Sans Pants

Written for Ni, who just wanted me to write incest. Wench.

Murphy tore through the door like a madman.

“Some fucking day!” He swore again and began tearing off his jacket. His shoes were next, taking a wide leap across the loft and landing on the shower floor with two effective thumps. Connor looked up from his reading and raised an eyebrow.

“Bad day?”

Murphy gave him a look that clearly told him he had just said so, hadn’t he?

“What the fuck do you think?” He kicked the wall and flopped down on his bed, practically pouting. Connor sighed and closed his book. Turning to his brother, he propped himself up on one arm and made a gesture with the other.

“Well, what the fuck happened, then?”

“Fucking Lisa!” Murphy almost growled the last bit, except it came out more like a whine, and he huffed.

“Who the fuck is Lisa?”

“She’s insane, that’s who she is!” Murphy was still looking at the ceiling, his arms crossed across his chest. Connor knew from this stance that he wouldn’t get much out of Murphy just then. He flopped onto his back, and grabbed a cigarette from the floor. Having lit it, he passed it wordlessly to his brother, who took it instinctively, in a practiced way, having been made perfect by many bad days. Connor watched him close his eyes and inhale deeply, almost with pleasure. He turned around and lit his own cigarette, blowing the smoke towards the ceiling.

“Go for a pint?” He offered, turning his head towards Murphy.

“Sure. You pay.”

Connor huffed a laugh and slowly lifted himself off the bed. “Come along, then.” He slowly got up and searched for his own boots. “Well?” He turned back and looked at Murphy, who was eyeing him with some amusement. “What the fuck is it?”

“Want to put your pants on?”

Bewildered, Connor looked down at himself. Due to the heat working overtime with nobody to fix it, he’d forgotten than he hadn’t bothered with neither jeans nor, for that matter, underwear. His feet were half-way into his boots. “Ah, shut it, will you? It’s hot as arse in here!”

“And it’s a hot arse in here, too.” Murphy’s bad day seemed to have been forgotten. Connor turned to face him fully and cocked an eyebrow.

“Is it now?” He put his hands on his hips.

“Aye, ‘tis.” Murphy smirked.

“Well, then.” Connor smirked back. “Perhaps that pint may have to wait, then, Murphy?”

“I may have to agree with your logic there, Connor.”

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