Connor MFing MacManus

“That was gunshots.”

(i’ve waited literally years for this and let me tell you…it did not disappoint)

If you don’t watch this show for the ghosts, at least watch it for these two idiots.

Resetting himself, steeling his emotions, Connor looked through the sights, lining it up.  The bow released easily, giving him a hard kickback in his shoulder that did end up sending him back towards Daryl, their bodies colliding softly, but the arrow made close enough to its mark for him to let out a whoop of victory.

His hands were hovering over Connor’s forearms, approving the line of sight with a grunt. He was startled as the kickback from the bow pushed Connor back against him, and he stumbled away like he’d been shocked. He shook himself, collected himself, and then said, “Better. Still worser’n than a blind kid in’a room full a’ deer, though.” He bit back a grin as he snatched his bow from Connor’s arms and then shook his head, heading out to grab his arrows. Maybe the distance would be good after that, enough to cool off. 

Connor hoped he’d take him up on it.  He hasn’t had anyone to practice with for months and he was certain that Daryl would be the most fun partner out of anyone at the camp, if nothing else than for the challenge.  But who wouldn’t want to see Daryl tied up all pretty hanging from a tree branch by restraints on different parts of his body?

He looks over his shoulder as he’s called, squints at the man who offers him a lesson on knot tying. He scoffs quietly, but its a friendly kind of sound, and he nods. He’s been wondering why the hell Connor’s been wanting to spend more time with him, but he wasn’t going to complain. “I c’n learn a thing er two…” he says as he straightens. His quiver is full again and he comes back to Connor, a little uncertainty coloring his features. 

He never so much considered himself a masochist, but Daryl found he did enjoy a little bit of pain with his pleasure. With his rollercoaster like attraction to Connor, Daryl found himself a little short of breath, shifting on his feet as his body reacted in a whole new different way. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable as his cheeks colored. “Jus’ get on with it.” 

As his fingers traced along the bare skin once again, watching the gooseflesh raise, Connor knew they had all the time in the world.

Ay, brothermine!  Ye always do like an audience when ye lose ta me!  Tis fine though, I’ll buy the first round so when you’re so drunk ye don’t remember I can always say the next round is on ye.  Now what sort of prize are we drinkin’ for?

Ain’ not’in better t’an yer mout’ round my dick. Pay up, Connor, we all know who’s gonna win t’is.

"Ay, yer right, me dear brother.  We all know who’s gonna win t’is and that’s me.  So yer gonna pay up on yer knees tonight.  McGinty’s might have some kneepads in t’e back from scrubbing t’e floors for ye to wear."  He quickly ordered another round, throwing back his drink before Murphy could even put his hand on his glass.  He set it down and eyed his brother as he held the glass to his lips.  "Pucker up.  Ye better get some practice in."

"Looks like t’ey’re gettin’ t’e pads. Maybe ye shoul’ take t’e position. Got a nice space here between m’legs, mo ghra." He snickered as he patted his lap and swung around in his bar stool, pawing at Connor’s forearm. When the next beer was put infront of him, he snatched it right up, licking over his bitter lips to wait for Connor to catch up. 

Another round was ordered and McGinty doesn’t even look to be counting anymore. He’s probably getting a kick out of the whole competition, thinking just like he of the bluff of a reward. Murphy could already feel his fingertips tingling, his tongue fat in his mouth. Oh, he was on his damn way to getting pissed drunk, but he takes a swig of that beer with a wide grin. 

Connor turned the shot glass over on top of the bar.  At least he was fairly certain that was the top of the bar and that he had sat the glass down appropriately.  The wood grain was swirling in front of him as he sat up and looked full on at his brother.  He could tell the other man was about six sheets to the wind, as he himself was, but he was not going to lose this battle.  He knew that he could best his brother in just about everything and drinking was definitely one of those things.  “How ye feelin’ there dear brother?  Ye ready to get on yer knees for me yet?  Here, let me make it a lit’le easier for ye,” he chided.  His hands fumbled with his button and zipper of his pants, undoing them both and sitting back on the bar stool, spreading his legs open wider.  “Anytime, brothermine.”

He thinks he hears goading. Someone actually calls him a pussy for backing down, and Murphy sends over glare at whoever it might be. He hates it when people challenge him like that, tell him that he can’t do it. Something flares inside of himself, hot and sharp, and he wants to show them all that Murphy was no pissy scaredy cat who backs out on  a deal. “Ye are all fuckin’ perverts!” He scoffs as he gets onto his knees. He hears gasps and apparently people didn’t actually believe he would, and something about that makes Murphy so fuckin’ satisfied as he pushes Connor’s pants open and takes out his thick cock. They want a show, he’ll give them a damn show.

Goddamn he was so drunk. What they did in their private wrong was wrong, downright sinful, and here they were, Murphy was, with Connor’s dick in his mouth. It was things like this that made Murphy wonder if he, himself, was possessed by the devil, that he’d enjoy his brother’s seed so much he’d suck his cock on a simple bet in a public bar. At this point he’d probably let Connor fuck him, and with a whimper he was taking it further down into his throat. He wanted Connor to do it. He wanted him to own him in front of everyone, and he’d let him too.

favourite character meme ten traits All right. Here’s the plan.

Resetting himself, steeling his emotions, Connor looked through the sights, lining it up.  The bow released easily, giving him a hard kickback in his shoulder that did end up sending him back towards Daryl, their bodies colliding softly, but the arrow made close enough to its mark for him to let out a whoop of victory.

His hands were hovering over Connor’s forearms, approving the line of sight with a grunt. He was startled as the kickback from the bow pushed Connor back against him, and he stumbled away like he’d been shocked. He shook himself, collected himself, and then said, “Better. Still worser’n than a blind kid in’a room full a’ deer, though.” He bit back a grin as he snatched his bow from Connor’s arms and then shook his head, heading out to grab his arrows. Maybe the distance would be good after that, enough to cool off. 

Connor hoped he’d take him up on it.  He hasn’t had anyone to practice with for months and he was certain that Daryl would be the most fun partner out of anyone at the camp, if nothing else than for the challenge.  But who wouldn’t want to see Daryl tied up all pretty hanging from a tree branch by restraints on different parts of his body?

He looks over his shoulder as he’s called, squints at the man who offers him a lesson on knot tying. He scoffs quietly, but its a friendly kind of sound, and he nods. He’s been wondering why the hell Connor’s been wanting to spend more time with him, but he wasn’t going to complain. “I c’n learn a thing er two…” he says as he straightens. His quiver is full again and he comes back to Connor, a little uncertainty coloring his features. 

Ay, brothermine!  Ye always do like an audience when ye lose ta me!  Tis fine though, I’ll buy the first round so when you’re so drunk ye don’t remember I can always say the next round is on ye.  Now what sort of prize are we drinkin’ for?

Ain’ not’in better t’an yer mout’ round my dick. Pay up, Connor, we all know who’s gonna win t’is.

"Ay, yer right, me dear brother.  We all know who’s gonna win t’is and that’s me.  So yer gonna pay up on yer knees tonight.  McGinty’s might have some kneepads in t’e back from scrubbing t’e floors for ye to wear."  He quickly ordered another round, throwing back his drink before Murphy could even put his hand on his glass.  He set it down and eyed his brother as he held the glass to his lips.  "Pucker up.  Ye better get some practice in."

"Looks like t’ey’re gettin’ t’e pads. Maybe ye shoul’ take t’e position. Got a nice space here between m’legs, mo ghra." He snickered as he patted his lap and swung around in his bar stool, pawing at Connor’s forearm. When the next beer was put infront of him, he snatched it right up, licking over his bitter lips to wait for Connor to catch up. 

Another round was ordered and McGinty doesn’t even look to be counting anymore. He’s probably getting a kick out of the whole competition, thinking just like he of the bluff of a reward. Murphy could already feel his fingertips tingling, his tongue fat in his mouth. Oh, he was on his damn way to getting pissed drunk, but he takes a swig of that beer with a wide grin. 

Connor turned the shot glass over on top of the bar.  At least he was fairly certain that was the top of the bar and that he had sat the glass down appropriately.  The wood grain was swirling in front of him as he sat up and looked full on at his brother.  He could tell the other man was about six sheets to the wind, as he himself was, but he was not going to lose this battle.  He knew that he could best his brother in just about everything and drinking was definitely one of those things.  “How ye feelin’ there dear brother?  Ye ready to get on yer knees for me yet?  Here, let me make it a lit’le easier for ye,” he chided.  His hands fumbled with his button and zipper of his pants, undoing them both and sitting back on the bar stool, spreading his legs open wider.  “Anytime, brothermine.”

He thinks he hears goading. Someone actually calls him a pussy for backing down, and Murphy sends over glare at whoever it might be. He hates it when people challenge him like that, tell him that he can’t do it. Something flares inside of himself, hot and sharp, and he wants to show them all that Murphy was no pissy scaredy cat who backs out on  a deal. “Ye are all fuckin’ perverts!” He scoffs as he gets onto his knees. He hears gasps and apparently people didn’t actually believe he would, and something about that makes Murphy so fuckin’ satisfied as he pushes Connor’s pants open and takes out his thick cock. They want a show, he’ll give them a damn show.

Ay, brothermine!  Ye always do like an audience when ye lose ta me!  Tis fine though, I’ll buy the first round so when you’re so drunk ye don’t remember I can always say the next round is on ye.  Now what sort of prize are we drinkin’ for?

Ain’ not’in better t’an yer mout’ round my dick. Pay up, Connor, we all know who’s gonna win t’is.

"Ay, yer right, me dear brother.  We all know who’s gonna win t’is and that’s me.  So yer gonna pay up on yer knees tonight.  McGinty’s might have some kneepads in t’e back from scrubbing t’e floors for ye to wear."  He quickly ordered another round, throwing back his drink before Murphy could even put his hand on his glass.  He set it down and eyed his brother as he held the glass to his lips.  "Pucker up.  Ye better get some practice in."

"Looks like t’ey’re gettin’ t’e pads. Maybe ye shoul’ take t’e position. Got a nice space here between m’legs, mo ghra." He snickered as he patted his lap and swung around in his bar stool, pawing at Connor’s forearm. When the next beer was put infront of him, he snatched it right up, licking over his bitter lips to wait for Connor to catch up. 

Another round was ordered and McGinty doesn’t even look to be counting anymore. He’s probably getting a kick out of the whole competition, thinking just like he of the bluff of a reward. Murphy could already feel his fingertips tingling, his tongue fat in his mouth. Oh, he was on his damn way to getting pissed drunk, but he takes a swig of that beer with a wide grin. 

Connor turned the shot glass over on top of the bar.  At least he was fairly certain that was the top of the bar and that he had sat the glass down appropriately.  The wood grain was swirling in front of him as he sat up and looked full on at his brother.  He could tell the other man was about six sheets to the wind, as he himself was, but he was not going to lose this battle.  He knew that he could best his brother in just about everything and drinking was definitely one of those things.  “How ye feelin’ there dear brother?  Ye ready to get on yer knees for me yet?  Here, let me make it a lit’le easier for ye,” he chided.  His hands fumbled with his button and zipper of his pants, undoing them both and sitting back on the bar stool, spreading his legs open wider.  “Anytime, brothermine.”

Resetting himself, steeling his emotions, Connor looked through the sights, lining it up.  The bow released easily, giving him a hard kickback in his shoulder that did end up sending him back towards Daryl, their bodies colliding softly, but the arrow made close enough to its mark for him to let out a whoop of victory.

His hands were hovering over Connor’s forearms, approving the line of sight with a grunt. He was startled as the kickback from the bow pushed Connor back against him, and he stumbled away like he’d been shocked. He shook himself, collected himself, and then said, “Better. Still worser’n than a blind kid in’a room full a’ deer, though.” He bit back a grin as he snatched his bow from Connor’s arms and then shook his head, heading out to grab his arrows. Maybe the distance would be good after that, enough to cool off. 

Connor hoped he’d take him up on it.  He hasn’t had anyone to practice with for months and he was certain that Daryl would be the most fun partner out of anyone at the camp, if nothing else than for the challenge.  But who wouldn’t want to see Daryl tied up all pretty hanging from a tree branch by restraints on different parts of his body?

He looks over his shoulder as he’s called, squints at the man who offers him a lesson on knot tying. He scoffs quietly, but its a friendly kind of sound, and he nods. He’s been wondering why the hell Connor’s been wanting to spend more time with him, but he wasn’t going to complain. “I c’n learn a thing er two…” he says as he straightens. His quiver is full again and he comes back to Connor, a little uncertainty coloring his features. 

Resetting himself, steeling his emotions, Connor looked through the sights, lining it up.  The bow released easily, giving him a hard kickback in his shoulder that did end up sending him back towards Daryl, their bodies colliding softly, but the arrow made close enough to its mark for him to let out a whoop of victory.

His hands were hovering over Connor’s forearms, approving the line of sight with a grunt. He was startled as the kickback from the bow pushed Connor back against him, and he stumbled away like he’d been shocked. He shook himself, collected himself, and then said, “Better. Still worser’n than a blind kid in’a room full a’ deer, though.” He bit back a grin as he snatched his bow from Connor’s arms and then shook his head, heading out to grab his arrows. Maybe the distance would be good after that, enough to cool off. 

Connor hoped he'd take him up on it.  He hasn't had anyone to practice with for months and he was certain that Daryl would be the most fun partner out of anyone at the camp, if nothing else than for the challenge.  But who wouldn't want to see Daryl tied up all pretty hanging from a tree branch by restraints on different parts of his body?

Turning from the papers he had been bent over, he faces Conner. “What’re ya goin’ on ‘bout?” He doesn’t know if he had even heard the man correctly but he was Murphy’s brother so he was more than positive that he actually had. It was still safer to ask.

"I need ta know what kind of person me brother done found himself with that ain’t his better lookin’, older twin."

The relationship between the brothers was different and Grady knows he should feel disgust or uncomfortable but instead he didn’t feel much of anything about it. It wasn’t his place. He’d found himself tiptoeing around Murphy more now though, unsure what he was allowed now that Conner was here. “Shoul’ be pointed out tha’ yer brother’s th’ one who started it, so don’ go gettin’ yer panties in a twist….what’s ‘at gotta do wit’ my desk?”

Connor loved his brother dearly, far more than one brother should love another, but even he knew his brother has emotional fits, mostly of anger, but his unexplained bouts of extreme happiness were also almost unmanageable. If this man could handle his bipolar brother, then what the fuck was wrong with him?  ”Ye seem rather protective of yer desk though…  What’s special ‘bout it? Ye use it the first time ye fucked me brother?”  Connor was waiting for the snap, waiting for the moment to tell his brother that hell no this man was not worthy of him.  But if he could match Connor at his little game of Irish sass, then maybe this hulk of a man would be all right.

Grady cocks a brow at the comment about Murphy and for a moment seriously debates telling him that, no, he’d actually first fucked his brother over the arm of the damn chair in the living room. Instead he bites down a smirk though he still rises to the bait. “Not even close but I seem ta remember a few times he’s sucked my cock at it.” As well as a few times that he’d returned the favor, unbothered with fitting his bigger frame under the desk to perform the task, but he doesn’t tell the man that.

The silence spread between them after Connor passed off his flask.  Now that he had no more jabs, he was at a loss for words.  The only thing he really had in common with this man was his Murphy, though he could certainly see why his brother would go for this man based on looks.  His broad chest and soulful eyes were disarming.  Shaking his head to clear it, Connor held on to trying to hate this man that fell in with his soul mate. "Murph's in da shower.  Told me I should come in 'ere and play nice."

Turning from the papers he had been bent over, he faces Conner. “What’re ya goin’ on ‘bout?” He doesn’t know if he had even heard the man correctly but he was Murphy’s brother so he was more than positive that he actually had. It was still safer to ask.

"I need ta know what kind of person me brother done found himself with that ain’t his better lookin’, older twin."

The relationship between the brothers was different and Grady knows he should feel disgust or uncomfortable but instead he didn’t feel much of anything about it. It wasn’t his place. He’d found himself tiptoeing around Murphy more now though, unsure what he was allowed now that Conner was here. “Shoul’ be pointed out tha’ yer brother’s th’ one who started it, so don’ go gettin’ yer panties in a twist….what’s ‘at gotta do wit’ my desk?”

Connor loved his brother dearly, far more than one brother should love another, but even he knew his brother has emotional fits, mostly of anger, but his unexplained bouts of extreme happiness were also almost unmanageable. If this man could handle his bipolar brother, then what the fuck was wrong with him?  "Ye seem rather protective of yer desk though...  What's special 'bout it? Ye use it the first time ye fucked me brother?"  Connor was waiting for the snap, waiting for the moment to tell his brother that hell no this man was not worthy of him.  But if he could match Connor at his little game of Irish sass, then maybe this hulk of a man would be all right.