Fuck Me

Title: Fuck Me Part 2/2
Author: drainbamage954
Rating: R/NC-17
Fandom: The Boondock Saints/ Sean Patrick Flanery and Norman Reedus
Genre: Humor, Romance, PWP
Wordcount: 10,855
Warnings: PROFANITY! (swearing and bad bad bad language) Men being naughty and stupidity
Summary: Who knew filming this movie could be so goddamn difficult. Nude scenes have never been this hard, no pun intended.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Boondock Saints or Sean Patrick Flanery or Norman Reedus or any of the others... though I sure as hell would like to. Anyone know if they're up for sale? I buy that in a HOT second.
Notes: Set during the first BDS filming and inspired from the deleted scene Ma Calls from Ireland *go watch it if you haven't. Parts will make more sense then.* This was waaay too much fuckin' fun to write.


Fuck Me.

Sean-

I'm probably a masochist right now but fuck if I care. Of course, I knew we'd have to do this scene eventually, the one where Connor and Murphy wear nothing and talk to their mother on the phone. I just don't think I was exactly prepared for what the scene would actually be, primarily, I wasn't entirely prepared to actually see Norman naked, or me naked, and have to be so goddamn close.

It's not that I haven't checked guys out before. I'm not one to discriminate between preferences. Men and women both have their positives and I'm partial to neither. Which I suppose technically means I'm partial to both. Why have only pie when you can have cake too. But it's never, in terms of guys, really been more than just a passing interest, appreciative look or, if it gets that far, quick fuck. And typically it's them doing the spotting. And I've made a point of never looking at costars that way.

Before now because fuck if Norman isn't enticing in nothing but a towel. Or less really. I know I shouldn't think of him like that, can't think of him like that. It's a bad idea, it's wrong by many standards, but, truthfully, there's not much which I do that's exactly politically correct. I think there's a ton of people who could take offense with all the voices I do at some point in time.

I need to be Connor. If I'm Connor, I wont be stupid and end up acting the idiot, betraying my not only awkwardness right now with finding my costar incredibly appealing but also. . . no, just with finding my costar incredibly appealing because fuck he's fit. Sure, I can joke about being gay and shit, but really, it reaches a point and I need to make sure I don't cross the line right now.

So, Connor it is. Connor or voices, and I choose Conner. Well, I think I choose Connor until we're halfway through, lying on the floor and there's only a fucking towel between us. I've never been this self conscious about being naked before. I'm not one to worry about it but being pressed against Norman is like being next to a fuckin' volcano it has my skin burning so badly. Fuck he should come with a goddamn warning the angsty little fuck.

"CUT!" Troy's trying to kill me I think. Not only do I have to put ice on my junk, now I'm stuck lying next to a volcanically attractive costar and we have to shoot again. Hell, I'm practically lying on top of him right now, what with the two of us supposedly grappling with the phone and fighting like all brothers do. Except I doubt typical brothers have to fight down ridiculous urges to flip their twin over and get to know them in a biblical sense.

Before I know it Connor's gone, replaced by some other personality and voice. It's like a sort of strange habit now, a defense mechanism for when I feel awkward, bored, intimidated, outsmarted, or really anything. It's just automatic.

Apparently I'm mentally infirm because the voice that comes out sounds like fuckin' down syndrome child. "Live off the Boondock Saints," I say, my face automatically fitting into the character. Beside and under me I feel Norman begin to laugh, lowering his head to the cement floor as his back shakes against me. I love hearing him laugh, it's like joy in a bubble. "Th-thanks very much for coming out." With that, not only is Norman still laughing but I'm trying hard not to let out a laugh myself. I've always been the prankster, the funny guy, the character. Not that Norman hasn't pulled a few on me this movie, but still, I'm the king.

But there's no more time. I had my fun but now it's business. Norman's still laughing, trying to control himself and God I can feel his laughs through his back and it's sending shots up my spine that I've only ever experienced when a girl attempts to seduce me. Fucker. In my own fucked up sort of revenge, I bury my face into him, nuzzling into him slightly as I try to slip into Connor. It doesn't take long for me to get into character. Lurching up on command as Norman's still trying to get ahold of himself, I can still feel him laughing against my chest.

Then he clears his chest and says "Fuck me" and it's all I can do not to look at him and do it. Does he have any idea the implications of that. He's lying, fucking NAKED next to, if not under me and saying such dangerous things that either he's a sadist or I'm completely mental from the expanse of skin showing right now.

I can never do another naked scene with this man. It will kill me.

But now I'm Connor and he's Murphy and damn if we don't do well, keeping things flowing and good and we're almost done. Then I hit him. Possibly too hard because he yells "Ow fuck!" and suddenly I'm laughing. I can't help it. I need some sort of vent from this whole thing. I'm almost never tense and suddenly I'm like a fucking spring. And I can't help it. He whacks me a few times and I roll away, still laughing before we attempt to continue the scene, which is, of course, hard because I'm still fucking laughing. I get a flick in the face for it and we have to do the scene over. All I can think about is volcanoes, paint, and Norman.

We finally finish the entire sequence, with him lying on his back and alluding to whose the older brother. I'm sooo tempted to say 'like what you see?' when he looks up at me but know that will not only cause shit among the crew and cast but also get me more than one odd look from Norman. My mind flashes back to his 'Fuck me' and I can't help but wish that he had been offering. I can just imagine that dialogue.

'Fuck me.'

'Yes please.'

Of course, what would transpire would not be something which would be worthy of dialogue. At least, what would transpire according to my thought process, which is known for being less than clean. Norman has often even commented and all I ever talk about is sex. Not my fault it's a fucking amazing topic.

"Excellent," Troy is telling Norman and myself as we pull on robes, finally getting some cover after almost an entire morning spent shooting completely naked. And with ice none the less. I need to fucking thaw. "I think we're good. That was perfect," Troy finishes and out of the corner of my eye I see Norman relax slightly.

It sends a slight ping through me. I mean, I can understand feeling awkward but if he really felt that off being around me today, there's no way in hell I'd be able to actually see any of those little thoughts come true. It's not the first time I've been shot down, but still, it's not like I enjoy it. At least I know before I get too involved. The rest of the day of filming goes by quickly. I can tell by the exhaustion setting progressively into my skin that I'm going to be dead tired by the end of the day. Norman looks like I feel as we finally are sent to our trailers at the end of the day, finally able to get out of Connor and Murphy and back into ourselves.

It's almost terrifying how well we slip into our roles. How easily we become Connor and Murphy, twin brothers and completely off limits. I'm smiling at him. "You busy tonight?" Please say no. Norman fucking shrugs. Way to be noncommittal you bastard. "Interested in going out for a drink or two?" Another shrug before he's pulling about for cigarettes. Probably the only thing I don't like about Norman and this movie is the smoking.

"Sure." Finally, it speaks and I really shouldn't feel this happy. "Why not, I could use a pick me up after today."

I can't help it. It's nature by now for the two of us to tease each other and be stupid all the time. I act like I'm six half the time anyway. He acts like a six year old that thinks he's eight when really, he's six. "What? Normy's tired?" I love using his nickname.

"Fuck you," Norman says but there's no missing that grin. I laugh and shove him, knowing where this will lead and, sure enough, a moment later, we're grappling with each other and fuck if I can't have him the way I want I'll settle for this any day. Rough housing has always been my favorite. With one final shove, we leave for our trailers.

I'm barely there ten minutes before I'm changed, clean, and restless. I've never been one to just laze around and do nothing. I've always wanted to just do something, be active. I sit for about a minute before, grunting in annoyance, pushing myself from my comfy chair and swiftly leaving my trailer. My first instinct is to go immediately to Norman and bug him. But he might still be cleaning up and showering and, as much fun as it would be to barge in on that, I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate it. I'll give him ten more minutes. In the mean time I'll wander.

Wandering paid off, as it turns out, since I found John (I think) and am now outside Norman's trailer, plan about to be set in action. Of course, I knew if I did this by myself, Norman would know it was me and there'd be no fun it it. But with John here, I get to have some fun.

It takes almost no effort for me to slip into the slightly lisping lilt. "Ah hello, is Norman Reedus there?" I call out after John knocks on Norman's trailer door. John looks at me with this stupid grin. I give one right back.

"What?" Norman yells from his trailer. I can just barely hear the grin.

Smiling and trying to stay in character, I look at Norman's trailer, knowing that if I look at John it'll be ruined. "Ah, yeah, Norman Reedus?" I call. "I'm looking for him. This is Anthony Harkenstein." I love pulling names out of my ass.

"What do you want?"

"Oh hey," I shout back, a small smile toying with the corners of my mouth. "Uh, how're you doing babe? I've missed you." John is trying not to laugh, biting the knuckle of his hand as he watches me, his eyes flashing up to the window of Norman's trailer. "You wanna open the door or something? This whole talking to a door thing really isn't my thing. I like to look at the gorgeous men I talk to." John barely holds it in, snorting slightly as he ducks to the side.

Fucking amateur.

"Who are you?"

Of course he knows it's me. Trust Norman to play along so nicely. "It's Anthony Harkenstein! C'mon! How can you not remember me! After all that passion?" John snorts softly again, biting down hard on his fist. I'm smirking. "Don't do this to me, Norman, I'm a fragile being." John snorts again. "I have feelings you know, feeling of which apply to you." Oh if only you knew.

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, babe."

Now that I wasn't expecting. Sure, Norman was playing along, but apparently I didn't give him enough credit. Damn bastard's stealing my game. John's watching me expectantly.

"Are you telling me that what we shared meant nothing to you? Because I thought we had something, I thought we had established something together. Are you backing out on me, Normy? Because I just can't accept that." Maybe adding in the nickname was a bit much, but honestly, it just slipped out. I can hear him, trying to be quiet as he makes his way to the door. Hoping to startle me when he opens the door. I gesture to John who steels himself, preparing for when the door opens.

"What's there to accept?" Norman's initially calm and collected face instantly drops when he sees John outside his door, his face going white as paper and eyes wide as saucers. He looks like his heart just stopped working. I can't let him die, now can I?

Jumping out, I fling my arms around both Norman and John, finally laughing like I'd been wanting too and, hell, Norman's expression just then. "Ha Ha! Holy shit you should have seen your face Norman!" I shout at him, practically swinging from him.

He looks like he's in shock.

I love bars. Well, I love alcohol and socializing, so, by default, I should like bars. I particularly like this bar because, even though I'm still pretty sober, Norman isn't and it means I get to finally touch him like I've been aching to do since this mornings filming. I'm normally friendly when drunk. Physically friendly I should say, so it's not exactly surprising that Norman's not put off. Hell, with all the drinks he's had, I would be surprised if he even knew it was me.

I try not to pay much attention as Norman's arm snakes around my waist, not let it got to my head, or other places either. Of course, it makes us closer, his arm now providing almost no barrier between us and allowing me to lean closer to him. God, fucking volcano boy. He's looking at me expectantly. Shit, I probably look like I'm about to say something. Actually, I'd like to say a great many somethings, though none of them would make the bartender here feel comfortable I'm sure. Nor Norman for that matter. So I settle with the first thing that pops into my head.

"I'm the older brother." The fuck is that?

Norman looks confused. No one can look that adorable and enticing when confused. It has to be a special trait Norman possesses. A gene or something. I grin one of my trademark grins at him that has him blinking. "I'm the older twin." Of course I realize the implication of what I'm saying. That I'm saying I did check him out. That I did that size comparison. I wait for comprehension to dawn over his face before he scowls at me, making me grin all the wider.

Norman is so much fun to fluster.

"Fuck you," he says, turning away from me to glare at his drink. "Like you know," he tries to goad, though it's effect is lost due to his unsteady rocking and slight slur. "I was in a fuckin' towel, not giving a show like you."

Fuck I forgot he was mostly in a towel. Which would mean that I was looking in the rare scenes that weren't many before he put on said towel. Thank God he didn't consider that. "Putting on a show?" Focus on point number two, Sean. Steer away from danger. "You calling me an exhibitionist?"

Norman's face turns a delightful shade of embarrassment and I suddenly know exactly where his mind just went. I have no idea how many expressions just went across my face, but fuck if that didn't just get my hopes up. But now he's drinking again, probably trying to drown the image from his mind. Lovely. There goes that hope. I can still tease like the ass hole I am though.

"Want me to put on a show for you?" I mutter, leaning slightly closer to him, closer to that volcanic heat that he ignites against my skin. And, before I know it, I'm Connor. "Want ta actually gund out who th' real older brother is? Where yer not wearing a fuckin' towel, who cares about th' fuckin' hot water, an' M'not icing meself?" That wasn't according to plan. Fuck, I don't even have a plan, who am I kidding. I'm just shitting in the wind at this point and wondering where it'll go.

Almost instantly I'm sitting next to Murphy, not Norman. "As long as ya don' go crying ta Ma when ya find out I'm the oldest," Murphy says through Norman, smirking at me.

Fuck. I don't want Murphy right now. I fucking want Norman. If I wanted Murphy, this whole thing would be really bizarre. Not that is isn't already. "Don't do that," I say almost automatically, frowning as Murphy's expression falters slightly.

"Do wha'?" Yeah, yeah, act all innocent and confused.

"That!" I snap before I can stop myself. I don't fucking want Murphy here right now. I want Norman and Norman is not Murphy just as I am not Connor. "It hurts my feelings." And fuck if I'm not Anthony Harkenstein again. Like I said, defensive mechanism sort of thing. They just pop up.

And speaking of feelings Christ he's close right now. I'm surprised I'm not burned from all the contact. "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, babe," Norman says and right now I don't care if he's drunk, that's just unfair.

"We're not in Vegas," I say simply. God he's close. I know that, for the film, we have to be scruffy, but Norman's always been kinda scruffy. One of those few people that can pull off the three day shadow so to speak. Dead sexy if you ask me. Not that he isn't already. Fuck if I just lean in slightly I can make him shut up and stop switching into Murphy. I almost wish we were back on set from this morning and all of us touching has nothing between it. That it's just skin and air and him and me and I really should concentrate on what's going on.

"So." As much as I love the fact that I can take advantage of drunk Norman, I do not enjoy the lack of intelligence that comes with it. Or the difficulty, because I for the life of me can't think of a good response to that. Just one stupid fucking word and I can't think of a good response. Goddamnit he wont look away and neither can I. I wonder if you can be hypnotized from simply looking at someone for a long period of time. I'm sure as hell in a trance, though whether thats from hypnosis or because he's fucking gorgeous I don't know.

"Oh fuck me." It's so quiet I almost don't catch it. Almost being the operative term. I grin as his face works in embarrassment. Honestly, he really shouldn't say stuff like that.

I can't resist. "Are you offering?" I figure that's better than saying 'yes please.'

Next second, Norman's gone. Well, not gone, but definitely no longer in his chair and I'm suddenly laughing my ass off. Who the fuck falls off a goddamn chair anymore? Well, apparently Norman, because he's sprawled like a confused child on the floor with one leg still stuck in the chair and the other at an extremely odd angle. That can't have been painless. I wish I had a camera.

"Did you seriously just fall out of your own fucking chair?" Someone had to ask, might as well be me. The majority of the bar is laughing, finally catching onto what happened. I think only Norman can make me laugh like this. My lungs are aching as he tries to push himself up again.

"Shut the fuck up." Oh, but now even he's trying not to laugh. Trust Norman to try to keep cool after a stunt like that.

I'm grinning like it's my job. "If I knew saying that would make you fall over yourself I'd have done it sooner!" And he's down again, sending more laughing through the bar and my sides hurt. If I didn't already love his company I do now more than ever.

He's grimacing, a twisted humiliated smile on his face as he finally picks himself up and waves to the bar, doing the awkward-Norman-acknowledgement-bow as they laugh. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he says, turning back to me and the bar. I'm trying to tone down my own laughter as he seats himself again, glancing at me and the bartender before snatching my drink and downing it. I suppose he thinks that's payback for my laughing at him. It just makes me laugh more. I'm like a fucking energizer bunny, once I get started laughing I just keep going and going and going and going.

"I think you should cut him off," I say to the bartender, grinning and finally getting a break between laughs. Really, when you fall out of your own damn chair, you've reached what I would consider your limit. Besides, he's had, what, nine already? He may be able to hold his liquor better than me, but everyone has their limits.

"And miss shit like that? No way." I suddenly don't like this bartender. What right does he have to be delighting in Norman's pain. "You two are too entertaining anyway." Never mind. If he puts it that way, I suppose I can forgive him. As long as it's not just him delighting in Norman's stupidity when drunk, I can deal. Besides, if I do say so myself, we are pretty damn funny.

"Don't tell him that," Norman suddenly says, lurching over the bar and pointing at the bartender with authority he really doesn't possess with that slur. I'm just waiting for him to spout out something like 'I'm not as think as you drunk I am.' Instead, he's trying to lecture our bartender. Genius Norman. "You'll just make his head bigger than it already is."

Did he just insult me? Fuck, yes he did. I pout for good measure. He shrugs.

"You popping my balloon?" I almost add 'Reedus' to the end of that but, really, let's not make this a formal matter.

"Well, I can't pop your cherry so it's the next best thing."

What?

Did I seriously just hear that right? Apparently I did because suddenly Norman's bright red and I'm not even sure what my face looks like. Probably a mix between confusion, shock, desire, and basic 'what the fuck?' Definitely a mix because it's making Norman snort into his new beer (honestly, he really should be cut off right about now). The bartender also seems to think it's really funny. Damn bastard.

This just got bad. Not that it wasn't bad back when Norman was falling out of chairs, but if it's to the point where he's saying shit like that to me, I know he's had enough. And I know that if it keeps going, I'm either going to get hurt or hurt him or both. He's drunk and doesn't know what he's doing. This isn't real and I shouldn't get my hopes up.

No matter how many times I keep telling myself that, I know a large part of me just wants to keep playing the game. But I can't play the game. Not here, not now, not with him. It's too dangerous, not because one of us will get hurt (me more than him) but because we're fucking costars and we can't fuck this up.

I shake my head, suddenly feeling much more sober, and try to take his drink away from him. "I think you've had enough." Norman scowls at me and God I cannot deal with acting like we're six year olds right now. He's drunk and I have to play parent. A role I've never liked.

"You're not my mother." Jesus Christ he's pouting and didn't I just say I don't like being a goddamn parent!

Before I know it, Connor's back. "yer right," I say, leaning slightly towards him and smirking. I thought I was Sean, but, of course, they just jump out like fucking ninjas from bushes. "I'm yer brother." God that could sound so fuckin' wrong considering what he does to me.

Norman's scowling at me like I just took away his favorite toy. Or told him he couldn't have cookies before dinner. "No you're not." Glad we both realize that. But I don't want to wait for more shit to spill out that makes me job all the harder. I haul him to his feet, trying to keep my face fixed and ignore the voices telling me to do incredibly indecent things to him. It's never going to happen, even if he is drunk. Don't go there.

I don't know how he got away from me. One second my hands are on his shoulders, steering him towards the door and around a table and the next he's falling much faster than should be possible, aimed directly at a table a chairs that certainly wont be comfortable. I'm not fast enough to catch him. Well, I would have been if I wasn't in shock.

"You're my Sean."

The words literally made me freeze in mid-grab and just watch him, as if in slow motion, as he plows into the table and crumples to the floor. It only was a second but one second was all it took for me to not catch him and now he's lying on the floor and not moving and fuck this can't be good.

Instantly, almost half of the crew is next to me, crouched over Norman and checking him over, Troy yelling random words that I don't even recognize because fuck, I'm scared. Scared because Norman's not waking up, not opening his eyes and grinning at me like the idiot he is. Scared because I know what a hit like that does to the head. Scared because I don't know what he meant by what he said. Scared because I realize that I can't lose him, not just as a costar, but I can't lose him at all. When did this get so bad? When did it change from me finding him gorgeous and fuckable to him meaning more to me.

Fuck.

I'm shouting, repeating his name over and over, shaking him slightly and repeatedly checking for a pulse. Everyone lets me check him over, check vitals and injuries. Hell, with all the shit I've done with stunts and crap I know more medical crap than most of them put together. Norman's vitals are fine, good pulse, steady breathing, he just won't fucking open his eyes.

Right now, I don't care if he never is this friendly with me. If none of my fantasies ever come to life. If he and I never become more than friends. I just want him alive and awake and please don't fucking do this you ass hole.

Fuck I'm scared.

I slap him against the face.

"Norman!"

Nothing. Please god, it's been more than fifteen minutes. I slap him again.

"NORMAN!"

He moans and I almost pass out from relief. I'm breathing heavily and my chest hurts from constricting but he's shown signs of life and thank god he's okay. Norman groans and I swear I've never heard anything so beautiful in my life. Never seen anything as beautiful as his eyes opening painfully and looking around confusedly.

"What happened?"

At least he didn't ask who I was or where we were or what the fuck was going on. I'm glad we don't have to deal with amnesia. Norman winces as he brings a hand to his head, which I can imagine is in a bit of pain, considering the force with which he rammed into that table.

But christ he's alive.

I sigh, running a hand over my face, trying to keep myself from shaking as I scan him over once more, half expecting him to go into convulsions or pass out again. "I was trying to get you home when you suddenly decided to make friendly with a table, them some chairs and finally the floor." God, way to make it sound as bad as it was. Though I suppose nothing was as bad as watching it happen. "Couldn't catch you in time." The words leave a bitter feeling in my mouth and a pit in my stomach.

Norman blinks a few times, as if trying to remember exactly what happened, before he groans again, moving to try to push himself up. "What happened to your ninja reflexes?" Fuck if he thinks he's getting up after that, especially since his words literally just sliced through me. Fuck. No way is he getting up. No, I'll fucking carry him back to the motel if I have to. Just as long as he doesn't do that again. I don't need to go into cardiac arrest any time soon.

"They only go so far when your friend and costar decide to plow into local furniture," I say, trying to smile but not entirely succeeding. "The way you went down was with determination. I don't think I could have stopped you if I wanted." Liar. Fucking liar and would you stop fucking trying to get up!

"Fuck you," Norman growls and I'm pushing him back down. Don't get up. You'll just fall down again and god I don't think I can deal with it if you go out again. "What the fuck, let me up already!"

Now he's angry. Of course, I would be too, but this is different. I'm worried.

"You might be seriously injured."

It's true actually, though considering he's coherent and relatively normal, I think he's in the clear. Doesn't mean I'm any less paranoid. Norman is still for a moment and then suddenly, I'm shoved back, away from him as he pushes himself to his feet much faster than he should be able to, turning and swiftly leaving the bar, not looking back.

I'm stunned for a moment before scrambling to my feet, ignoring the rest of the cast and crew who are watching worriedly and drunkenly (even the bartender looks concerned). I don't even look at them though, instead I'm focused on Norman's back as it leaves the bar. If he thinks he can just leave like that- "Norman!" -after he just fucking plowed into a goddamn table he's got another thing coming.

We're outside and Norman's digging around for a cigarette, still not looking back, even after I've yelled at him, even though I know he knows I'm there, following him and would he just fucking stop!

I grab him by the shoulder and spin him around, face set and goddamnit look at me!

"What the fuck!" Norman snaps, cigarette bouncing between those lips which are forbidden, his face angry and annoyed and guarded. This is fucking ridiculous. "I'm fine Sean, just tired. I'm going to bed."

"Like Hell you are!" There's no way I'm letting him go on his merry way after just clocking himself against a table, some chairs, and a fucking floor. I'll fucking carry you back, over my shoulder, fireman style or like a fucking bride if need be just to make sure you're okay. I'll keep you awake all fucking night to make sure you don't actually have brain damage.

"What, you want to come with me or something?" Norman snaps.

God, if only. But, like so many other things, only in my dreams. Norman's face is tinted though I can't tell if it's from anger or embarrassment or alcohol. I don't get time to ponder either as he suddenly turns from me and walks away, taking a drag on his cigarette. Goddamnit he's difficult.

"You might have a concussion!" I snap, catching up to him again and forcing him to stop once again. Please, just stop.

"I'm fine!" Stop being so ridiculous. I'm scared. I've not been this scared since I was filming Young India and nearly got eaten by a crocodile. Do I have to fuckin' spell it out for you?

"You don't know that." I'm a fucking five year old bickering with him. It's the argument game and no one ever wins.

"So what, you want to give me a fuckin' physical?" I can't let the image us playing doctor go through my mind. I will not let one of my biggest fantasies start playing right now.

"I'm concerned," I say, trying to get across my point by grabbing his shoulders and giving him a little shake. I'm scared and worried and fuck I want you but know I can't have you so please would you just stop being difficult and I can go back to pretending we're just costars and I don't want to fuck you into next tues-

. . .

I think my brain just either exploded, shut down, or I just died. This can't be real. Norman can't really be standing here, in the middle of the sidewalk with me, fucking kissing me this gently, with his eyes closed and holy fuck I think I'm dead.

And then it's gone. He's gone. And I'm left standing there in shock as he looks worried, guilty, and disappointed? A mumbled "sorry" and he's gone.

I'm frozen, just stuck in place where he left me. Vaguely I turn my head to watch him leave, walk away down the side walk. I don't know what's real, my brain and sense of reality having left for Mars or something.

"Norman," I say. It's not loud or anything, but just saying his name wakes me up a bit and I can feel the rush of reality beginning to bubble somewhere, steadily approaching as he stops, not turning and simply standing there. I'm on the edge of a knife, either about to go tumbling into the dream this has to be or hurled bodily into a reality that Norman just kissed me.

Taking a drag on his cigarette, Norman starts walking again, progressively getting farther and farther away as that roar gets close and closer.

If you've ever been in a crazy rainstorm, one that's been building all day, you might understand the feeling of reality crashing into me. Imagine a hot muggy summer day, the air so heavy it feels like a heavy blanket pressing down on you. You can see the huge thunderheads slowly approaching and, suddenly, after hours or waiting, everything goes dark, the sky almost black as clouds blot out the sun and the temperature and air is suffocating. Then, just when you're waiting for the water to fall, you can hear a rushing sound. When you look towards it, what seems to be a slight distortion appears to be coming closer to you at the same time the rushing is growing louder. Then, just as you realize what it is, a sheer wall of pounding rain and water slams into you, instantly drenching you and everything.

Imagine that feeling and multiply it by three thousand and that's how I felt when Norman reaches the fourth street light, staggering just slightly as he took another drag.

I'm not dreaming.

This is real and Norman fucking Reedus, my costar and friend just fucking kissed me on some random street in Toronto and fuck if I'm not running as fast as I fucking can.

I don't know if Norman could tell I was running at him or heard me, but he turns and looks like he's staring down a mother fucking train his eyes go so big before I literally barrel into him.

"OW! FUCK!"

I had to be going at a pretty good clip to have gathered enough speed to send us sprawling and rolling at least five feet before finally stopping, him breathing in shock and surprise, me panting from running and grinning down at him like a fucking moron.

It's fucking Christmas and Norman's my goddamn present. Fuck you if you say otherwise.

"Jesus Christ what?" Norman says, looking nervous and slightly scared as he looks up at me. My arms are wrapped around his stomach and I'm pressed as close to him as is possible. I'm pretty sure I scuffed myself up something fantastic with rolling around on the sidewalk, probably scuffed him up a bit too but really, I could be losing a leg and not notice.

"What?" I say, grinning and still panting slightly. I feel like I have liquid energy pumping through me I'm so awake and excited. "You thought I'd let you get away with that?"

Norman's face flits with surprise, then nervousness before fading to sadness and hurt. "Look, Sean, I'm sorry-" I don't even let him finish. I don't want him apologizing for something I've wanted almost since I laid eyes on him. His mouth can be used for better purposes than that.

Norman's mouth is still open when I press mine against it, swallowing whatever words he was going to say and I can feel him stiffen in surprise, his eyes wide as he looks up at me. I smirk against his mouth and tighten my grip around him, opening my mouth and gently licking against his lips enticingly. C'mon Norman.

A beat. That's all it is before he's suddenly pressing up against me, his eyes falling shut almost instantly as his hands come to dig into my hair, moaning into my mouth.

Oh fuck if that didn't go straight down south. My own eyes close as his mouth opens, letting me finally taste him and god I don't care if I never eat again as long as I get to taste that. Norman's like heaven, tasting of sweet spice and bitter ash, a combination which makes me think of nothing less than seduction and mystery, everything which Norman is, he tastes.

My lungs are burning, what with having just sprinted and now not breathing, but I don't want to break away. I can just begin to feel the euphoric effects of aesphixiation when Norman breaks his mouth from me, throwing back his head and heaving a breath. I'm gasping and god he's gorgeous.

Norman's neck, exposed now he's leaned his head back, is long and smooth and probably tastes delicious. No time like the present. With a groan I lean down and slowly drag my tongue along that ivory surface, eliciting a moan from him I've only dreamed about and, let me tell you, nothing compares to the real thing. Biting softly and breathing heavily, I growl low in my throat, tightening my arms around him. "Don't you dare be sorry for this," I growl, nipping his skin to emphasize my point.

He lets out a slightly shuddering gasp, chest arching against me. "God," the words are barely whispered out but they're loud and ringing in my head. All of the sounds he's making are, drowning out any other sound around us.

I chuckle slightly against his skin, beginning to kiss my way up his neck, the stubble on my chin scratching against his skin. "No, I'm Sean remember?"

That earns me a whack over the head, causing me to pull away with a yelp to look down at him slightly indignantly. I would snap at him but the words catch in my throat as I take in the being beneath me. Norman's flushed, panting, eyes glazed and hair mussed and I've never seen anything that gorgeous in my life. If I thought Norman looked enticing this morning during filming, I was gravely mistaken. He's fully clothed and yet I'm harder than I've ever been. I feel like if he were naked I'd literally lose it right here and now. Something about that expression.

"Sean," Norman breathes out before closing his eyes and swallowing, apparently trying to collect himself. Please don't collect yourself, I like you all disorganized. I'm panting heavily, half tempted to just drop down on top of him and never let him up again, lose myself in his taste, his smell, Norman. But he's pushing himself up, eyes still closed and mouth parted slightly.

I can feel his breath against my face and I'm holding my own, waiting, wondering as those gorgeous eyes open and my God I can't think. "We're in the middle of the fuckin' sidewalk."

I blink and glance around for a second before looking back at Norman who's watching me slightly apprehensively, his breath puffing against my skin enticingly. I grin as I lean forward, just barely grazing my lips against his. "I thought you said I was an exhibitionist," I purr against his mouth and delight in the shudder I receive.

"Oh fuck me," Norman moans and, though I know it's just habit now, the phrase, I can't help but grin.

"So you are offering," I say, delight lacing my voice as I swiftly flick my tongue against his lips. Next second though, I'm thrown off of him, lying sprawled on the sidewalk and feeling incredibly confused, annoyed, and hurt, watching as Norman hastily shoves himself to his feet. "What the fu-" But I don't get to finish my sentence of protest as he suddenly bends down, hand closing around the fabric of my jacket and yanks me to my feet, slightly unsteadily mind you.

Any words I had are lost in my throat as Norman practically throws me against a wall and proceeds to lay siege to my mouth with his own, tongue wrapping around mine wonderfully as he presses himself as hard as possible against me. I feel like if he tried any harder, I'd probably become a part of the goddamn wall. Not that I'm complaining of course, far from it. We're both moaning and groaning and god his leg is between mine and he's fucking rolling his hips.

I'm burning in the heat of Norman the volcano as his hands practically rip at my jacket and shirt trying to gain purchase of my skin, his fingers searing hot against bare flesh, making me groan into that hot delicious mouth. I can feel him, hot and hard, both in body and other areas, pressing against me, sending hot jets of pleasure straight to my groin. He moans, long and wonderfully, shifting against me and god this is too good to be true.

Then he's gone again, hand once more fisted in my jacket as he drags me down the street with more determination than I've ever seen. Having someone drag you by the jacket is never easy, usually causing you to trip over your own two feet in an effort to keep up. In the state Norman just put me, he's lucky I even know I have two feet.

"Norman, wha-"

"Fucking bed," Norman says, cutting me off and using a tone which leaves absolutely no room for question. He could have said "Flying duck" for all I care though. That tone suggested one thing and one thing only. Something which I was only too happy to oblige.

After what seems like ages and is only minutes, Norman is dragging me into the motel and to our floor, not once having stopped save for occasionally shoving me against a wall and plundering my mouth with his. I was by no means complaining. I still see no reason as to why we need a fucking bed. I would have been perfectly happy fucking against a wall if it meant more of that skin, more of that taste, more of fucking Norman.

I'm not even paying attention really as he shoves into his room, not even turning on the lights, before I'm dragged in after him and slammed against the door. My mind is pretty much perfectly content with letting my other head do the work at the moment.

And god Norman's a fucking animal, licking, sucking, biting, stroking, and just fucking everywhere. It's kinda ironic really, if I were to actually think about it. After all of his 'fuck me's' I'm the one that being pinned against a goddamn door. After all of that, I'm the one thats being conquered. Normally, I would fight but Christ he feels so good it's all I can do to just keep grounded, my hands fisted in his hair and shirt, trying to feel more of him against me.

I have no idea when I lost my shirt, or when he did, but we're halfway undressed and that's just not good enough. I'm growling low in my throat, dragging my fingernails down his chest as he bites my neck, the pain sending a wave of hot pleasure up my spine and god I'm so fucking hard right now. I'm not exactly a patient person, Norman falling more into that category. He's the calm collected one, the artist, the patient one. I'm the wild, karate, go in guns blazing one, never waiting and never asking questions.

And right now, I'm fucking impatient. I growl loudly as his tongue runs along my collarbone, finally pushing him away and lunging the moment there's a foot between us, finally taking control since we were lying on the pavement. Norman looks slightly surprised for a moment before I fall into him, the two of us collapsing haphazardly to the edge of the bed.

"Holy fuck," Norman gasps out as my hands move frantically over him, quickly ripping his belt from his jeans and tossing it god knows where. His skin is burning where it touches mine and I can feel the slight sheen of sweat on our skin, our breathes hot and heavy in the air as the room temperature rises impossibly. I'm hunched over him, my mouth dragging over his bare chest, nipping at the tattoos and skin as my hands fumble with his jeans. His hands are clumsily trying to get my own jeans off and having an extremely hard time of it.

Growling in frustration, I abandon him and swiftly remove my own belt, tossing it somewhere that, honestly, I don't give a damn about before diving back into Norman, his skin, his mouth, his taste and god it's addictive. He moans as the button to his jeans comes undone and I can slip the garment down his slim beautiful hips. His pale fingers are dragging and the belt loops of my pants, slowing sliding them down my legs and creating an almost unbearable friction of fabric against skin.

Biting harshly at the skin of his shoulder, I practically rip his jeans off. "Off," I growl in command and feel him shudder in apprehension under me. In seconds, we're as bare as we were this morning, if not more, considering there's no fucking towel and I'm absolutely positive the twins wouldn't be doing this to each other. The roll of his hips up against mine has me hissing, the hot friction of our cocks together sending sparks behind my eyes as he moans softly.

"Oh god, fuck me," Norman moans out and I'm more than happy to oblige except for a few small details.

Stilling slightly, which is killing me on the inside I can tell you, I don't typically exercise self restraint and God I know why now, I bring myself to look down at him completely. "Have you ever had sex with a guy before?" As much as I don't want to know the answer, the question needs to be asked.

Norman stills for a moment before shifting under me, rolling his hips sensuously. "Curious?"

Goddamn fucking little minx of a bastard. My almost nonexistent restraint is literally on a thread. Why does he have to be so damn tempting and seductive and I so want to just fuck him into next year. "Answer the fuckin' question," I snarl out from behind clenched teeth, literally shoving him into the mattress. Hard. And god does that, aside from being slightly painful, make this whole restraint thing harder. Especially since he fucking gasps and arches slightly.

"No, fuck, no alright," Norman spits out, scowling at me and looking annoyed and embarrassed. I resist the urge to make fun of him quite well. "I've never bottomed for someone. Fuck off already."

Oh ho! But that's all the information I need. Smirking and leaning down, I gently nip at his mouth, enjoying the gasps and drawing away just as he tries to kiss me, earning disappointed sighs. "I'd rather not," I murmur against his lips, rolling against him and causing both of us to gasp in air like it's our fucking job. "I'd rather do what you keep suggesting and fuck you so hard you wont know what day it is, what your name is, only rasping out that same fucking phrase which has been driving me crazy since you stepped on set."

Norman is literally heaving for breath, his hands clenched and digging into my sides as his eyes are clenched shut. My god he looks like a whore but even I know whores could never been that fucking gorgeous. "Fuck," he groans, pulling me against him and rolling his hips up. "Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

"We're getting there," I say, slowly trailing along his jaw and down his neck, licking, biting, sucking, kissing against skin hotter than is possible. I'm surprised he hasn't spontaneously combusted. Using my knees I carefully push his legs apart, settling between them and, with a smirk, wrap my hand around his arousal, something which has him practically flying off the bed.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" If he reacts that well, there's no way he'll be able to ignore preparation. However, at this point, if I can distract him enough, it wont take long.

Leaning over him and steadily stroking him, I breathe hotly in his ear. "Do you have supplies?" Practical question if you ask me. He nods and jerks his head towards the bedside table. Fuck, someone's prepared. Drawing away from him briefly, I wrench open the drawer and fumble around for a moment before withdrawing a condom and bottle of lube. Grinning at him, I lean up to look down at him, enjoying the small frown which plays over his face. "You take these to every hotel room or did I just choose the right night?"

Next moment I'm on my back with a snarling Norman over me, my arms pinned against either side of my head. "Either you fucking do something or I swear to God I will," he snarls at me. Honestly, he can change from one side of Norman to another so quickly it's scary. Not that I'm scared, more like intrigued. This is the best part of him, his challenge, his fucking game that he just begs to be played.

"I am doing something," I purr up at him, enjoying the way his mouth is parted, panting for breath as he tries to glare down at me. To emphasize my point I roll my hips up against him and, taking advantage of that moan and lack of control, easily flip him back down, once more shifting to rest over him, grinning at his slight pout. Of course he's pouting. As much as Norman tries, he knows I'm the one in control. I make the jokes, I make the voices, I'm the older brother.

I lean down, my lips once more ghosting over his as he closes his eyes, shifting impatiently. "I'm the older brother," I whisper before pressing my mouth against his insistently, hard, wanting, and he moans, arches as my fingers travel down his chest and shift his legs apart. Brush against his opening, fumble for the small bottle which will make this all the less painful for him, all the more exciting for me, all the better for both. And god, he's fucking beautiful as he gasps and arches, my finger past the first barrier and I know he wasn't lying about never doing this before. Know he hasn't lied to me, that I'm going to be his first and it scares me almost as much as it excites me. I'm going to be his fucking goddamn son of a bitch first.

Holy fuck if that doesn't send two shots of white hot arousal both up my spine and down to my cock. His moans are delicious, rolling off his tongue onto mine as I swallow them eagerly. Wanton is never Norman, lewd is never him, he's too morbid to be such. Instead he's just dark hot lust, burning me with every touch, with every moan and god it takes all I have to not just slam into him, hard and wanting and never ending in one screaming draw of passion and want. I doubt he has any idea what he does to me.

"Fuck," I breathe against his mouth, drawing back for a quick breath, trying to contain myself, adding another finger to him and stretching, wishing I was imagining the slight grimace on his features as I know it probably hurts, is uncomfortable. But, regardless, I pause on adding a third because, really, as much as I want this, I'm still going to give him the option of backing out, backing down. As much as I'm aching for this, I'm going to give him the chance to say no.

Growling, Norman arches his chest against mine, bringing one hand to grip at my arm and the other into my back. "Don't fucking stop," he snarls into my mouth, dragging my bottom lip between his teeth and biting harshly, almost drawing blood. Fucking animal.

"You think you're ready, do you?" I say against him in a rush of breath and desire. God, I know better than to taunt him. Taunting him will just make things go fast and painful, like familiar fist fights and we'll be six year olds again and I've never wanted less to be six years old and fighting with him. I want to be what we are, bare and rolling in a tangle of limbs and lust and passion, no end to one and no beginning to the other. Just one seething mass of overpowering desire and skin.

"Jesus Christ," Norman gasps against my lips in response, writhing as I know I hit something all to familiar inside of him. "Fuck me." It's barely a whisper but his voice has it pounding against my ears like cannon fire. "Fuck me fuck mefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckfuckfuck!" His words begin to fun into a never ending demand and who am I to object, quickly withdrawing my fingers, probably by this point enjoying teasing him too much, and replacing them with something much larger, something probably much more painful. But I'm not thinking about pain as I press forward, forward into that unbearable heat of Norman, of the fucking volcano and I'm dying in his inferno.

I can vaguely feel his hands, blunted fingernails clawing down my back in red lines sure to show up in the morning, red lines burned into my skin as he arches against me in response to the feel of me entering him. I feel a few beads of sweat drip from my skin onto him as I shake slightly, trying to keep from slamming into him with enough force to break his frame. Instead, knowing it will only be worse the longer I wait, I slowly and progressively press into him until I'm completely inside, shuddering with the task of waiting, of keeping myself still.

Norman's never been one for being blunt. I'm not always happy about this, sometimes finding it slightly aggravating when he feels the need to tell me I look like a fucking moron in my clothes or I've done a shitty job acting. Honest is always a policy. But, right now, I couldn't be happier as he chooses to not beat around the bush and looks at me, determination in those shining lust filled eyes and says, plainly and simply "Fuck me."

I've never loved those words as much as I do now. Without hesitation, I'm moving and holy fuck it's bliss. I've had my fair share of bed partners but this, this is fucking fantastic. Nothing in any of my guilty fantasies could compare with the sight of Norman gasping and arching beneath me as I move in and out of him, as he tries to contend with what he's been asking for all night, for days, for months, that mouth of his forming the words in temptation to me.

Then I hit it and he's almost flying off the bed, already stimulated and now it's like shooting a fucking gun as he jerks under me, nearly throwing me off of him. I've fucking hit gold with the moans and groans and screams, with gasps of breath pouring from that sinful mouth, panting for air and spilling expletives and pleas and making me slam into him as hard as I can, following the mantra of "fuck me fuck me fuck fuck fuck" as if driven by God.

The build is like the climax to a story, to a film, to a shitty joke at a party except I'm fighting for that punch line, grabbing him and, though I know the ultimate answer, I'm lost in the build. It's hot and racing and Norman is a fucking God. He's submissive and dominant in one, commanding me for 'harder,' 'faster,' 'deeper,' 'more' and moaning like a porn star. He's tight, he's hot, he's beautiful and every sharp intake of breathe from my hitting his prostate has me closer to falling off the precipice of a mountain into an abyss.

I can tell Norman's there with me, flying just as fast towards that crashing high because we're both fucking frantic, me pounding into him with wild abandon and him gripping onto me as if his life depended on it, hips rocking with my thrusts and his body practically spasming. His mouth is open in one continuous moan, silent at times and mostly just panting. His eyes drifted shut a while ago, I'm assuming in rapture because of the expression on his face which is nothing short of bliss. I'm guessing I have a similar expression, considering he looks the way I feel, with the exception being that I don't have a cock inside of me.

"Oh God fuck," Norman rasps out, eyes cracking and I'm honestly about ready to come just from the look he gives me. I can feel my stomach muscles clenching in warning of my imminent release, something which I'm desperate for and want to put off for as long as possible. "Touch me." I'm more than happy to comply, my hand barely brushing against his leaking cock before he throws his head back with a high pitched moan, shooting over both of us but I don't even notice, too busy chocking on my own air as his muscles clamp down over me and I'm coming hard and fast, throwing with the force of a train into orgasmic euphoria.

I don't know if it's a few minutes, a few hours, or a few days before I finally come back to myself, still breathing heavily and collapsed on top of him, sweaty and hot and still fucking inside of him and God, even sweaty and sexed up he's a vision. Amazingly, Norman after sex looks like Norman when he just got out of bed, rumpled and disorganized, though with a much more delicious glow and that expression of release, trying to bring himself back, it completes him. Without even thinking, I'm shifting over him, moving myself off of his chest, which I'm probably crushing, and gently pressing my lips to his open panting mouth in a soft kiss.

Lazily, dazed, Norman opens his eyes slightly, looking at me for a second before closing them again and responding to the kiss, bringing up a hand to gently thread through my hair and hold me in place. It's pleasant, it's warm, and it's, like almost everything else, Norman. Unpredictable, strange, shifting, and wonderful. Drawing away briefly to prop myself over him gently, internally grimacing at the mess covering both of us which will have to be cleaned off before it cements us together, I grin down at him.

"I'd say that was a pretty thorough physical," I say, recalling out conversation earlier from when he'd scared the shit out of me from falling into a goddamn table. "I think you're in the clear for a concussion."

Norman snorts, running a hand through his hair and groaning slightly in either loss or discomfort as I pull myself from him, swiftly disposing of the condom and flopping down next to him. I'm wondering if he'll kick me out now that we're done. Frankly, I don't really want to leave, would rather stay here, warm and naked, pressed against him to prove that yes, this is real, this did happen, I'm not fucking hallucinating. It's slightly confusing when Norman gets up, slightly stiff in posture, and pads to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a wet wash cloth, now clean. Ah, of course.

"Fuckin' mess," Norman mumbles, throwing me the washcloth and fumbling for his pack of cigarettes, taking one between his lips and lighting it before flopping down onto the bed. It doesn't take me long to wipe whatever of his spunk was on me off before I'm handing him back the wash cloth. He grunts at me, eyes cracked open and on his back, obviously not taking the damn thing. Grinning evilly to myself, I shove the damn thing in his face.

Next minute, we're two six year olds, fighting and wrestling in bed, whacking each other with the wet wash cloth and smiling like morons, laughing in amusement at each other and just happy. Just happy when we settle down, still grinning, the wash cloth somewhere on the floor along with our clothes and shoes and belts and sense of propriety. He's curled around me, cigarette forgotten, crushed by my elbow somewhere. His eyes are closed and his breathing is soft, gentle as he exhales puffs against my skin, his dark mussed hair tickling my chin.

Smiling to myself, I pull him tighter, managing to kick the blankets around to cover us amid a few groans of protest from Norman before settling down completely and nuzzling into his hair, breathing in his scent. Warm and soft and dark, just like him. Gentle yet dangerous.

"We have filming tomorrow," Norman mumbles against the skin of my collarbone, making my smile widen a little more, simply enjoying the feeling. I hum in acknowledgment, not bothering to open my eyes or properly respond. Honestly, who does he think I am?

"You want me to leave then?" I ask, steeling myself for the answer. For rejection which I know may come.

Norman stiffens in my arms, drawing away to look at me in the face, eyes open and darker, showing annoyance and exasperation. Typical that Norman, unlike Murphy, is the stable and mature one. I'm the good ball that Murphy is. Ironic we're the opposite of our characters. "Fuck no." Well that certainly answers my question.

I grin and press myself into him, closing my eyes and simply enjoy the feeling of Norman, curled against me, Norman's skin against mine, not Murphy's against Connors. This isn't the twins, this isn't acting, this is Sean and Norman enjoy some relaxation after a bout of mind blowing sex.

I don't know when we fell asleep but the next morning, as the sunlight begins to stream into through the open curtains and his cell phone goes off we wake up groggy and tangled in blankets and limbs. Attempting to drag himself from the sheets and me, Norman looks like he's been hit by a train, hair tousled and face lined with sleep as that automatic habitual phrase leaks from a voice worn with sleep.

"Nnngh fuck me."

And I'm all to happy to comply.

Whether he was actually offering or not.

--End--

A/N: Let me know what you think!