Nicholas: Second part, and this was officially a challenge. It was posted in the reviews, so I bet you people already know that. It's short because I like it better that way, so there! But anyway, I hope you like it, even though it doesn't really make much sense to me.

They walked together silently, Murphy taking in his surroundings once more with an eerie sense of surrealism. He hadn't expected to come back, but here he was walking back to the motel the same way he'd left it. Strangely, Connor was walking on his right, but he didn't mention it. He needed to keep quiet or he'd totally explode on his brother about all this stupid shit.

Connor had the pistol in his pocket, just in case his twin was still a bit unstable. It was ridiculous that they now could not trust each other at all. He wanted to say something and break that uncomfortable silence they were trapped in, but what could he possibly say? Now he realized just how unforgivable what he'd done was. He'd left his brother, his twin, his heart, all alone and that was as blasphemous as what they've done in bed.

Neither said a word until they were back at the motel and Murphy was searching his pockets for the key. Hesitantly, Connor took the key out of Murphy's jacket pocket—the jacket that Connor still wore—and handed it to him. "You had this the entire time," Murphy inquired dangerously.

"Yep." Connor barely made a noise above a whisper.

Murphy just shook his head and unlocked the door. He left the key in the knob when he went in and Connor had to retrieve it. Immediately once inside, Connor removed Murphy's coat and set if over a chair. "I'm sorry, Murph," he stated quietly.

"Why? Just tell me that."

With a sigh, Connor sat down and rubbed his temples with one hand. "I got scared. That's not a very good excuse, I know, but it's true."

"What the fuck were ya scared of?" He raised his voice slightly. "Why didn't ya talk ta me about it, huh? We used ta be able ta tell each other anythin'." Murphy didn't even look at his brother. He was still recovering from this ever-changing tempest of emotion in his mind. "Gimme my gun back."

"No." Through to this point, Connor was succeeding in staying calm, but that was wearing thing. "You answer a question o' mine first. What was that shite about obvious reasons that yer less than me?"

The dark-haired man stopped on his way to the bathroom. He didn't turn and his shoulders tensed slightly. "I felt…I feel worthless. I can't fuckin' trust whether yer gonna stay er go 'cause I'm not as important ta ya as whatever the fuck is on yer mind. That makes sense at all, jerk off?"

"God…Murphy that's not…Yer the world ta me, an' I mean that."

Murphy turned on his heel and glared at him. "How the fuck do I know that? I'm just s'posed ta trust ya now, all the sudden. An' then what, ya take off again an' the whole fuckin' thing starts over? No, I don' think so. I'm not gonna live by a whim, wonderin' when yer gonna get 'scared' again. Th'fuck were ya scared of, anyway?"

"I was afraid o' goin' ta hell, alright?" Connor took the pistol out of his pocket and set it on the table. He couldn't look at Murphy right then. "I was afraid that when we die we're not gonna see each other again, an' I'll tell ya, I can live with bein' damned, but now without ye." His brother just scoffed and turned towards the bathroom again. "Well, Jesus fuckin' Christ, ya asked!"

"Whatever, fuck face." Then Connor noticed something: Murphy wouldn't even say his name. The bathroom door shut and after a few minutes, the shower started running.

It was ironic. Connor never felt so alone as he did right then, with his twin just in the other room. He put his head in his hands and sighed heavily, a stinging sensation burning at the backs of his eyes. "What the fuck do I do?" he muttered to himself.

Well, there were quite a few things he could have done. Leave a note that said goodbye in many, many words and just take off again. Wait for Murphy to get out of the shower so they could continue their conversation. Use that gun and shoot himself in the fucking head. Find a cigarette and smoke. Sound good at all, Connor?

He chose none of the above. He got up and, just as anyone would expect him to, he went to the bathroom. The door was locked, so he used one of those pens that the motel leaves in its rooms to pick the lock and go inside.

Murphy was taking a hot shower, the room was filling with steam and Connor instantly started to sweat. The mirror was fogged up, as was the shower door, but beyond it was the blurry, pale figure that was Connor's twin. "Get the fuck out," came loudly over the rush of water from the showerhead.

"Make me." The only response was an indignant grunt.

They both sat at the table: naked as the day they were born except for a complimentary towel around Connor's neck. Each had a cigarette in his mouth and his attention was locked on the other, thoughts on one subject. "Stop it," Murphy had said.

"I'm sorry," Connor repeated quietly.

"Shh…don' break the silence."

And their thoughts immediately returned to what they were thinking about before. "Stop it," Murphy had said.

It didn't stop Connor. "Make me." Connor took a long drag of his cig and blew the smoke upward in the air. Murphy didn't, or couldn't, make him stop; so he was pinned against the stained, tile wall of that motel shower.

"I'm serious, knock it off." Murphy ran a hand through his hair stoically and glanced over at his twin. Connor just wouldn't let him go. His clothes were getting all wet, but he didn't seem to care. Murphy felt like saying something like: "Stop it, I want to stay mad at you," but when it came to mind, Connor stole a kiss.

The pale one struggled against the tight grasp on his wrists and almost managed to push Connor away. The key word is almost. As steaming hot water hit his back, Connor took his brother for all that he could.

The lights were off and the curtains were shut, so the dim light gave a bit of mystery to their perspectives. Connor absently took the towel from his shoulders, ran it over his hair once and handed it to Murphy. The other accepted it stiffly and wiped his face free of the little droplets of water.

With a slight risk, Connor released one of Murphy's hands. It immediately latched itself into the front of his shirt—the part that was still dry. Connor forced his tongue into Murphy's mouth and ran his hand down his brother's torso. It was a bit too forced for it to be completely comfortable. Murphy whined slightly mostly at the awkwardness of this. He was still desperately clinging to his anger and melancholy that he'd become so used to the last two weeks.

"Stop," Murphy had repeated when Connor had finally broken the kiss. At the thought of this, Murphy's ears started to burn around the edges and turn red. Their eyes met for a beat, but they both looked away quickly.

"Say my name, damn it," Connor hissed digging his nails into Murphy's other wrist. "Why won't ya just say it?" Connor took his cigarette between two fingers as a pink tint arose on his cheeks.

Murphy wrenched his arm, trying to pull away, but Connor held firm. "Let me go." But Connor didn't. He growled in an annoyed way and dipped his head down to nibble the other's collarbone.

Murphy absently put his fingers on his sore wrist. "Why are you doin' this?" he didn't get answer until Connor's other hand found its way to the back of his thigh.

"Just say it." And Connor was almost begging then as he pressed his cheek into Murphy's chest. The dark-haired brother reached down and put his hand over Connor's.

"Are ya gonna stop if I do?" Murphy thought about how Connor had moved at that point. How Connor had then released his other wrist and gripped his ass. A quiet moan at the memory rose in the air. Both twins looked at each other and this time didn't look away. They smiled.

"I need ya ta say it Murph. I need it." Connor closed his eyes and ran his tongue desperately down his twin's torso. His hands gripped Murphy's legs tightly as he dropped to his knees. Then he used one of his hands to change Murphy's semi-erect member to fully-erect, and quickly substituted his hand for his mouth.

They were together now, Connor sitting on Murphy's lap, kissing him gently. Two cigarettes lay smoldering in the ashtray on the table and one chair sat without an occupant. "I'm sorry," Connor repeated, and he felt like he could never stop saying it with how sorry he was.

"Me too, Connor," Murphy muttered against Connor's chin. There he placed a sweet kiss.

"Christ!" Murphy held onto Connor's hair like it was his last lifeline to stay in this dimension. He went weak at the knees and thought very seriously that he would fall if not for Connor's grip on his ass and legs. "O God, Conn, yes!"