I was drinking hot soup at work and thinking of other warm, delicious things I could be drinking...
Rating: pg13 for curses
Disclaimer: not mine, mmkays?
Summary: In which Murphy has a brilliant idea
AN: I've been told I switch tenses in two paragraphs (I'm sure ya'll notice which ones) but I think that's how I wanted it, or something. I'm not sure. At any rate... thanks to irishjeeper
for the speedy beta!
He can’t remember being this excited, ever. Another snowflake sticks itself to the window, vanishing nearly as fast as it appears, melting against the glass, and Murphy smiles. He watches the sparse white flakes drift lazily down from the sky, like they don’t really want to stay, only want to let the world know they’re here.
And he thinks about Connor. Connor had gone out to get cigarettes and beer, essentials when one was down to only two of each. He watched the snow and thought of how it would stick to his brother’s hair as he walked, specks of crystal against the stiff and styled lengths of brown. And this time he laughs, because as beautiful and untouchable as those perfect sparkles of white would make his brother seem, he can only picture Connor grumbling, about the cold, the loss of kinder seasons, and the fact that he’d been the one to lose the round of rock, paper, scissors that put him at the mercy of the cold in the first place.
A sudden longing for warmth slips under his skin and his smile disappears. He wants to turn the heat on for Connor, make their run down loft something more like a home, but he knows he can’t. They don’t have the means. He thinks for a second about all the things he wishes he could give to his brother: a Christmas tree, presents he’d actually asked for wrapped in beautiful red paper, cocoa with those little marshmallows floating all around on top...
His mind skitters to a stop, catching on something, a little flicker of a memory from no more than weeks, maybe a few months ago. After a few deep breaths, frustrating himself with trying to bring the memory to the forefront of his mind, and it clicks. Cocoa, a box of off-brand hot cocoa mix he’d bought to kill the sour taste of the loft’s inadequate hot water, and the look from his brother in the supermarket that told him quite clearly Connor had thought his little brother was going insane.
It was suddenly as if Murphy couldn’t move fast enough. The convenience store he thinks is only five blocks down and his brother should be back any minute. He turns on the tap and leaves it to run, hoping the water will be warm enough before… well before he thinks it will be too late to be a surprise.
He finds two mugs stuffed in the back of one of two of their only cupboards. Smiling again, he pours the cocoa in and remembers stealing the mugs from a diner in the city almost a year ago. Maybe not so much stealing as walking out oh so nonchalantly with them, both gripping one tightly, almost daring someone to take them away. They’d been a little drunk, and stealing mugs had seemed like the most badass thing they could possibly do at the time.
A creak-snap on the stairs outside of the loft pulled him from his thoughts and brought back the urgency to finish his task before his brother made it through the door. A quick hand thrust under the running water and his resulting yelp of surprise confirmed to Murphy that the water was indeed hot enough and he slipped the mugs under the flow, filling them both to the top, the running water doing much to mix the cocoa for him.
The door to the loft began to creak open, sticking slightly with the new moisture in the air, with Murphy rushing haphazardly towards it while trying not to spill any of the chocolate liquid.
A few curses later and a shoulder to the outside of the stubborn door brings Connor stumbling into the room, a six pack in one hand and a small bag containing the cigarettes in the other. He drops the cigs in the corner without looking up and runs his now open hand furiously through his hair, ridding himself of the snowflakes that had settled quite happily there.
“Feckin snow… not even November yet, what the f….” Connor looks up and finds himself face to face with the most achingly beautiful site he remembers seeing in a long time: His brother standing in front of him, arms held out, a mug in each hand. Eyes so bright and expectant Connor’s next breath comes out in a wheeze. What was that he smelled?
“Murph, is that,” he sniffs again and leans over to set the liquor on the floor. Standing, he takes another deep breath and holds it for a second. It is indeed what he thinks it is but all that comes out is, “Cocoa…?” in a childish voice that, if pressed, he would never admit was his own.
“Tried to think of something warm,” is all he can get out, finding himself lost in his brother’s candid surprise.
He holds out a mug to his twin, pulling his hand back and shaking it in the air to cool it down when Connor takes it. Damn, but those mugs are toasty.
“Murph, I…” he catches his brother’s expectant look and arches his brows, lifting the sweet smelling concoction to his lips and gingerly taking a sip. It’s still hot and warms his throat as it slides down, spreading a pleasant heat within as it reaches his stomach. He let’s out a groan of appreciation and takes another sip, chasing away the chill still clinging to him from the walk back home. He licks his sugary lips and opens his eyes to his brother still clinging to his cup, waiting for some sort of confirmation that he’d done well. Connor gives him a smile he hopes conveys all of his warmth and appreciation, “It’s good, Murphy,” he says sincerely, setting his mug down.
For a second, Murphy’s eyes narrow in confusion as he watches his brother place the mug on a stand. “Con, is it, did I not…” he sniffles nervously, “is it not warm enough?”
But Connor just starts walking towards him, sillysweet smile still stuck firmly in place and gently takes Murphy’s still steaming mug of hot chocolate from his hands, sliding his fingers against his twins in any way he can as he pulls the mug away before setting it on the table behind his confused little brother.
“ ‘S perfect,” he says tenderly, and Murphy can’t find time to respond before his lips are covered with Connor’s, still warm and soft from the chocolate. The sliver of anxiety about his cocoa-making faults slips away rapidly and he mewls softly in the back of his throat, positive that Connor’s mouth will catch it.
Connor’s hands slide down to his hips and he can’t help but whimper and nibble at his older brother’s full lower lip, sticky with cooling cocoa, when he finds his hips being pressed back into the table.
Before he gives his mind and body over to his twin completely, Murphy’s heavy breathing catches with the realization that he forgot to put in the marshmallows.Ah, feck it… don’t need marshmallows, got Connor…
is the last thought he has before the contented sigh he didn't quite realize he was holding slips from his mouth to his twin's. Murphy giggles into the kiss, pleased he could pull this reaction from Connor, and allows the sweet chocolatey taste of his brother’s tongue take him away from the cooling weather and everything to do with it. Everything but hot cocoa, that is…