily moved over his back, a soft hum in her chest as she held him in place, her bent legs cradling his hips. When he moved to get off of her, she whimpered at the loss of him. She wanted to keep him there forever if she could. Her body clenched at the nothingness, the emptiness as he pulled her into his embrace.

With a soft groan, she sat up and grabbed the spare quilt off of the chest by her bed, and dragged it over their bodies, trying to capture the warmth between them. Murphy pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin, sliding one leg between hers. With a sigh, Maggie laid a kiss to his neck, before closing her eyes, drifting through the warmth under the quilt.

When she awoke, the warm body from last night was gone, but her hand still reached out for Murphy. She didn't expect him to still be there, though. Her hand slid across his pillow, and it was cold—long cold. Her fingers snagged the pillow, dragging it into her embrace. Burrowing back under the covers with his scent, she let herself drift back into the dreams he left behind.