Rosemary & Thyme

Author: Aja (boondockpoet@yahoo.co.uk / www.livejournal.com/users/goodtwin)
Website: www.dreamreaver.com/showcase
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: NC17
Warning: Twincest, a bit of angst and improper use of spoons.
Summary: Yes, Connor can cook. Or at least, he can try.
Note: For Kadyn who wanted "anything as long as it leads to hot sex". Thanks to Amy for the beta.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, Troy Duffy does. I'm just borrowing them to create sweet, sweet lies. It's fiction, wahey.

ROSEMARY AND THYME


Murphy had only gone out for some fresh smokes. Connor had been sleeping when he'd left, so Murphy's a bit surprised when he walks into the apartment to find his brother not only up and dressed, but busy at the stove as well.

"What's that smell?"

"Herbs," Connor answers without looking round.

"What are you doin' with herbs?"

"I'm cookin', what does it look like?"

Shrugging out of his coat, Murphy wanders over to the tiny kitchen area to watch his brother. "Looks like somethin' I already ate," he says, grinning and dodging a slap.

"Yeah? Well if you don't eat it, you go hungry. Simple."

"Who died and made you King?"

Connor just shoots Murphy a look and carries on chopping the herbs. "I thought it'd be.. nice. To have something that we... I actually cooked. Y'know?"

"Conn, I was only teasin'." Murphy leans back against the sideboard, fingers curled around the edges of it, elbows resting on the wood. "What's it going to be?"

"Stew."

"Right. Gonna put gui-"

"No, I'm not gonna put guinness in it," Connor interjects, "because I don't want that to be the only reason you eat it."

"Oh. Well, I'm goin' for a shower. I got time, don't I?"

"Don't be long."

=/=

Murphy secures a towel at his waist, doesn't bother dressing before he joins his brother at the table. He sits down, scratches his knee and blinks at the bowl of stew in front of him. "Our Father, full of grace, please don't be sayin' I have to eat this," he whispers. Connor drops his fork.

"What did you just say?"

"I said, it looks great. I can'tt tot to it. it." Picking up his own fork, Murphy prods something he's sure was a carrot in a former life. "Y'think maybe you overcooked it a bit there, bro'?"

"No, I think maybe you took too long in the shower," Connor replies.

"Oh, right. So it's my fault this is inedible, is it?"

"You haven't even tried it yet!"

Murphy pushes his plate away. "Sorry, I'm not gonna touch it."

The corners of Connor's mouth turn down. "Fine."

"It's burnt," Murphy goes on, trying to ignore the sudden guilty feeling. "See? All black. It's a right giveaway, that."

"I said fine."

"Ah, come on Connor. Don't be like that."

"I just wanted to do somethin' nice for ya. That's all. And you won't even try it."

"It's black."

"It's cooked."

Murphy looks up at Connor again, seeing the beginnings of a smirk. "I can't even tell what this round thing is," he says, watching the smirk get wider.

"It's a pea. What are ya, stupid or somethin'?"

"A pea. Ohh. Right." Murphy pauses for a moment. "Aren't they meant to be green?"

Murphy actually yelps when Connor launches out of his seat and wrestles his brother to the floor. Then he's just laughing breathlessly as Connor pins him down with one hand, grabs the wooden spoon from the stewpot with the other, and starts to slap his belly with it. It makes soft wet sounds on each strike as the stew splatters across Murphy's skin. Not too hot, just hot enough that it stings a bit.

"It fuckin' stinks! Get it off me!" Murphy cries, laughing too hard to throw Connor off.

"Not until you apologise," Connor says, smacking his brother once more.

"Alright, alright!" Murphy takes a few breaths, calms down. "I'm sorry, Connor. The stew looks fuckin' great. I'm still not eatin' it, though."

"Well, maybe I'll just sneak it in with your breakfast while you'rt lot lookin', eh?"

"Funny. Very funny. Now will you let me up?"

"Hmm. Will y'sing for me?"

"You're outta your fuckin\nd, nd, Connor."

"Well then I won't let you up."

Murphy suddenly looks dismayed and turns his head then his whole body, throwing off a disconcerted Connor. "Fuck..." Clutching his towel tightly, Murphy makes it to his knees before he can't stop himself and lets out a soft sob.

"Murph?" Connor's up on his feet, frowning at Murphy's back, at the sprawling tattoo there. "What's wrong? What did I do?"

"Nothin', Connor," Murph says softly, miserably. "Can y'just... Leave me alone for a minute?"

"Why? What the fuck's wrong?" Connor puts his hand on Murphy's shoulder, feels him stiffen. "Ssh. I'm not leavin' you. It's okay." Connor reassures even though he's not sure why. "Whatever it is, can't be that bad, can it? Come on, what? Is it chemical burns from that stew?"

Murphy doesn't laugh.

"Did I slap you too hard? What?"

"No... No, it was just." Murphy's voice drops lower still. "Right."

"Right? What d'you mean?"

Murphy looks over his shoulder at Connor, the hint of tears in his eyes. "I mean it was just right."

"Murphy, you're talkin' crazy here. I don't-" Connor's eyes widen as Murphy's mouth slams against his own, tongue finding easy entry between surprised lips. "Mmf."

Connor doesn't struggle, and Murpllowllows himself to be encouraged by that. He thinks maybe it's not just shock, maybe Connor really does want this. But then hands are shoving at him and Connor's trying to say something.

"Murphy, we... It's wrong. We can't," Connor says roughly, panting already from the voracity of his brother's kiss.

"Why not? You want to, don't you?"

Connor's blush tells Murphy all he needs to know. But he still shakes his head. "We can't."

"Don't say that. Please? Just a kiss?" Murphy's ready to settle for anything, anything at all that Connor will give him, he's that fuckin' desperate.

"But..." Connor looks over to the door, to the rosaries hanging just next to it. He can still taste Murphy in his mouth, and the sweet sense of something waking within him. Something buried deep since he was old enough to know what it meant. "But it's wrong," he whispers, knows it sounds weak.

"Only if you let it be." Murphy gets up, offering his hand to Connor. "Please."

Connor ignores Murphy's hand, lifts his own instead to touch the corner of his brother's mouth. "You know I'd do anythin' for you..."

"This is all I want."

"Aren't you scared of-"

"Aye. I am. But I'm more afraid of goin' through life without ever knowing."

Connor sighs, strokes Murphy's bottom lip almost without thinking. "What if someone hears? Finds out, goes arounllinllin' everyone? What if they all know, and-"

"Ssh. Connor, I'm... It doesn't have to go that far. Come with me. Lay down, let me just kiss you for a bit, yeah?"

Connor lets himself be moved, pushed down until all he can see when he looks up are eyes that mirror his own; anxiously impassioned. He watches the eyes get closer until his vision swims with blue, blurred, loses sight of them when his own eyes fall closed at the sensation of Murphy's breath on his lips. "Oh," he whispers, reaching blindly, the tips of his fingers pressing into Murphy's skin. He presses harder, sinks in roughly bitten nails to feel Murphy squirm against him. "Kiss me then," he murmurs.

"We'll never really be angels, Connor," is the last thing Murphy says before his lips find Connor's. They move together until they are aligned without space for air. It's perfection; Murphy knew that it would be because these lips were molded from those, so how could they not fit? Connor's arms come around brotbrother, hands skimming the soft ridges of Murphy's spine, following the curve of it upwards until his palms are cupped at the base of Murphy's skull, fingers in his hair, ragged nails scratching at his scalp.

Then Murphy opens his mouth, and Connor's is so tightly pressed that his lips part too and there it is again. Murphy's tongue. It makes Connor sigh, deep in his throat so it sounds like a moan, and the sound only makes Murphy kiss him more urgently. Connor's warm, warmed beneath Murphy's body and getting harder with every passing moment. He shouldn't have said yes to this because how will he stop? How can he? He hisses, breath passing out between his teeth and a tangle of tongues, as Murphy's hand slips beneath his t-shirt. Whines, somewhere between his nose and mouth, as rough fingers pinch his skin, his nipple, the fine tuft of hair at his armpit.

Murphy's mouth suddenly leaves Connor's, the light's stained navy for a moment as Connor's shirt is pulled off by eager hands. Breathing heavily, Connor stares up at his brother. Slides his hands from Murphy's hair, down. Touches the tattoo that matches his own, not perfectly because Murphy's skin isn't as rough just there, the saint is smoother and it seems to Connor that her smile is more sincere.

"I just want to kiss you," Murphy says, his voice soft. They both know they've already crossed that particular boundary. Connor's fingers drift down, tug gently and briefly at Murphy's nipples, further down to push the already loose towel looser. He digs his nails in again, intom flm flesh that fills his palms with heat. Murphy leans in; they both jolt when nipples touch and rub, when they realise there's only Connor's jeans left. Another kiss, the flat of a tongue across the sharp edges of Connor's teeth, and Murphy's fingers are quick, careful with button and fly. Connor's hands feel suddenly strange, out of place. He's not sure how they got into Murphy's hair again, only knows that he shouldn't be reaching quite so much to touch it, because that means-

"Murphy?" Connor's voice is hardly there, just a gasp among so many others.

"Ssh," Murphy calls again, soft like lullabies. "I'm not... Just kissin' you." His breath is hot on Connor's thigh, torturous and wonderful all at once.

"Do... D'you think you could kiss me a little bit more?" Connor feels Murphy's smile, sighs at the feather light kisses his ber ser scatters along delicate flesh, tightens his grip on Murphy's hair. "Yeah," he whispers, gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling while his mind races his pulse to some distant finishing line. "Like that."

Murphy gives no warning; his mouth just opens, envelops Connor in wet heat. He leans his weight on struggling hips, licks noisily and greedily while above him Connor's gasps turn to moans, low and needy.

A drawn oum hum has Connor bucking, his fists almost pulling Murphy's hair out by the root as his body draws tight. His cheeks are flushed, not just from the act, he's sorry he couldn't last a little longer, doesn't know how to say so to Murphy. Murphy, whose mouth is still surrounding Connor, keeping him there.

Another lick, this one barely touching, and Connor comes with a hoarse cry, his head thrown back, that crack in the ceiling swimming out of focus. He thinks he might be dying, couldn't begin to count the beats of his heart as he hears them thundering in his ears. They all seem to run into each other; everything does. Colours, sounds, limbs, himself and his brother, God, angels, saints, lovers, sinners...

Murphy's mouth covers his again and Connor doesn't hesitate to kiss him back. Thanks him desperately, wordlessly, for opening this door.


END