Connor, Murphy, Greenly
Connor, Murphy, Greenly
Disclaimer: All Boondock Saints characters belong to Troy Duffy, not me. I'm just playing with them. It's fiction, eh?
Summary: The BDS boys have a bit of 'personal' time. ~shifty eyes~ What?
Word Count: 350 for my favourite boondock boys. ~grin~
Note: For the Come What May challenge. :D Aha. Ha. Is not beta'd. Sorry.
Connor
Connor collapses in the mud, laughing.
"Y'stayin' out here in the rain, Connor?" Matthew asks. Connor just grins widely, nods. Matthew snorts and heads off after the rest of the 'team', calling back, "Y'are a madman, McManus!"
"I'll let me Ma know to ship me off to the loony bin!" Connor calls back. He shivers, the rain soaking through his thin school shirt. His hand rests on the football, though he's pretty sure it's going to float away before too long. Fuckin' rain. He looks across the field, sees it empty. Knows he has about fifteen minutes before anyone comes out here again. He doesn't waste any time, shoves his hand down his trousers and into his underpants, curls his fingers around his cock.
He closes his eyes, feels the rain still pelting his eyelids, loves the sensation. He clutches the top of the ball beside him, fingers digging into worn leather as his other hand starts to stroke. Quickly, because he doesn't need this to last, just needs to get off, release the tension that always builds up in him during a game.
He turns his head to the side because his open mouth had been filling with rainwater; he turns and he spits, stares at the patched-up football until it swims out of focus and he's gasping, hitching into his own hand, wishing it was somebody else's. Someone like-
"Murphy! Fuck!" Connor's hips buce coe comes fast and hard even as he's trying to scrabble upright to a sitting position. Murphy just stares down at him, face slowly breaking into a wide grin.
"Thinkin' of me, were ya?"
Connor pants and looks away from Murphy's face, wet and shiny with rain. He struggles to his feet, legs like jelly, and shoves at Murphy. Gives the football an angry, although somewhat pathetic, kick and grunts.
"Were ya?" Murphy persists, grabs Connor's chin, forcing him to look and there's something... Something else in Murphy's eyes that Connor doesn't really want to think too much about.
"Fuck off, Murph. And don't you dare tell anyone or I'll beat ya face in."
<
Murphy
Candles are the only thing that don't wake Connor up. Murphy tried turning on a lamp, Connor grumbled and threw a pillow at his head. He tried using a torch, Connor yelled at him. The shoe hurt more than the pillow. So, one night, he lit a candle. The soft glow was just enough to see by, but not enough to disturb Connor's sleep. Perfect.
Murphy lights the wick carefully in the dark, sighs as the light spills like bright ghosts across the room. It creeps into the corners, wraps Connor's face in beautiful shadows. Smooth, perfect, like something painted on a chapel ceiling. Murphy breathes, head bowed slightly towards the candle, just to make the flame dance, just to see the shadows ripple over Connor's skin. Narrow shoulders belying his strength, arms that taper to slender wrists, those fucking pretty hands, fingers curled into the sheets.
Murphy sighs, rolls onto his back, his own fingers splayed across his stomach. He just turns his head, needs to see Connor, skims his hand lower and sighs again, quieter, as it brushes against heated flesh. He lets his thighs fall further apart, fingertips lightly drifting down. He bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut for a second, needing just this tease to start with. It's enough, it's how he imagines Connor would be. Careful, building up slowly from gentle touches to something harder, faster, hungry. Like a fucking candle flame. Strike of a match, the slow burn until it catches, the steady heat and then the sputtering, jerky movement of it right before it just... Goes out.
His hand moves with more certainty over his cock, he has to stifle a moan as his palm drags across a particularly sensitive nerve. He stares at Connor all the while, listens to the quiet sound of him sleeping. The candle fizzes, wick hissing in melted wax. Murphy watches the light jump, and then... Then his orgasm is ripped from him without warning, because there had been something in that flare of light. Something unmistakable. The blue shine of one open eye, fixed on him.
Greenly
"Ah, what the ?" ?" It's snowing, hard, and all Greenly wants is to get home and get warm. But the flashing lights and still-as-stone traffic ahead look like they're going to fuck up his plans royally. He considers getting out, taking a look. But it's cold out there, and his car at least has a heater. Even if it doesn't run a hundred percent, it's still warmer than the February chill. He turns on the radio and listens, hoping to find out what's going on. The reception's bad, all he catches is a snatch of something about an overturned snowplough.
"Fuckin' great." He looks over his shoulder, sees a long line of cars behind him. No chance of moving now. He shivers, brain chanting cold, cold, cold at him. Oh, and hungry. He checks the glove compartment, finds a pack of gum, three sticks left. Fabulous. Really fucking nutritious.
The windows steam up around him but he doesn't bother wipthemthem. He'll know when things start moving, because the horns will start honking.
He takes off his seatbelt and adjusts the seat, pushing it back a bit. Might as well be comfortable. His legs fall wide apart. Yeah, comfy. He closes his eyes, cups a gloved hand over his crotch and squeezes lightly, rubs his thumb along the hardening ridge. He swallows, groaning at the same time, and it's an odd, almost comical sound but it doesn't matter because only he can hear it. "Yeah..." Comfortable and warm.
He tries to kid himself that he's thinking of Carol, that blonde beat cop who's always hanging around... Tries to make himself believe that, but he knows it isn't true. Knows he's imagining his hand to be somebody's mouth; a specific somebody. Fuck, even both of them. "Oh, shit..." He gasps, pressing the heel of his hand down against hips that are rising of their own volition.
He needs to-
A sudden blast of a car horn jolts him out of his fantasy. He scrambles to readjust his seat, shifts uncomfortably. Fuck it. It'll just have to wait till he gets home.