Nicholas: Oh, I FINALLY finished this one! Hell to the yeah! It was a challenge of A Hotter Kiss, because I'm becoming her little fanfiction slave and writing what she wants. Just kidding! Anyway, I hope you enjoy our sick and twisted-ness.

Disclaimer: Don't own it, I just do with it what I will.

Rating: M...sex...slash...twincest...language...bondage...S&M...confusing timeline that even adults might not follow correctly...wow that's a lot, ain't it?

Afterwards, Connor lay with his arms wrapped lazily around his brother; Murphy's wrists still shackled behind his back. It was kind of a cloudy, drug-like intoxication as Connor's tongue ran gently over the tiny cigarette burn on his brother's shoulder. That blemish was among the many bruises and scratches on Murphy's skin that had definitely not been there earlier that day. The sweet irony of it—that through all of their protecting each other, they had room to hurt each other as well—made Connor smile.

"Y'alright, Murph?" he asked quietly. It had been silent for the last few moments, and he felt almost as though it would shatter if he spoke too loud.

"Mm-hmm." That was supposed to be some sort of 'yes' or 'don't worry about it.'

"I didn't go over board, did I?"

"O' course not, but I could use a drink."

The apartment was empty for the longest time. It seemed like weeks of disuse that had made the very walls and chairs miss the presence of the tenants. Of course, Connor and Murphy MacManus never left their home for more than a day and a half. So, just as the light from the windows was getting dim and the glow of the walls was fading till it was near impossible to see, the door opened. They kissed in the doorway before entering and removing their rosaries to hang on the nails on the wall.

Immediately, Connor plopped down on the couch. Murphy went to his bed and started to go through his guns and such that were in the duffel bag. It would be silent for the next few moments, and both felt it was a shame to break it.

With a careful hand searching through his pockets, Connor salvaged the only cigarette he had left and put it in his mouth. He wouldn't light it yet. His hand was in his pocket once more, holding his lighter thoughtfully. He wouldn't light it yet, not yet. As he stared across the room at his brother, he smirked. Murphy took such good care of those guns that one would think he was having a love affair with them.

Murphy would lay each one out, six in all, and take the time and extra care to be completely certain that each one was clean before he moved to the next one. The sight of it made Connor feel very reassured. Through all of his brother's mania and rambunctious recklessness, there was something that he could calm down enough to make safe. Guns were no joke to the MacManus twins.

Connor watched Murphy caress the smooth metal of the first handgun. It was those hands…Running his fingers through his dirty blond hair, Connor thought about how well he knew Murphy's hands. The left was clean and smooth because Murphy didn't use it as much. The right…that was Connor's favorite. The way the inked word aéquitas snaked up his index finger and the tiny star that lay just near the 'a.' There was a small callous on the side of his middle finger because of how much Murphy had liked to write in school.

For his own safety, Connor wouldn't dare disturb his brother during the early parts of this ritual, so he just watched for as long as he though was necessary to clean some guns. It was beautiful to see Murphy be so gentle and loving to something; it almost made Connor jealous. He took the cigarette and looked at it as though it was somehow manipulating and controlling his current urges and actions. Abruptly, he put the cig back in his mouth and pulled off his shirt. He reached down and searched blindly just under the couch. When his hand returned, he had a pair of handcuffs with the key on a metal loop that was attached. He took the key off and set it on the table as he stood.

Murphy was only on his second to last gun—disassembling it and then cleaning each part with a stained rag he'd used time and time again. When he felt two fingers brush up the side of his neck, he smirked faintly, but then pretended to be too engrossed in what he was doing to respond. After a beat, the chair beneath him slid backward about an inch and Connor reached around him with one arm and hugged him tightly. No choice. No will or way to ignore him now. Murphy shook his head hopelessly and swiftly reassembled the handgun and set it on the mattress. As his hands lingered on the cool metal, Connor's loitered about the collar of his P-coat. Carefully, Connor dragged the collar away from his neck and pulled it the rest of the way off.

As Connor nipped and licked at the back of his neck, Murphy tried to speak above the excited whisper that the blond one was instigating. "I'm not done yet," he stated wryly.

Before responding, Connor set the handcuffs down and pulled Murphy's shirt up and off with both hands and let it fall to the floor. "That's too bad, en't it?" With a chuckle, he awkwardly pulled his brother sideways off the chair. Murphy didn't fight, but did twist a bit to land on his knees. "It's my turn tonight, brother." The light-heartedness of his words completely contrasted with the seeming serious image of Connor handcuffing his brother's wrists behind his back.

Six clicks had the metal just so tight that it was uncomfortable and Murphy was suddenly aware of Connor no longer behind him. He sat back on his feet and tried to look around but Connor pushed his head back while he walked around him. The blond one then took his sweet time in lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag. The lighter was carelessly tossed onto Murphy's mattress with the guns.

So tall…Murphy had to bend his neck to look up at Connor because of how close he was. "S'that the last one?" he asked quietly. So slowly…he watched as, so slowly, Connor kneeled down in front of him and put his mouth over his, breathing smoke into Murphy's lungs.

The hand with the cigarette meandered about behind the dark head of hair of the bound brother. Murphy inhaled and felt the dire need to hold his twin. Tonight, though, he wasn't allowed. He'd been through that before. It was another one of those nights, so he cherished what contact he had.

When Connor pulled away, a tiny white wisp flittered from between them. He stood. Murphy wanted to try something different. So, as his brother stood and became so tall again, Murphy leaned his head against Connor's tanned abdomen and kissed the fine line of hair just below the other's naval. The blond one returned the cig to his mouth and looked down at his brother, stroking the dark hair with his left hand. Such soft hair…Murphy always had soft hair and it was unusually long lately.

As Murphy kissed him again, his fingers mingled into the dark strands and for a moment, his palm cupped the back of Murphy's head. Then, suddenly and out of nowhere, Connor gripped tightly with both hands so that the pale one on his knees winced and abandoned his fixation on Connor's abdomen. Slowly, Murphy tried to get his feet under him as his brother pulled on his hair. He forced back a whimper and finally looked into Connor's eyes…fiery eyes. It is a foreign sight to see the blond twin so aggressive and it made Murphy both wary and wanting.

"Yer beautiful, Connor."

With a smile, the aforementioned twin tipped his brother's head up and stroked the pale skin and short stubble that blotched his chin—exploring like a child in new territory. "Only as lovely you. Now shhh…" The cigarette passed to Murphy's lips leaving opportunity for Connor's tongue to lap at the soft, fair skin that stretched over the jut of the other's collarbone.

An awkward bend as Connor pressed his hands against Murphy's back and upper thighs had Murphy off-balance. The only thing holding him up was Connor's strong, sure embrace. Murphy wanted to hold his brother, show how loved and protected he felt simply being in his twin's arms; he wanted to kiss his brother, give back a little of what he was getting. Connor wouldn't allow it, not tonight.

Unsteadily, Murphy was lowered down into the chair he'd occupied only five minutes before and Connor adjusted to straddle his lap. "Don' talk, brother." Connor kissed his neck, kissed him again, bit the flesh, and Murphy breathed in sharply. Eyes closed, fists clenched behind his back, Murphy groaned; the feeling of Connor's… something… no, the feeling of Connor just intoxicating in itself.

Connor was the vast congregation of everything Murphy needed to survive. Connor was his breath and life and soul… God, Connor was what made it possible for Murphy to get up in the morning and it was Connor's teeth as they sank deeper into Murphy's muscles and nerves sending a screaming, burning pain pulsing through his skull that kept him aware that this wasn't just a dream. This was reality and this was life, and it was the only life Murphy needed. Wait…was that Connor's hand?

Murphy was officially out of it—he was literally in every way high off of Connor. The pain lingered in delicate flares that pulsated in time with his heart pounding in his chest even after his brother's teeth had let up. Murphy barely noticed the change; barely remembered the cigarette in his mouth; barely felt Connor's light fingers tracing up his sides. With a squirm and an involuntary giggle, Murphy leaned back against the back of the chair. "I'm ticklish there."

Curiously, Connor's first reaction was to stand. He lifted his weight off of Murphy and gripped the other's jaw gently. It went quickly. "Fuck, that hurts!" Not until afterwards did Murphy realize that the lit end of the cigarette stolen from his mouth had been pressed into his bare shoulder. His arm twitched in the cuff at the ache as the spent cigarette fell to the floor.

"I said don' talk, 'member?" And there it was. Connor's controlling bastard side revealing itself once more and Murphy suddenly wanted to stomp on his toes.

Murphy stared indignantly up at his brother. He thought about saying something, just in spite of the warnings, but knowing Connor: that would probably not have been the best idea. So Murphy remained silent and even tried to quiet the heaviness of his breathing.

Connor smiled smugly and reached down to caress Murphy's cheek. "Thank ye, pipsqueak." Before Murphy had the chance to even try to protest the name, Connor's knee found its way between his thighs and rested there while Connor's lips kissed his.

Through the many times that Connor and Murphy had done this, whatever twin was in the handcuffs, neither was quite sure what would happen—or what had happened when they woke up the next morning. It wasn't exactly sex sometimes, and sometimes it wasn't exactly painful. But usually it was. It seemed like it had to be—painful, I mean. At times like these, they had to hurt each other, just to break away from their usual system of not letting each other get hurt.

"Connor, are ya gonna--?" Quickly silenced. Connor was in a bit of a frenzy now. Kissing Murphy's mouth, almost biting his lips. Fingers gripped Murphy's arms that it seemed it would leave bruises on the pale flesh. The blond one was all quick, indecisive movements. His hands went from the other's arms to his chest to his face to rest finally in his lap to undo his jeans.

Broken kiss. "Want to…God, I want to." They hadn't before. This was something they had never done, something they hadn't explored. This was a beast not yet tamed and not to be trifled with…unless Connor wanted to. "If yer ready?"

Despite talking, Connor didn't miss a beat. He lifted Murphy's lower half up from the chair and slid off his pants. "I'm…" No words from no opinion. Murphy had not idea how to respond. He pressed his face into his brother's hair. "Conn…I thought ya said 'don' talk,' right?"

A smirk on the tan twin's face. "Fine, then shut it." Connor stood once more and gripped one of Murphy's arms before pulling him up. Murphy barely had time to get his bearings straight, then he fell face first into the sheets—Connor's bed: gun free.

It was poker night at McGinty's and both brothers had maxed out the plastic at separate tables. Murphy then decided it was time for a piss break, and it was Murphy's turn to decide apparently. Connor soon followed him.

As soon as Connor followed, like the clumsy little twin he is, Murphy dragged him into a bathroom stall and pushed him against the door. This was a place that Murphy knew he wouldn't be disturbed. People tended to know better than to enter when one of the MacManuses was in the bathroom, let alone both of them.

Murphy was quick, drastic tonight. He kissed his brother, tongued open his mouth and the proceeded to suck out his tongue. Not the nicest thing to describe, but it does a number on Connor's senses. That and Murphy's hands that search his body, find his wrists and press them against that filthy men's room stall door.

What a feeling, what a time! Connor tried to kiss back, but Murphy wasn't having it. It was Murphy's turn, not Connor's—even though they wouldn't do anything really X-rated until they got home. Broken kiss. "I've been thinkin'."

"Oh Christ," Connor rolled his eyes, knowing this was going to be interesting to say the least. "I thought I smelt somethin' burnin'."

In a flash, Murphy put his brother's wrists together and them with one grip. His now free hand traced down Connor's chest and pinched a nipple through the shirt. "That was yer bettin'. It burns a fuckin' hole in yer pocket."

With a squeak and deep intake of breath, Connor conceded. "Alright, fine. What were ya thinkin', dearest brother?"

"I was wonderin' why we do what we do with those fuckin' handcuffs ya found that day." Now this was something a bit different. Connor found reason so actually shut up and listen—even though he was a bit distracted by the feeling of Murphy's heart beating against his, their chests were so close.

Murphy twisted awkwardly, trying to turn around, but soon felt his brother's weight on his back. Connor pushed his twin into the bed, tugging teasingly at the handcuffs. Abruptly, he pulled off Murphy's boxers and stood, leaving Murphy exposed and shaking with anticipation. Picture, fucking, perfect.

The sound of a zipper unzipping and clothes rustling: Murphy's mind wandered dangerously. He was nervous. Again, for the record, he'd never done this before, had no idea what it would be like except that it would hurt. There was only one sure thought he could cling to: he wanted Connor. He wanted Connor and he wanted Connor to have him no matter how painful, degrading or strange the acts that were entitled to that.

With a deep inhalation and every other measure he deemed necessary to calm himself just enough to keep a straight head, Connor slipped an arm around his brother and pulled his torso up. Murphy adjusted awkwardly to get his knees bents underneath him. Connor held him just a bit tighter and nudged his own bent knees between the other's, spreading Murphy's legs a bit, and put his other arm around Murphy's neck lightly.

Murphy's heart started beating just a bit faster, then a bit more. What was Connor doing fucking around like this? He was taking his damn time and Murphy knew he was doing it on purpose. "Conn…" He was whining now, almost at the point of begging. He felt his brother's warm, naked form pressed against him and then Connor's pulsing length against his thigh. "Connor, just fuckin' do it."

Connor's body was shaking and his heart pounding at having his brother in this very compromising position. He wasn't one to fear knew experiences, and even though he was wary of anything that meant Murphy was in on it, he felt that twinge of adrenaline rush inside of him. "Okay, Murph." His arm that had been around his brother's neck now moved, the hand covering Murphy's mouth.

With no further warning, Connor pushed himself inside; his fingers felt Murphy's jaw tense and his face scrunch up. There was a high-pitched cry from the paler twin that floated about the room as Connor went about solving the dilemma of not wanting to hurt his twin too badly but wanting to fuck him into the mattress at the same time.

Connor felt Murphy's nails dig into the flesh on his stomach. With a quick flash of a strained smirk, Connor pressed his face into the soft, sweat-slicked muscle in between his brother's shoulder blades and thrust sharply. Murphy cried out desperately behind the other's hand.

"I'm sorry." But Connor didn't need to apologize. In that sadistic or masochistic moment, Murphy found the tearing, searing pain to be quite enjoyable no matter how much he may have screamed. "I'm sorry," Connor muttered again and then drove in again. After a slight pause, he felt Murphy's teeth set into his index and middle fingers. He closed his eyes as he lost grasp on what he was doing and his movements became erratic and involuntary.

"I think I figured it out," Murphy went on, leaning ever so much more on his brother. "Ya know how ya hear about those brothers and twins an' such who get all butt hurt over some stupid shite an' then never talk ta each other again? Well, we do what we do, hurt each other and shite, because if everything were all neat an' proper between one of us would fuck it up and we'd end up bein' like those whiny-ass fucks ya see on TV."

"Yer eloquence astounds even me, Murphy." Connor's smug grin had sarcasm written all over it. Still, he barely had time to laugh before Murphy unlocked the stall door that he was leaning against and the blond twin stumbled backward, ass over teakettle into a puddle of God knows what on the tile floor near the sinks. He hoped to high heavens that it was water, for Murphy's sake.

Murphy snickered a few times and walked up to his fallen twin. He was met with a vicious glare. "Ya alright, Conn?" he asked carefully.

"Mm-hmm." That was supposed to be some sort of 'yes' in a sense that he was pissed off.

"I…" Murphy cleared his throat awkwardly. "I didn't go overboard, did I?"

After a beat, Connor shook his head and smiled hopelessly. "O' course not, how can I stay mad at ye. But I do believe it's about time we got home."

"Exactly what I was thinkin'."