Stewardess Fanfiction

Title: Hexed. 3/9 in the Already Crazy series.
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Author: stewardess_lotr
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Murphy itches. Connor scratches. Schoolboy Connor and Murphy, age twelve.
Warnings: Blasphemy. Boy grossness.
Archive: In my LJ only

Beta by lionflame! Additional beta and dialogue coaching by juniper_nyne!





Murphy had the only sunburn in all of Ireland. At least, that was what it felt like, the way everyone was going on about it.

It wasn’t his fucken fault. The school had taken their class to Connemara for a field trip, and he had taken his T-shirt off while they played on the beach all afternoon.

Now his back was fucking burning. He lay face down on his bed while Ma put a pillowcase full of used tea leaves, collected from the neighbors, on his back.

“Fucken Christ!” he bellowed as the cloth touched his skin. Then he heaved a sigh when the coolness instantly soothed the pain.

For once, Ma did not reprimand him for the blasphemy, though she flicked the top of his head with her fingers, as if to say he was getting off lightly.

Connor wasn’t burnt. His skin turned darker, his hair lighter, during the summer. How come Connor could tan and he couldn’t? Ma had explained they were fraternal twins, not identical, but it was no fucking fair. What good was it to have a twin who wasn’t like you?

For twelve years they had been the same height, pacing each other. Connor had finally pulled ahead by half an inch, the fucking bastard. And if he came in and touched Murphy’s sunburn, Murphy was going to kick the shit out of him for being taller, browner, blonder, and a fucking smart mouthed . . .

“Ow!” Murphy screamed as Connor slapped his back. Connor fell on his own bed and laughed. His shirt was off, as if to taunt Murphy with his lack of sunburn.

“Did that hurt?” Connor said, a smirk all over his face.

“Fuck you, ya bastard,” Murphy said. He turned his face towards the wall. His eyes were watering.

Connor stood up and took the poultice and left the room. He returned and replaced it carefully on Murphy’s back. It was wetter.

Connor didn’t say sorry. Murphy didn’t say thank you.

Connor lay back down on his bed. “Sunburns stunt yer growth,” he whispered.

“Fuck you,” Murphy said, then laughed.

***

Nine days later, halfway through Spanish, Murphy felt a mild itch in the middle of his back. He twisted his arm around to scratch it, but he couldn’t reach. All of a sudden his whole back was itching furiously. He rubbed it against his wooden chair.

“No fidgeting, Murphy MacManus!” Sister shrieked, and brought her pointer down with a loud thwack on his desk.

Murphy looked across the classroom at Connor. They had been moved apart for talking in class. Connor smirked at him. Murphy made a face and jumped when the sister’s pointer came thundering down on his desk again.

“Was that disrespect intended for me, Murphy MacManus?” she boomed.

“No, Sister. I’m sorry, Sister. It was for my brother.”

She crossed the room and thwacked Connor’s desk with her pointer. Murphy smirked.

***

“Ma, my back is itching like crazy,” Murphy whined after dinner. They were in Ma’s bedroom. She was in front of her mirror, pinning up her hair, getting ready to go out to The Anvil, as she usually did four nights a week. The other three nights of the week she got drunk at home.

“Let me see,” she said. She yanked his shirt up to his shoulders and gave a piercing shriek. “Yer skin’s peeling. It’s fucken disgusting. I’ll rub it with oatmeal later.”

“Ma!” Murphy wailed. When she got back, she’d be too drunk to do it.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ma whispered under her breath. She dug her fingernails into his back and scratched hard.

He howled in bliss. “More! More! More!”

She laughed, her breath a whisky laden fume around his head. “That’s all yer getting. Ya can wait till I get back!”

Murphy cursed after she left. His back itched more now, if that was possible. He considered rolling around on the floor, like the cats. He went into the kitchen, where Connor was doing homework at the kitchen table.

“I’m going to die of itching!” Murphy sat in a chair and rubbed his back on it. It wasn’t enough.

“Ya can’t die of itching,” Connor said, his gaze not moving from the page in front of him.

“Yes, ya fucken can!” Murphy shouted. He got up and stood behind Connor, quickly pulling his shirt up to expose Connor’s back. Nothing but smooth brown skin, with a strip of white skin just above the waistband of his trousers. “Fucken bastard,” Murphy whispered.

“Sit, ya whiney shite,” Connor said. He turned Murphy’s chair sideways. Murphy sat down on it so the back of the chair was out of the way. Connor dragged his chair close, then Connor pushed Murphy’s shirt up. Murphy pulled his shirt off all the way and threw it on the table.

“Fucken yuck!” Connor bellowed.

“Scratch it!” Murphy said.

Connor started to scratch. He didn’t have Ma’s long fingernails, but he used more force than she did.

Murphy sighed and slumped forward, making soft whimpering sounds. Connor laughed at him.

“Am I peeling?”

“Fuck, yeah. There's great big chunks . . .”

“Rip ‘em off! They itch!” Murphy sat up straight again.

“Ya really want me to?” Connor said.

“Go on! Do it!” Murphy felt a weird sensation on his back, then Connor’s hand was in front of his face.

“Look at that. I think that’s the biggest one,” Connor said. Murphy eyed the scrap of skin in Connor’s palm. It was translucent, about the size of a 10p coin. He licked it up off of Connor’s hand and chewed.

“Fucken hell!” Connor shouted. “Ya fucken sick peeling cannibal bastard!”

Murphy ran laughing into the bathroom and tried to see his back in the mirror, but he could only see the tops of his shoulders. He reached behind himself and tried to pull off the flaking skin.

“Let me do it,” Connor said, pushing his way into the bathroom. “It’s kinda fun,” he added, surprise in his voice.

Murphy left the bathroom for their bedroom, flopping on his stomach across his bed. Connor sat on him and peeled his skin for the next twenty minutes. It finally started to hurt when Connor tugged at bits that were still more or less attached.

“Quit it,” Murphy mumbled. “Now scratch. Ow!”

“Ya said to scratch.”

“Not so hard. It feels fucken raw now. You probably took me down to the bone, ya bastard.”

“I can see yer spine,” Connor whispered. His fingers pressed more lightly, then lighter still, until they were gliding over Murphy’s back. Murphy made a low noise of contentment.

“Ya fucken purrin?” Connor said in disbelief. His fingers continued to whisper over Murphy’s back.

“Fuck, yeah,” Murphy mumbled into the mattress. He was feeling drowsy. Then a thought occurred to him. “Connor, what did you do with the skin ya peeled off?”

“I ate it,” Connor said.

“You fucken did not,” Murphy said, laughing, but trying not to move, so Connor wouldn’t stop.

“Had to. Or the Tinkers might have got it, and hexed ya.”

Murphy laughed. One of their aunts was full of stupid superstitions. To prevent being hexed, she buried her fingernails when she clipped them off, and her hair, too, when she cut it. Then once a month there was some even more furtive, fraught ceremony when she burned her “unmentionables” in the fireplace.

Connor’s fingers put Murphy to sleep. He slept beautifully, his back finally not itching. He would have slept the night through, except Ma dropped something in the kitchen when she got home at midnight, waking them both up.

Murphy slid off his bed onto Connor’s. “Connor, did ya really eat it?”

Connor looked at him. “What if I did?”

Murphy suddenly felt shy. “Ya don’t get sunburns,” he whispered at last.

Connor slapped him hard on the back of the head. Murphy smiled.

“If I ever do . . .” Connor said.

“Then I will,” Murphy promised.

---

For the_ped.

Note: Tinker refers to a nomadic class of people in Ireland known as Travellers. Tinker(s) is no longer PC, but it would have been used by the twins at the time this story takes place, late 1970s. My apologies to the Travellers.

Bookcover by Nine Fingers. Sean Patrick Flanery photo from duboseknows.com. Norman Reedus photo from Meet Norman Reedus.