A Lovely Dream
folder
1 through F › Boondock Saints
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,043
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Boondock Saints
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,043
Reviews:
8
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.
A Lovely Dream
These are not my characters, (although I wish they were my personal characters…wink-wink). Please help me with idea for more. I have a few, and will add more to it this weekend, just giving you guys a teaser. MWAH!
Murphy and Connor MacManus woke up. It was 2:15 AM according to the clock on the cardboard box that they used as a bedside table. They looked at each other.
“Dreams wakin’ you, Brother?” they said in unison.
“Aye, they are” they both agreed with a hearty chuckle.
Connor was thinking to himself that he was sure Murphy did not know (and didn’t want to know) what his personal dreams were. He was sure that Murphy had some honorable dream, nothing like the dream that had woken him, made him reel with dreamt-up pleasure, the dream he wished he could live out every night. His body ached after this dream, his body drenched in sweat, and his groin particularly swollen with desire.
Murphy lay there, thinking that he was crazy. He was sure Connor was having dreams of Saints and bloodshed, messages from God Himself, while he was having dreams of sinful pleasure, dreams that would make Connor recoil. Sweat lined his forehead, and he could feel his pants too tight with an erection trying to force itself out of the confined space. He cringed, thinking Connor would be ashamed of him.
Neither brother wanted to ask what the other had been dreaming of, fearing that they would then expose what they had been dreaming. They looked at each other. Both bodies straining against their sheets. Both looking at the other as of they were the only ones in the world.
They both simultaneously reach for their stash of cigarettes; their hands overlapping, one on top of the other. They held them there for a moment. A moment extended, lingering, neither wanting to let go. Pulling back, then lunging again for their cigarettes, their hands collided again.
“Murph, I had a bad dream. Can we sit together? You know, push the beds together like old days?”
Murph thinking what a little pansy his brother was realized that he wanted so desperately to comfort his brother.
“No problem, Con”, as he shoved both beds together in one long thrust.
Murphy sat propped up against the wall, and Connor lay on his back, with his head resting against Murphy’s thigh. They sat in silence, listening to the relative quiet of an early morning in one of the busiest cities they’ve known. Murphy grabbed the abandoned cigarettes and lit one up. He took a deep breath and inhaled the smoke, and Connor watched as his brother’s naked chest expanded as his lungs filled. Connor licked and parted his dry lips. Murphy, watching this with amusement and strange satisfaction, brought the fag down to his brother’s lips, and slid the cigarette between them; holding the filter between his thick fingers, while his brother sucked in. Their gaze held. This was more than an innocent gesture. The connection between them would not dissolve. With one finger, Murphy traced the outline of his brothers jaw, hoping that he was not alarming him. Connors jaw felt alight with flame. The touch of his brothers calloused and rough finger on his face made him burn with desire.
Murphy and Connor MacManus woke up. It was 2:15 AM according to the clock on the cardboard box that they used as a bedside table. They looked at each other.
“Dreams wakin’ you, Brother?” they said in unison.
“Aye, they are” they both agreed with a hearty chuckle.
Connor was thinking to himself that he was sure Murphy did not know (and didn’t want to know) what his personal dreams were. He was sure that Murphy had some honorable dream, nothing like the dream that had woken him, made him reel with dreamt-up pleasure, the dream he wished he could live out every night. His body ached after this dream, his body drenched in sweat, and his groin particularly swollen with desire.
Murphy lay there, thinking that he was crazy. He was sure Connor was having dreams of Saints and bloodshed, messages from God Himself, while he was having dreams of sinful pleasure, dreams that would make Connor recoil. Sweat lined his forehead, and he could feel his pants too tight with an erection trying to force itself out of the confined space. He cringed, thinking Connor would be ashamed of him.
Neither brother wanted to ask what the other had been dreaming of, fearing that they would then expose what they had been dreaming. They looked at each other. Both bodies straining against their sheets. Both looking at the other as of they were the only ones in the world.
They both simultaneously reach for their stash of cigarettes; their hands overlapping, one on top of the other. They held them there for a moment. A moment extended, lingering, neither wanting to let go. Pulling back, then lunging again for their cigarettes, their hands collided again.
“Murph, I had a bad dream. Can we sit together? You know, push the beds together like old days?”
Murph thinking what a little pansy his brother was realized that he wanted so desperately to comfort his brother.
“No problem, Con”, as he shoved both beds together in one long thrust.
Murphy sat propped up against the wall, and Connor lay on his back, with his head resting against Murphy’s thigh. They sat in silence, listening to the relative quiet of an early morning in one of the busiest cities they’ve known. Murphy grabbed the abandoned cigarettes and lit one up. He took a deep breath and inhaled the smoke, and Connor watched as his brother’s naked chest expanded as his lungs filled. Connor licked and parted his dry lips. Murphy, watching this with amusement and strange satisfaction, brought the fag down to his brother’s lips, and slid the cigarette between them; holding the filter between his thick fingers, while his brother sucked in. Their gaze held. This was more than an innocent gesture. The connection between them would not dissolve. With one finger, Murphy traced the outline of his brothers jaw, hoping that he was not alarming him. Connors jaw felt alight with flame. The touch of his brothers calloused and rough finger on his face made him burn with desire.