Eight Minutes
folder
1 through F › Boondock Saints
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,787
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Boondock Saints
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,787
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Boondock Saints, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Eight Minutes
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: R/NC17
Disclaimer: C&M belong to Troy Duffy, not me. I'm just playing with them in a non-threatening manner. ;)
Summary: There's a reason why Connor knows it takes Murphy exactly eight minutes to finish a mug of tea.
Note: Featuring the twins at 17/18-ish. :)
Eight Minutes
Connor always hurries through his breakfast, while Murphy takes his time. Bread, bacon and potato-cakes or a bowl of cereal; it's all wolfed down at the same lightning speed. He still has to wait the five minutes required to satisfy his Ma before he moves from the table though. Even as he races back up the stairs, Murphy's just reaching for the teapot.
There's a reason why he wants to finish first, why he knows that it takes Murphy exactly eight minutes to finish a mug of tea. It means he gets some time alone in their room, and time alone is rare. He doesn't waste a moment. His jeans are shoved down over too-narrow hips, ratty shorts following and then his fingers curl around his cock like a musician testing piano keys. He doesn't lay on the bed. He leans against the wall, feet wide apart, facing the door. There's a frosted glass panel in the top of it, so he can see Murphy coming up the stairs in plenty of time. He's found this the best place to be after a few close calls.
After the first couple of strokes, languid and teasing, he knows he only has those eight minutes. He counts into that the time it takes to clean himself up, some time to smoke a cigarette to disguise the scent of sex that's always heavy on the air right after. Three minutes for that. Five minutes to get there. Never a big problem.
Murphy had spilt Guinness on his bedclothes last night, had wound up top-to-tailing with Connor. The bed was far too fucking narrow for it, but they didn't a c a choice. Connor had woken up with Murphy breathing heat all over his toes. The sensation had wormed its way down Connor's spine, nestled in his belly and stayed there all through breakfast.
His toes curl against the bare floorboards as his fist moves, harsh gasps in the shape of Murphy's name spilling over despite his efforts to keep them in. How long, how long? He glances at the clock, can't focus properly on the numbers and just guesses. He gives his cock a squeeze, slides his thumb over the head and whimpers, biting his lip.
There's a burst of shouting followed by the stairs creaking. Connor looks across at the door, lets loose a string of curses and hurriedly fastens his jeans again, scrambles for a cigarette and lighter.
Murphy slams the door behind him, grunts when he sees Connor. "That woman's fuckin' insane."
Connor answers in a strained voice, "Tell me somethin' I don't know." Knows he shouldn't have said that when he sees the look in Murphy's eyes. Can only watch as Murphy takes hold of his wrist, lifts his hand up and sniffs it. Then... Then, "Holy fuckin' Christ..." Connor watches Murphy's tongue dart out, flick up the side of hiumb.umb. Feels it all the way to his cock.
"Figured that was somethin' ya didn't know," Murphy tells him. "Y'think I'm stupid I don't know why y'run back up here?"
Connor's eyes close as Murphy shows him what he can do with eight minutes.
Rating: R/NC17
Disclaimer: C&M belong to Troy Duffy, not me. I'm just playing with them in a non-threatening manner. ;)
Summary: There's a reason why Connor knows it takes Murphy exactly eight minutes to finish a mug of tea.
Note: Featuring the twins at 17/18-ish. :)
Eight Minutes
Connor always hurries through his breakfast, while Murphy takes his time. Bread, bacon and potato-cakes or a bowl of cereal; it's all wolfed down at the same lightning speed. He still has to wait the five minutes required to satisfy his Ma before he moves from the table though. Even as he races back up the stairs, Murphy's just reaching for the teapot.
There's a reason why he wants to finish first, why he knows that it takes Murphy exactly eight minutes to finish a mug of tea. It means he gets some time alone in their room, and time alone is rare. He doesn't waste a moment. His jeans are shoved down over too-narrow hips, ratty shorts following and then his fingers curl around his cock like a musician testing piano keys. He doesn't lay on the bed. He leans against the wall, feet wide apart, facing the door. There's a frosted glass panel in the top of it, so he can see Murphy coming up the stairs in plenty of time. He's found this the best place to be after a few close calls.
After the first couple of strokes, languid and teasing, he knows he only has those eight minutes. He counts into that the time it takes to clean himself up, some time to smoke a cigarette to disguise the scent of sex that's always heavy on the air right after. Three minutes for that. Five minutes to get there. Never a big problem.
Murphy had spilt Guinness on his bedclothes last night, had wound up top-to-tailing with Connor. The bed was far too fucking narrow for it, but they didn't a c a choice. Connor had woken up with Murphy breathing heat all over his toes. The sensation had wormed its way down Connor's spine, nestled in his belly and stayed there all through breakfast.
His toes curl against the bare floorboards as his fist moves, harsh gasps in the shape of Murphy's name spilling over despite his efforts to keep them in. How long, how long? He glances at the clock, can't focus properly on the numbers and just guesses. He gives his cock a squeeze, slides his thumb over the head and whimpers, biting his lip.
There's a burst of shouting followed by the stairs creaking. Connor looks across at the door, lets loose a string of curses and hurriedly fastens his jeans again, scrambles for a cigarette and lighter.
Murphy slams the door behind him, grunts when he sees Connor. "That woman's fuckin' insane."
Connor answers in a strained voice, "Tell me somethin' I don't know." Knows he shouldn't have said that when he sees the look in Murphy's eyes. Can only watch as Murphy takes hold of his wrist, lifts his hand up and sniffs it. Then... Then, "Holy fuckin' Christ..." Connor watches Murphy's tongue dart out, flick up the side of hiumb.umb. Feels it all the way to his cock.
"Figured that was somethin' ya didn't know," Murphy tells him. "Y'think I'm stupid I don't know why y'run back up here?"
Connor's eyes close as Murphy shows him what he can do with eight minutes.