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They had spent days on the run, seeking sanctuary where possible, in churches and sympathetic homes. They were never apart. They never killed unless commanded by the Voice. And they kept escaping and kept surviving.
But others had not. In the last few years, Smecker and their father had both been killed, targets of different enemies united in one common goal - revenge against the McManus brothers.
Their grief and anger and hurt and despair were all still afresh, but on the run the brothers needed their strength and could not brood or release the feelings they carried. The Voice had not spoken to them, and thus their revenge against these killers was not to be blessed. They wanted to strike out and hurt in retaliation, but that was not the mission.
And so they bottled up their pain, constantly seeking a new home. Tired of being on the run, they wanted a few precious moments to settle down and relax, take stock of life and regroup themselves.
They left Boston in a stolen car, swapping it continuously for new cars as they meandered their way around the United States. They stayed low key, and tried to avoid making impressions wherever they went. This was more difficult than it appeared, giving their love of drinking and making merry and scrapping with each other.
They drove slowly in the heat, sweating and shirtless from lack of air conditioning. Connor normally drove, Murphy content to smoke and stare out the window, amusing Connor for hours with his endless musings on life, clouds, God, and booze. Their bare skin stuck to the hot vinyl car seats, making them sticky and sweaty. The radio blared away as they sped further and further into no return. The black wraparound sunglasses they wore non-stop were starting to leave white lines on the sides of their faces.
They actually had decent tans, a change from the fish belly whiteness of living in Boston. Connor had quickly turned a dark brown, looking almost Californian with his dark blue eyes and bleached out hair. Murphy, with his mother's light Irish skin tone, kept burning and peeling for days, complaining about his itchiness and flaky skin. Connor had great delight in tickling his brother's daily sunburns, slapping at the red swatches, teasing him non-stop about looking like a peeling leper. But Murphy finally did tan, looking different, almost unfamiliar, as his hair grew and lightened in the heavy sun and his skin went cocoa coloured. It was a good look for Murphy, almost healthy looking, very sexy. They drove for days aimlessly before deciding it was time to go to ground.
The twins wound up in a small one-horse town outside of nowhere. Dust blew on a desolate and deserted road. Upon seeing a reasonably clean building one afternoon, too hot to keep driving, they decided it was time. They pulled up in front of a burnt out vacancy sign hanging from the side of a roadside motel. They sat for a moment, looking and wondering what the inside could possibly look like.
Finally, Connor spoke. "Go in with me?" he asked. Murphy hopped out, grabbing their rank and filthy shirts and beaten up cigarettes on the way. After so many long hours driving, it felt good to stop and walk around and stretch and enjoy the sun with a cigarette in hand. The slight breeze in the heat caressed their sweaty backs, still sweltering from so much contact with the hot car seats. They eventually put their dirty shirts back on, wincing at the smell, then entered the office. They casually chatted up the motel manager, and swung a cheaper price for a week's room rental in exchange for cash payment. All in all, a good deal for all parties involved.
They drove around to the far back wall of the motel, away from the road traffic and other occupants. Grabbing their few meager belongings, the brothers unlocked their room and entered, bickering amiably about first dibs on the shower.
The room, while on the small size, was still clean and reasonably tidy and fresh. They had a dresser and a working television with cable, and a tiny bathroom with the basics. The main room was almost filled with the two double beds. "Right on! We have bigger beds!" Murphy exclaimed joyously. Connor started laughing at him. Murphy got an indignant look in his eyes. "What! I have now spent months sleeping on floors at friend's places, and in shite hotels with smelly tiny single beds, and on benches outside in parks, and even in a fucking bathtub once. And now we *each* have a bed, and they're doubles!”
With that, Murphy vigorously threw himself the far bed and bounced around in delight. "It's even got springs in it - and there's no fucking holes and no lumps and no fucking bugs! Come on, Connor, this is the best we've had it in years - we're going to sleep so well!"
His brother's exuberance was contagious and Connor started laughing and checking out their new digs properly. He had to admit the place was a lot nicer than what they been reduced to in the past months. It was certainly cheaper living south than it was in Boston. Hotels there cost dear money, but here the roadside motels offered off-season major discounts.
The brothers had money on them, though not a lot. They could not have bank accounts or work legitimately, given they were wanted, so they worked under the table where they could. They saved quite a bit after their last jobs as underground gambling couriers. They would have no problem staying in the motel and maintaining a low profile for the week.
The two men took turns showering, tired of the heat and sweat, and threw on some vaguely cleaner clothes. "We need to do laundry!" joked Connor. Murphy laughed back, slapping him on the shoulder, "We need some new clothes, Connor! These pieces of shite are no longer going anywhere near my body! I want to burn them, and soon!" Murphy snickered to himself at the thought of all his clothes going up in flames, before adding, "Maybe we can find a discount store here, there seemed to one a bit back on the road when we drove here. I'd love something decent that I haven't slept in and bled in for the last several months". Connor concurred, so they struck out in the car, exploring.
They back-tracked to the used clothing store, rolling to a stop out front. The two men stared in amazement, and then started hooting with laugher. Above the door, the sign read," Sanctuary: a refuge for lost clothes". Connor looked at Murph with a grin on his face, and punched him in the shoulder, saying, "Aye, this is definitely our place to shop! Good call, brother!". Like every store they have driven past, the clothing shop looked shabby from the outside, warm and faded by the sun. But inside, the clothes were neatly sorted into large bins and organized by style and sex. Being the middle of the afternoon, the thrift shop was near empty, the cashier lazily reading a novel.
Murphy and Connor wandered around exploring different bins, grabbing clothes for themselves as well as for the other. They knew each other's style, as it was also their own. That's why they dressed alike. Murphy was slightly shorter and Connor was wirier, but otherwise they were the same. Jeans, t-shirts, shorts, shoes, even boxers - they picked up whatever they could find that they needed and lugged the piles over to the changing room.
The change area was make-shift, with a few rods holding up used white linen sheets, breaking them into small change rooms. The twins started out in separate rooms trying clothes on, but as they came out to look in the lone cracked mirror leaning against the wall, they started swapping what they wore. And as they swapped more and more, changing on the spot in front of each other, they became more flushed and self-conscious of each other's presence. They could not help but look closely at one another's bodies, the way the clothes hung from each other, draped in comfy soft, worn fabrics.
They always shared their clothes, only buying what they both wanted to wear. "What do you think of this" and "This looks better on you" and "Try this instead with it." They chatted back and forth casually, hiding their growing tension. The change area was small, with only a small open window to provide any kind of air. Dust danced in the small sunbeam. The room felt too close.
Murphy kept desperately turning his eyes away from Connor whenever Connor went to lift his shirt to swap for another. And Connor had to keep biting his lip to stop himself from groaning whenever Murphy's hands dropped to unbuckle the pants he was trying on. Neither knew what to do, alone in their heads. Then it happened.
Connor casually tossed Murphy a shirt he had noticed earlier, saying, "let's see this one then, Murph, try this on". Murphy yanked off the shirt he was wearing, standing in the dim room light, a sheen of sweat from the late afternoon heat in the store causing his body to glow. Connor's eyes slightly widened as he noticed a small bead of sweat wandering its way down Murphy's tattooed neck. In his mind, he could see himself leaning over and licking that trickling bead away, cooling Murphy's skin with his tongue. He'd bathe Murphy, licking him all over like a mother cat. He mentally kicked himself, and tore his eyes away, desperate to think of anything but the sweat on Murphy's body.
And then Murphy pulled the shirt over his head, popping both arms up and out the short sleeves simultaneously, as he always did. The ice blue shirt was worn soft, almost translucent in places, and hugged Murphy's lean body. Connor noted the shirt had snagged on Murphy's jeans when pulling the shirt on, and without much thought, he reached over and flicked the tangled material loose, his knuckles gently brushing up against Murph's warm, sweat-laced skin. And them Connor surprised himself by gently sliding his knuckles up and just inside Murphy's shirt. He stood there, just lightly touching Murphy, no air stirring, the two of them simply breathing ... before slowly pulling his fingers away.
All this time, he had been looking down, looking at his hand touching Murphy, wondering what he was doing, what his hand was doing. When he looked up and met Murph's wickedly blue eyes calmly staring at him, he awkwardly turned away, before Murphy reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back around. Murphy smiled crookedly at him, and then shyly held out a pair of black jeans, over-dyed and still true in colour. "Here, I grabbed these for you".
Connor, looked down, and a bloom of pink blossomed heavily on his cheeks, causing Murphy to pause and question just what the fuck was going on. But then Connor grabbed the jeans and turned away, quickly dropping his faded and still slightly bloodstained blue jeans, revealing his muscular sandy brown haired thighs.
He momentarily stood there in his boxers, facing away from Murphy, then took a deep breath and bent over to pull on the black jeans. The thin boxer material stretched tight over Connor's butt, momentarily highlighting the soft crack of his ass. Baby fine hair stuck out from the top of the boxers, a soft downy fuzz at the crest where his ass and back met. Murphy gulped, wanting to reach over to stroke that softness, and pretty much stopped breathing for a second upon realizing what he wanted to do.
Connor's back was battered like his own, scratches and cuts and scars cross crossing every which way. God never said smoting was going to be easy and pain free. And once again, Murphy wondered where he should be looking, because watching his brother partially strip was making him really hard, aching hard, and this was really fucked up. He wanted to lick and stroke those scars, kiss his pain away, run his tongue over the cuts to feel their roughness and taste Connor's blood when they re-opened.
He opened his mouth, not sure of what he was about to do or what he might say, but then Connor turned back towards him, drawing the black jeans up and settling them to rest just under his hip bones. He had part of his t-shirt tucked up under his chin so he could see what he was doing. Murphy almost groaned at seeing the tanned field of Connor's stomach. Connor was cut, and the v through his lower abs was quite pronounced, mainly due to their lack of food the past few months on the run. Still, malnourishment made Connor look downright raw and sexy. Murphy was tempted to touch Connor, to pass his fingers across Connor's stomach, to follow the path of hair that led so temptingly under the waistband.
But Connor suddenly zipped the fly up, the sound ringing loud in their mutual silence, and adjusted the waist so that the button rested just under the line of hair trailing down from his belly button. He looked up suddenly, his raised shirt sliding down over his chest, catching Murphy licking his lips and watching him appreciatively. Murphy's normally glacial blue eyes had hard-darkened to almost a deep seal black with desire. Swollen lips attested to his recent gnawing, a common sign of Murph's anxiety manifesting itself. Murphy went still, caught openly staring at Connor dressing, and Connor looked back, caught in his desiring eyes. And both men quickly glanced away, silently agreeing they had had enough. Neither really could figure out what had just happened between them.
In desperation to leave this uncomfortably public space, they decided upon one large pile that looked fine on them both, and quickly changing and buying the worn clothes, took their new belongings back to the car. But Murphy made sure the black jeans were in the collection, as was the blue shirt that Connor seemed to enjoy touching so much. Murphy grinned to himself.
In addition to clothes, they actually also nabbed some ten cent novels, mugs and saucers and cups and plates and utensils for the motel that they could easily take along for the road journey. They felt rich having a few things to themselves again, and decided to go out drinking in celebration after unpacking the car.
They stowed their new items in the motel room, and grabbed more showers, taking advantage of the free hot water that was included in the price. It had been months since they had been able to shower as often as they wished.
They carefully avoided walking around clad only in a towel, though this normally was their routine while they showered and dressed. This time, without a word, they each grabbed clothes to take with them into the bathroom, emerging minutes later refreshed and scrubbed and already dressed to head out.
And to have new clothes! The feel of the soft worn clothes on their clean skin felt heavenly, like the Voice was once again blessing them with love.
Having settled into their new temporary home, they went out cruising for dinner, and of course, alcohol, an Irish must. Wisely, they left the car behind at the motel and walked down the street to the nearest watering hole with a menu, knowing they did not want to have to stagger very far later on. They were always and relieved that the Voice did not bring up their drinking habits. Especially tonight, where the brothers felt a bit raw around each other, exposed, some tension still blocking their easy familiarity. Getting plastered was their way of coping without having to actually address the situation.