Chapter Text
To say he was uncomfortable would have been a gigantic understatement.
It wasn't that Connor hadn't been in plenty of seedy clubs before, and this dive was pretty standard, with its thundering, bad techno music, tacky decor that looked much better in dim lighting, and stifling air that smelled of sweat, smoke and watered-down alcohol. What made this place unique to his experience was that, everywhere he looked, there were men.
Only men.
Men who bought each other drinks with hopes of more than friendly conversation, who slid and ground and groped together on the dance floor, who smiled at each other conspiratorially as they backed into secluded booths or dark corners.
Connor was practically crawling out of his fucking skin.
The MacManus brothers needed money. And, as fate would have it, Murphy was owed a sum of $178 by a friend of his called Sammy. They had spent this evening trying to track down the suddenly-elusive Sammy, and this club was apparently one of his usual haunts. Sammy, with his unapologetic flamboyance that often made Connor flinch and Murphy chuckle, was one of a number of "colorful" friends Murphy had made since the brothers had moved to Boston three years ago.
Connor kept his focus moving around the club, careful not to make eye contact or let his gaze linger anywhere for too long.
Murphy was at the bar, shouting conversation with the bartender, who was a very large black man, with layers of muscle straining the fabric of his tight shirt. His hair was shaved practically to his scalp, and he had a gold hoop in one earlobe. He was smiling warmly at Murphy, his dark eyes glittering animatedly as they chatted.
Connor reset his face in as unapproachable a countenance as he could manage and crossed his arms over his chest.
He suspected that Murphy had fooled around with guys here and there, but he'd never dared to ask. What if he was wrong, and then had to explain to his brother why he'd ever thought so in the first place? Worse yet, what if he was right?
Connor nearly jumped a foot when he felt an elbow nudge his back. He spun around furiously, but it was only Murphy, holding a beer in each hand and a cigarette barely between his lips.
“Leon bought us drinks.” He grinned. “The barkeep, ya retard.” He clarified, when Connor's face filled with panic. “Let's go sit down.”
“Right. Hey, maybe we could drink them on the way...” Connor motioned toward the nearest exit.
“Don't be such a pussy.” Murphy gave his brother another, less gentle, elbow. “There's a spot right over there.”
Sighing and trying to make his way to the back of the club without actually looking at anything, Connor followed his twin to the indicated booth.
It was the circular kind, and instead of sitting opposite, Connor slid in next to Murphy, the better to keep an eye out for anyone who might mistakenly think they'd be open to company.
Murphy swigged his beer and flicked his cigarette away, as it had burned almost entirely down.
“He's not here. Leon tells me Sammy hooked up with some Latin bloke about two weeks ago. Hasn't been around since.” He took another swallow of liquor and fished for his pack of smokes. Connor was already lighting one of his own, so he passed his on to Murph, then got another for himself. Murphy nodded his thanks before continuing. “No use trying to find the fucker now. He won't have any money, anyway. Not while he's got a new boy toy to impress.”
“Right. Well,” Connor moved to ash his cigarette and frowned slightly at the already-teeming ashtray on the table, “then we should call it a night, eh?”
“Relax and finish your beer, Connor.” Murphy's mouth tightened around his cigarette, and his gaze shifted to the gyrating bodies on the dance floor. “They're just people, for fuck's sake.”
Connor was weighing whether it would be better or worse if he apologized when he noticed a man in a business suit heading their way.
“Prepare yourself, Conn. This fucker's been eyeing you since we walked in.” Murphy snorted.
“Wha - ” Before Connor could react further, the man was standing at their booth, peering down at them.
This man looked to be in his forties. His hairline receded drastically, and there were touches of gray near his temples. His frame was generally thin, though a noticeable paunch hung over his belt. His tie was solid navy, its knot only slightly loosened.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” He began.
“Hi there, yourself.” Murphy chirped back.
Connor shot his brother a withering look.
“Would you mind if I joined you?” The man had small, grayish eyes, and very thin lips.
Connor opened his mouth to tell the guy to fuck off, but Murphy piped up first.
“Make yourself at home.”
Connor kicked his brother so hard under the table, Murphy spilled a little of his beer as he lifted it for another sip.
“I'm Robert.” The man said a bit shyly. His eyes flickered over the MacManuses as if there were precious jewels glittering from every inch of them.
“This here's Colin. I go by Riley.” Murphy could barely keep the laughter out of his voice.
“Ah.” Robert settled his hands in front of him on the table, his rather stubby fingers spreading out on the smudged surface. “And you two are here...together?”
“That's right.” Murphy slung an arm over Connor's shoulders.
Connor glowered at his brother and crushed out his cigarette with far more force than necessary.
Robert continued to sweep his gaze over them, and Connor suddenly understood why it put girls off so much when a bloke undressed them with his eyes.
“I'll give you a hundred dollars if I can watch you two make out.”
Both MacManuses gasped, but Murphy's inhale was tinged with mock shock.
“Do we look cheap to you?”
Connor roughly shrugged Murphy's arm off and leaned over the table, his blue eyes raging with indignation.
“We're brothers, you arsehole!”
Robert flushed lightly, but not quite with the embarrassment that Connor had expected.
“Brothers?” His eyes seemed to grow rounder with eagerness.
“Aye. Twins, as a matter of fact.” Murphy laughed, adding his cigarette butt to the overflowing pile already in the ashtray.
“Twins?” Robert's lower lip trembled slightly as he repeated the word.
“Fraternal.” Murphy confirmed.
Robert stared at them, transfixed. His tongue darted out and ran quickly over his thin lips.
“Are you,” he sounded a bit breathless, “by any chance Catholic?”
“What if we are?” Connor demanded, sliding a hand protectively over his chest, pressing lightly into the wooden rosary that hung beneath his shirt.
Robert's eyes seemed to roll almost completely back into his head for a second.
“Oh, my sweet heaven,” he murmured.
Murphy smirked and shook his head at Connor.
Connor wasn't finding this amusing in the least. Under the table, he gave his brother's side a quick nudge, signaling that he was about to bail the fuck out of here.
“I'll give you five hundred dollars, then.” Robert promised. “Each.”
Murphy grabbed Connor's thigh with such force, Connor almost cried out in pain.
“You haven't got that kind of money.” Murphy challenged, while Connor struggled to retrieve his jaw from the floor.
Robert swiftly produced his billfold and fanned the contents at Murphy.
“That's six hundred. I've got the rest in my car.”
“Your car, eh?” Murphy was half wary, half flirting. “And where's your car, then?”
“Lot just next door.”
Murphy glanced from the wallet, to Robert's hopeful face, then back again.
“Just making out, right? For how long?”
Connor made a small, strangled sound next to him.
“Fifteen minutes. But full-on for the full time.” Robert replied, his gray eyes glinting like a reptile's in the club's dim light.
Murphy rested his hand on his chin, considering.
Connor was about to go ballistic.
“Listen, you twisted son of a bitch, there is no way in hell...”
“Wait a minute.” Murphy interrupted, putting a hand in the air between his brother and their propositioner. “Give us a second.” He said sweetly to the man sitting across from him. “We should think about this.” He spoke to Connor in Latin, as was their custom when they wished to talk freely in unfamiliar company. Using the dead language was usually their safest bet.
But this guy apparently had a big kink for young, Catholic brothers. For all they knew, "Robert" could be a priest.
“Are you out of your fucking head?” Connor spoke in Gaelic, knowing his brother would follow suit.
“It's a thousand dollars! Or at least six hundred. It's not like we don't need it. Desperately.” Murphy kept his tone even and light, still smiling at Robert.
The older man was watching them through half-closed eyes, his fingers slowly stroking the grimy table top.
“You don't have to tell me we're fucking broke! But...I mean...he's a fucking...” Connor sputtered.
“Yeah, he's a pervert. So what?” Murphy absently picked at the label on his empty beer bottle. “At least he's not out there flashing kids or luring them into dark alleyways.”
“I can't believe you're actually fucking considering...”
“It's just kissing, anyway.” Murphy shrugged. “You can pretend I'm one of those Hollywood ladies until it's over.”
“You've fucking lost it, you have, if you think I'm gonna...”
“It's not like it would kill us, ya fucken priss. A thousand dollars. For practically nothing!” Murphy yanked so hard at the label that his bottle tipped over, clinking loudly against the table's surface. “You're being a gutless shit.”
“All that really is beside the point.” Connor forced himself to calm somewhat. He might be able to reason his brother out of this. Arguing only made Murphy more determined.
“You know what?” Murphy sighed. “Forget it. I bet he'll go for a handjob. Won't get near a thousand dollars for it, but it ought to get us something.” He sat up in the booth.
Connor shoved him back violently.
“For heaven's fucking sake!”
Murphy cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting.
“Fucken hell.” Connor rubbed his forehead. He knew he couldn't win. And for some reason, though technically it was more deviant, it somehow felt less a sin to kiss a guy if he was your brother. And it was downright noble – sort of – maybe – if you were doing it to keep him from wanking off some middle-aged creep. “Okay.”
Murphy smirked and turned back to Robert. The man shook himself, coming out of his lusty daze, and exhaled expectantly.
“Buy us a drink, and you've got a deal.” Murphy informed him in English.