Smoke

Pairing: Murphy/Connor
Rating: R/NC17
Summary: Uh. They have sex. The end. Oh, in verse.
Note: It's poetry. Um, yeah.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, Troy Duffy does. I'm just borrowing them to create sweet, sweet lies. It's fiction, wahey.


Smoke


Sensuous as lover's hips, it's
creeping between lips to hang, absurd,
a momentary word in grey.
He breathes, disturbs the air, disturbs the word just written there, then coughs
and makes some soft excuse, while smoke drifts loosely past his head.
In bed? He croaks, a joke between them, plucks the cigarette from
brother's lips, and takes a drag, the end still moist with
brother's spit.
He breathes out white and turns the light off, coughs again.
The cigarette is set down, ground to ash. He feels a hand pass overhead, the drift
of fingers down his arm.
Y'warm? asks Connor, touch of smoke still in his throat as blunt nails stroke.
Am now, says Murph, a purr subdued as tongue and teeth speak crude and bold,
and limbs shift sheets, meet limbs and hold; too tight but right with fists in hair and mouths
just there and Oh, God. There. A bite, a cry, a soothing kiss,
wrists pinned, a sigh, a lick, a hiss: Just fuckin' do it, Connor, please...
Then knees are nipped at, lifted, licks make Murphy
groan and kick but Connor's tongue flicks lower, slows
down, circles round and slides...
A sigh: mac tíre, pulls him nearer,
mouth slack, fall back, legs grip,
feet slip down sweaty spine. You're mine, confirmed with lips and ebr /br />and thighs fall wide, slick slide, a cry. Teeth bared,
prepared, I'm ready, Connor, just, just, oh...
Words coarse, hoarse voice slipmelts to fade into that place
where hands are made of air, Right there... And fingers wind through hair to keep
him buried deep and Yeah... fuck, yeah... One fist unfurled to curl and tease; not easy in this knot of knees
and arms and sweat and Please, God, please... Another flick, then thick the cry, hips rise and meet
and sticky sweet spilt, tilt the room, behind closed eyes bright colours bloom and wilt;
it's done too soon.
His limbs fall to his side to rest, and Connor's cheek drops to his chest still heaving deep with every breath.
A yawn, a grin and he says, Sin. It's tiring work, aye? Don't y'think? Which earns a sleepy smack;
and take that back. But no, he just reaches for a smoke, a light. His brother, quite contritely says, in bed? Then, share?
And Murphy does, 'cause love? Fair's fair.

END

more boondock saints fic (various pairings, mostly connor/murphy but also duffy/greenly, connor/greenly and greenly/smecker) of lower ratings over on my site: http://www.dreamreaver.com/slct and on the livejournal community. y'don't need an LJ to read or comment: http://www.livejournal.com/community/bds_fic

I was told to pimp. :-P