Unfinished Fic - Seven Sins

[sosobriquet]

Title: Sinners Out of Saints
Fandom/Pairing: Boondock Saints (Connor/Murphy)
Summary: Between the two of them they've got a full deck of seven sins
Notes: For a comment_fic prompt.
Plotted this with charlanka  , and picked sarisia 's and sinstralpride 's brains over it quite a bit.
 

 

Pride

Plans have been laid, preparations have been made. There’s nothing now to do but wait, and they were never the kind to have idle hands. So over the plan they go, again and again, cleaning their gusn more times than they can count.

“It’ll be like child’s play,” Connor says, reaching for his gun maybe the 3rd time after the 5th recitation of the plan, all selfsure half smile cocky fucking grin.

Murphy thinks of the time Connor stood exposed before the man with six guns, their father, and he and Rocco vanished into the hedge like wild things.

Wrath

“It is your corrupt we claim," Murphy speaks, steady where Connor shakes and their father growls.

“With every breath, we shall hunt them down,” he says, a righteous fury roiling beneath the calm of his every word. More an Abaddon passing judgment, promising vengeance upon the wicked, Connor thinks, than his brother.

“And we will send you to whatever God you wish.”

There is nothing more to be said but the family prayer - Murphy again speaks last, the final tolling of the bell for execution, the death knell. For the end had always been his, would always be his.

 

Gluttony

Connor spins the penny. Their hands find their shots at the same moment. The second is burning its way down Connor’s throat when he hears the penny clink.

Connor sets his glass down just behind Murphy’s, opens his eyes to see Murphy baring his teeth in a hiss of breath, hears the penny slide across wood, watches Murphy chase the liquor with a flick of his tongue.

Their father watches his boys trying to drink themselves senseless, nursing his glass of whiskey in silent deliberation.

“Try to keep it on the table this time? S’not a fuckin’ pinball.”

“Fuck you.” Murphy licks his lips again and concentrates on spinning, mouth curved in a wicked grin.

The penny careens across the table, clinking sharply against Connor’s bottle when the second shot hits his throat. He slams the glass down, pours himself another.

The rim of the glass is touching his lips when he hears the penny fall. He takes the shot anyway.

“Cheatin’ bastard,” Murphy growls when Connor sets his empty shot on the table.

Connor chuckles. “How d’you know, smartarse?”

“I was watching.” Murphy drains his shot.

-------------------------

 

Gluttony: Extended

Connor spins the penny. Their hands find their shots at the same moment, slam them down, and reach for the bottles of whiskey. The second is burning its way down Connor’s throat when he hears the penny clink.

Connor sets his glass down half a thunk behind Murphy’s, opens his eyes to see Murphy baring his teeth in a hiss of indrawn breath, hears the penny slide across wood. Watches Murphy chase the liquor with a quick flick of his tongue.

Their father watches his boys trying to drink themselves senseless, nursing his glass of whiskey is silent deliberation.

“Try to keep it on the table this time? S’not a fuckin’ pinball,” Connor gripes at him.

“Fuck you,” Murphy says. He licks his lips again, mouth curving wickedly at the corners as he concentrates on spinning the penny.

The penny careens across the table, clinking sharply against Connor’s bottle when the second shot hits the back of his throat. He slams the glass down, pours himself another quick.

The rim of the glass is almost to his lips when he hears the penny fall. He takes the shot anyway.

“Cheatin’ bastard,” Murphy growls when Connor sets his empty shot on the table. Connor chuckles, slumping in his chair.

“How d’you know, smartarse?” he asks, sitting up again.

“I was watching.” Murphy drains his shot.