Title: Every time part two
Author: Layla McManus
Pairing: Connor/Murphy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Twincest, Oral/Rimming, Anal
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowed
Summary: Based on the lyrics to Britney Spears song "Every time"
Notes: Don't be too rough, it's just my first

Every Time part two

Connor knew he was dreaming as he gazed out across a field of tall grass and wild flowers, swaying gently in a cool breeze. The sky was a soft blue background full of passing clouds which the sun peeked out from behind, giving a soft warmth that he turned his face up to with closed eyes.

"Connor...", a soft feminine voice spoke from behind him, and he turned to find it's owner. There in the field stood a woman in blue gown, nearly the colour of the sky, and a soft white veil.

"Holy Mother." Connor breathed, kneeling and bowing his head as she approached.

"Come with me..." She motioned for him to follow her, and when he rose from his knees Connor found himself no longer in the field, but inside an ancient chapel, "You have questions..." She said, taking a seat on one of the stone pews and motioning for him to join her.

"Aye, Mother." Connor whispered, settling himself beside her.

"Then ask them, my son..." She replied with a gentle smile.

"I...Mother why? Why Murphy? Why my brother?" Connor asked, voice full of sorrow and confusion.

"It is the way of the world. Though nothing in the life of a man is certain, there are some things that are certain from birth. It could have easily been another, but it was your brother." She answered, hand reaching out to touch his shoulder gently.

"Can it ever be changed, Mother?"

"No, child. The world itself may change, as change is it's way, but this cannot be changed." She replied.

"Is it wrong of me to...to love him this way? Let him love me, like this?" Connor asked softly, almost afraid of her answer.

"Love takes many forms, my child. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight with evil but rejoices with truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

"1 Corinthians 13:4-7..." He finished the well known passage with a nod. She was smiling at him again, eyes full of compassion.

"Love is simply what it is. Right or wrong is for you to decide, not the world, not I, The Father, or The Son." She stood, eyes settling on the cross above the alter, "You should go to him, Connor. Your heart will lead you down the right path."

"Thank you Holy Mother." Connor said, kneeling again in reverence. When he looked up again, she was gone, leaving him alone in the chapel.

Connor woke with a start, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The clock on the bedside table read 7:52 am, and a bit of light was filtering into the room through the cheap carpet pattern curtains. His dream came back to him slowly as he became more aware of his surroundings. The Virgin had come to him and spoken about his brother with him. Her message had been to love, and be loved by Murphy, in whatever way it came best. His sign from God, The Father had heard him.

"Lord, you certainly work in mysterious ways." Connor mumbled as he stood and walked to the bathroom. If he was going home, he needed to at least look presentable, instead of half-dead. A shower and a shave would be a good start today, and then off to the library and then home this evening.

Stripping his clothes, he turned on the water and slipped into the shower stall. Warm water cascaded down over his body, rinsing the sweat and grime away down the drain. Never felt this good to have a purpose before, he thought as he'd washed. Today seemed like a good day, for many reasons. Once finished, he stepped from the glass enclosure and wrapped himself in a towel, before moving to the sink to shave the stubbly beard that he'd grown over the last four days.

"Lookin better, ol' man." He joked wryly to his reflection.

Finally dried, shaved, and dressed he picked up his coat and left, heading towards the main office as he thought about his plan. After turning in his key, Connor walked four blocks down to the bus stop and waited for the public transit. Gotta get to the library first, but I haven't a clue as to what I'm really lookin for, he thought as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, taking a deep drag. He turned the silver Zippo over in his hand a few times, a small smile playing on his features. It was his twin's lighter, Murphy's "Lucky Lighter" to be exact, with a green shamrock and the Irish flag painted on one side. He'd borrowed it that night at the pub, the night he left. Guess it's time I return it, he prolly doesn't even remember I have it. The bus pulled up to the curb, it's large doors opening with a groan. Snubbing his cigarette out on the pavement, he stepped up and took a seat, offering a soft 'hello, how are yah?' to the driver.

For the first time in two months, he felt lighter than he had before, as if a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Tonight would change everything, for better or worse, and though he wasn't a gambling man by nature...Connor was betting on better.

:*: Back Across Town :*:

Murphy pulled himself sluggishly from bed, moving towards the old beat-up refrigerator. Pulling out a small bottle of milk, he went about making cereal for himself. He had an appetite, for once, and decided that having some cereal was a good start. Thankfully, his sleep had been peaceful and dreamless, the first real rest he'd gotten in nearly two months. Each night it was the same, a dream of being alone without Connor for the rest of his mortal and immortal life. This was the longest he'd ever been without the comfort of his twin's closeness, the two of them inseparable since birth. Almost inseparable, I never thought that anything could break us apart.

Murphy's eyes travelled to the two rosaries hanging on their nails near the door, a stab of pain hitting his heart as he thought again of that night. He was in such a hurry to leave, he forgot his rosary...Connor would never forget his rosary for anything. Now finished with his meal, at least as much as he was going to eat, he fished a cigarette from the pocket of his threadbare robe and lit it. 'Those things are gonna kill yah one day if yah keep smokin like a fiend, Murph,' Connor's voice echoed in his head.

"Yea, guess I should smoke two 't time now...at least it'l shorten my sentence. Perhaps I should just off meself now and get the fuck o'er with it." Murphy replied aloud to his phantom twin. His eyes drifted towards the small cabinet where they'd stashed their guns and ammo. Connor had the key, but Murphy could pick the lock or bust it open if he really wanted to. He could just see the headlines now. "FALLEN SAINT COMMITS SUICIDE IN BOSTON HOME". Home, heh, that was a joke. It wasn't home anymore, at least not to Murphy. A home is made of hearts, not wood and glass*, his mother used to say. After a few more moments of self-loathing and pity, Murphy made his way back to his bed and crawled under his blanket, curling up with Connor's pillow once again.

"Holy Father, I've asked you every day since I first realized how deep my sickness ran, and I began to desire the flesh of my brother to take this from me. I ask you again today to take it. Make me normal and bring my brother back home, please?" Murphy begged, squeezing his eyes shut against a fresh round of tears. Maybe if he was lucky, he could cry himself to death.

*One of Sukeena's lines from The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer

<Part one                  Part  three >