Nicholas: Becki's Challenge. She wanted smut, but I decided to surprise her by making this a different crossover of Run the Wild Fields instead of Deuces Wild. I hope you like it. Becki and I decided that Tom needed to be a bit corrupted.

Murphy stares intently towards the showers, even though he's supposed to be looking at the TV like his brother sitting beside him. For a while, Connor tries to ignore the fact that Murphy had his eyes locked on another man. Sure, he was a very good looking man, but a drifter whom they let use their shower just out of the goodness of their Irish Hearts. And the dark-haired twin had damned, wandering eyes; it was annoying. "Ya want ta take a picture?" Connor asks grumpily.

Abruptly, the other is taken aback. "What?" Hesitantly, he turns away from the radiant, naked figure in the steamy depths at the far end of their flat. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there isn't much ya could be doin' ta him as far as undressin' him with yer eyes goes." The blond doesn't even turn away from the TV set and the remote in his hand as he flips through the channels.

With a questioning look, Murphy contemplates his brother's mood. "Oh I see," he mutters mischievously. The revelation has fallen on him, but he's torn two ways. "Either yer jealous that m'not savin' me eyes fer ye—which I understand, tho' I told ya time an' time again that when I'm horny there en't much I won't look at far as naked people go—or ye want ta be the one ta fuck him."

There was a sharp crack as the remote makes brutal contact with Murphy's raven-bristled head. "I'll give ya one more scenario ta try an' hammer its way inta tha' thick skull o' yers. Maybe I'm not as narrow minded as you."

"Fuckin' liar. Fraternal or no, we still have the same tastes." Trying not to make a show of rubbing the sore spot on his head, Murphy directed his twin's line of sight in the direction of the rushing water through rusty, old pipes. "I mean, look at'im. Strong legs, firm ass, square tense shoulders. He's tanned like a farmer an' well-built too. At first glance, I might e'en mistake him fer you on the street. Golden hair, lean frame…he's a sexy one, he is…Jus' like someone else I know." Pale fingers traced up Connor's jaw with a light, tickling stroke.

"Oh shove it up yer arse."

"Stop bein' so glum or I might have ta go find some other release fer this." He grips himself through his jeans and jerks his head in the stranger's direction.

Almost immediately, Connor grips the other's shirt, a clear and possessive symbol of ownership of the other twin. "Knock it off with that, Murph. I en't in the mood fer none o' yer shite." The fabric is harsh and stuffy on his fingers, and the cotton of his own T-shirt feels the same. He needs it off. He tears it up from his back and tosses it on the floor.

"I know what ye are in the mood for. Ya do want ta fuck him."

"Shut it, ya bastard."

"I'm alright with it, ya know."

"Shhhhh…"

"All ya need is ta get his permission."

"Murphy…one more word an' I might be forced ta send ya flyin' down a flight o' stairs…Accident'ly o' course."

Rolls his eyes as he watches Connor get up and toss the remote back down to the couch. He is confused. "Where're ya goin'?"

"Take a piss."

"D'ya need ta take yer shirt off fer that?" Murphy doesn't get a response, doesn't expect to. He just follows his brother's graceful form as he crosses the apartment, just as Murphy knew he would. Getting up, the pale twin moves to sit on the set and get a better perspective of what he wants to see. "That's me boy," he mutters under his breath.

"Hope ye don' mind," Connor stated, not to scare the man he was approaching from behind. He goes to the toilet and unzips his fly to relieve himself. "Ya travel a lot?" he asks to make conversation.

The man looks over his shoulder at the Irishman, trying not to feel out of place in someone else's shower when that someone else is about five feet away from him. "Yeah, I guess I do," he replies gingerly. "Don't get 'round to bathin' of'en, so…"

"Nah, don't mention it." Connor glances behind him at the naked man and tries not to smile too smugly at being able to see every aspect he wants to. "Got a name?"

"Tom. Tom Walker."

"Well, Tom Tom Walker…" Zipping himself up again, he turned to his guest and didn't hide his gaze. "Ya headin' anywhere special?" The other shakes his head and looks away with a bit of a blush. Connor noticed the awkward stance, but still couldn't tear his eyes away. "Then…ya gettin' away from somethin'?" It's a sore subject; the other man flinches, probably from some bad memory. "Sorry, don' mean ta pry."

"It ain't that…just…"

From his seat across the room, Murphy can barely hear what they're saying, but he can see his brother make the first move just clearly. The blond twin hooks one thumb in the belt loop on his pants and then went over to shut off the shower. "Sneaky dog," he mutters, removing his black top and throwing it down next to the other by the couch. He gets up.

Tom's heart is jumping at an alarming rate as the Irishman that looks just like him closes those few inches between them. He's not sure what to do at first, if this is alright or not. Ultimately, he makes the decision to try and smother those harsh, excited breaths and let tall, lean, tan and handsome take hold of his chin and shoulder and press soft lips against his. The steam flutters away, but the heat hangs around leaking down his torso in the form of three fingers tracing skin and an arm wrapping around his waist. Rough denim scrapes between his thighs as his knees buckle slightly.

"M'Connor," the Irishman states, licking a warm tongue along the stranger's jaw. "MacManus. Pleased ta meet ya." Hand explore the hidden depths of a man they've never touched before and then Connor turns him around, placing meaningless, but lovely kisses along untasted skin.

Bare back against bare chest, blond head leaning back next to blond head leaning forward, tan skin slicking across wet, tanned skin. Connor holds Tom like a new toy, one that he hasn't been able to test its durability yet. Arms wrap tightly around the Southern, farmer-boy, touching him, making him whine and moan and mewl like he never had before. He wonders what he is doing, but it quickly occurs to him that he doesn't care so long as he can be held like this longer. He's been alone too long on dark roads, so this unexpected and almost scary contact is more than welcome. Fingers loop around his manhood, fill him with life he didn't have before as it attracts blood to a certain area of his body. "Ungh," he mutters at a bite on his neck.

Until he sees the dark hair and pale skin of the other brother, he has forgotten that he's there. "Gonna share, Conn?" a quirky smirk as another pair of hands, cooler and rougher, run over Tom's chest. "Th'name's Murphy." A pair of thin lips drops down on the drifter's collarbone. Connor says something that might be "Get yer own," but it's muffled by a wet shoulder against his mouth. "Welcome ta the MacManus household."

Suddenly, Murphy's face, pale and stern and statuesque, is gone and dark strands of soft hair stroke over Tom's face. Turning to see better, the drifter is stunned to see such a passionate lip lock between brothers, but his body can't show that. It seems to have forgotten how to do much but hold an erection and hitch at the feeling of warmth and heat around him. Pressure and saliva on his shoulder, dragging down his chest and over his nipple. Connor, behind him, takes hold of his wrists and pulls them back. Tom's hands flex, but he doesn't struggle; struggling would risk moving Murphy from this journey he's taking down the drifter's body.

"I…" Can't make words, can't move tongue right. Two hands pry his thighs apart and Murphy's knees finally touched the puddle tile and soaked up some water as he gripped tight to the tanned hips that were so much like his brother's. He laps carefully at the swelling that his twin has set into this man. Hearing the whimper, he reaches forward to the denim jeans in front of him and pinches the other's leg. Tom's voice goes sharp as teeth set into his shoulder. The stranger's body hitched until Murphy held him still and sucked him into his mouth.

The same moment that Connor released one of Tom's wrists that hand shot up and gripped blond hair—a mixture of his own and the Irishman's. "God…I barely—I barely know you guys."

Zipper down, button undone, pants down. Need to take these things one step at a time so that Connor can get what he wants out of this. Just seeing his twin on his knees doing that has him hard and throbbing. Needs relief.

Tom screams, but it's the good kind of scream. It's the kind that begs for more with just one shrill sound; it lets a piece of his soul flutter like a banshee about the room. His other hand wriggles free and grips the dark hair perched just below his navel.

"Know us better then ya think," Connor grunts, pushing himself in deeper; that tight heat fluctuates and clamps down on the Irishman making them both whine in needed pleasure. A violent tremor shoots through both of them, Connor takes the whole shebang against the shower wall give himself some leverage to drive harder into this drifter.

Murphy makes some accenting noise in the back of his throat. A loud moan raises like that scream and Tom is squirming so wonderfully. The coal-haired brother can feel the force of Connor's thrusts in his mouth and he feels a twinge of jealousy that this stranger gets to feel this too. Don't use the teeth, he reminds himself, he doesn't deserve the teeth.

Groggy, muggy feeling when he tried to wake up. It has been an awful long time since he's been in a bed, a real bed. An arm is thrown over him and at first he doesn't remember why. Tanned skin matching his own naked flesh. What happened? Why does he ache the way he does? Oh…that's right…

Turning carefully, he looks at the two brothers snuggled together tightly behind him. Ah Hell, Tom thinks, trying to find Murphy's face behind Connor's head. They must have slept soundly last night after all that exercise they got. The drifter could distinctly remember lying beside the passion played out by these twins. The mattress had shaken and screeched, but Tom had been too tired to move away or anything. He just watched the one called Murphy fuck his brother senseless into the bed. Now he stares at the now still forms spooned together and wonders perhaps if he should be offended. He isn't.

Sitting up stiffly, Tom rubs the sleep from his eyes and feels better than he's felt in a long time despite the ache and nagging pain in his ass. He'll get over it. His pants are nowhere to be seen, but his bag is still tucked neatly away in the corner. Just as he is about to get up and get it, he feels something on his back. Turning around, he sees Connor's eyes half-open staring at him.

"Leavin' so soon?" the Irishman asks quietly.

"Don't wanna be a bother or nothin'," Tom states, debating whether or not to go back to bed or get his stuff.

"Not a bother, yer just really warm so…" Long, thin fingers trace the spot Tom had been in on the sheets. "…if ya wouldn't mind stickin' around?"

Murphy stirs and then pulls his arm tighter around his brother's waist, but does not object. They look so perfect like that. Even Tom has to admit that he's never seen two people love each other more. "Sure…" he mutters uncertainly. He's back in bed in a few moments and the dark-haired twin reaches to the foot of the bed to get a blanket over them to keep them warm until the light hours of the morning.