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[...one long dying twilight...]
Overdue ducttape!fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zehara. Sorry it took so long, Billie. Thanks again for the VCD and I hope you like this fic, even with its lack of honey and disco balls. (I tried, I tried, I really did. I’ll get them someday.)
Adhesive
Boondock Saints. Connor/Murphy. R. Warning: incest.
It has a light side, it has a dark side, and it holds the universe together. Continued from this.
After taping up the window, Connor moved on to taping other things. The walls, for instance. He tore off a strip of duct tape with his teeth, cut it into smaller strips with his knife, and formed words on the wall with sharp cuneiform-like letters. He started with HELLO and CONNOR, and got as far as MURPHY IS A before Murphy tackled him from behind.
You can’t talk to me about wasting the tape anymore, said Murphy, taping Connor’s mouth. He bent over his brother, not even a breath apart, and tore the tape with his teeth like a carnivore or the distortion of a kiss. Murphy said, you can’t talk at all.
[]
Number one, they had no hot water. Number two, their blankets were nothing more than thin sheets. Cobwebs masquerading as sheets, Connor said to Murphy, and Murphy smirked. These days, they slept together on one mattress, curled around each other like a complicated mind-twister puzzle you could buy at weekend flea markets. It was still fucking freezing.
We got all the cracks, did we not, asked Connor. Murphy said there must be cracks that neither of them could see and Connor replied that it didn’t matter anyway. If they were going to die cold and alone three thousand miles away from home, then so be it. It was God’s will.
Autumn was scrubbing out the last traces of summer, and Connor and Murphy began to spend more time at McGinty’s, pissing away their sobriety with an Italian bloke who did runs for the Russian mob and told amusing ‘work’-related stories that Connor had a feeling he shouldn’t be telling.
There was a lot more darkness in the space of twenty-four hours. A lot more cold. The days weren’t getting shorter so much as they were becoming one long day. In Connor’s mind, the days merged together for want of milestones with which to separate them, and became one long dying twilight.
[]
After a few weeks, the writing on the wall began to peel. It began to collect dust and grime and look more like Mesopotamian chicken scratches than before.
Connor lay on his side, facing the wall, turning VERITAS into RITA, who was a girl he used to go with when he was fifteen. He was about to turn RITA into IT when Murphy reached over and stuck another piece of duct tape on the inside of his wrist.
Sometimes Murphy would stick on pieces of duct tape on Connor’s body just for the hell of it, even when--especially when--Connor told him to stop. He didn’t like the way Murphy watched him while he peeled them off and fucking fuck, they were hell to peel off. Murphy would watch Connor breathe long breaths, watch him touch his wounds with morbid curiosity, until Murphy seemed to reach some sort of breaking point where he would shove Connor down on the mattress and.
I can get used to this, Connor thought as Murphy’s tongue slipped into his mouth. I can get used to this, he thought as he pushed into Murphy, panting raggedly, leaving marks on Murphy’s hips in the shape of bitten fingernails.
Connor could get used to this.
In the end, he could always say it was just another way to keep warm.
[end.]
zehara. Sorry it took so long, Billie. Thanks again for the VCD and I hope you like this fic, even with its lack of honey and disco balls. (I tried, I tried, I really did. I’ll get them someday.)Adhesive
Boondock Saints. Connor/Murphy. R. Warning: incest.
It has a light side, it has a dark side, and it holds the universe together. Continued from this.
After taping up the window, Connor moved on to taping other things. The walls, for instance. He tore off a strip of duct tape with his teeth, cut it into smaller strips with his knife, and formed words on the wall with sharp cuneiform-like letters. He started with HELLO and CONNOR, and got as far as MURPHY IS A before Murphy tackled him from behind.
You can’t talk to me about wasting the tape anymore, said Murphy, taping Connor’s mouth. He bent over his brother, not even a breath apart, and tore the tape with his teeth like a carnivore or the distortion of a kiss. Murphy said, you can’t talk at all.
[]
Number one, they had no hot water. Number two, their blankets were nothing more than thin sheets. Cobwebs masquerading as sheets, Connor said to Murphy, and Murphy smirked. These days, they slept together on one mattress, curled around each other like a complicated mind-twister puzzle you could buy at weekend flea markets. It was still fucking freezing.
We got all the cracks, did we not, asked Connor. Murphy said there must be cracks that neither of them could see and Connor replied that it didn’t matter anyway. If they were going to die cold and alone three thousand miles away from home, then so be it. It was God’s will.
Autumn was scrubbing out the last traces of summer, and Connor and Murphy began to spend more time at McGinty’s, pissing away their sobriety with an Italian bloke who did runs for the Russian mob and told amusing ‘work’-related stories that Connor had a feeling he shouldn’t be telling.
There was a lot more darkness in the space of twenty-four hours. A lot more cold. The days weren’t getting shorter so much as they were becoming one long day. In Connor’s mind, the days merged together for want of milestones with which to separate them, and became one long dying twilight.
[]
After a few weeks, the writing on the wall began to peel. It began to collect dust and grime and look more like Mesopotamian chicken scratches than before.
Connor lay on his side, facing the wall, turning VERITAS into RITA, who was a girl he used to go with when he was fifteen. He was about to turn RITA into IT when Murphy reached over and stuck another piece of duct tape on the inside of his wrist.
Sometimes Murphy would stick on pieces of duct tape on Connor’s body just for the hell of it, even when--especially when--Connor told him to stop. He didn’t like the way Murphy watched him while he peeled them off and fucking fuck, they were hell to peel off. Murphy would watch Connor breathe long breaths, watch him touch his wounds with morbid curiosity, until Murphy seemed to reach some sort of breaking point where he would shove Connor down on the mattress and.
I can get used to this, Connor thought as Murphy’s tongue slipped into his mouth. I can get used to this, he thought as he pushed into Murphy, panting raggedly, leaving marks on Murphy’s hips in the shape of bitten fingernails.
Connor could get used to this.
In the end, he could always say it was just another way to keep warm.
[end.]
Re: *glomp*
Point A to Point A is here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/lassiterfics/4898.html