Nicholas: Probably the most cliche song I've ever written a songfic for and I laughed when Kisses gave me the challenge. I tried to refrain from anything too nauseatingly cliche but still attempted to remain fluffy as the challenge had ask for. I hope I did well.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything or anyone, I just exploit them for my own devices!! MWAHAHAHA!! ...ahem...

Rating: T...slight language...suggestive-ness...slash...twincest...I'm thinking this should be an M, but I'll humor Amanda for now.

If there were no words
No way to speak
I would still hear you

There are many things in this world that define us as human beings. How we stand on two legs with straight backs and very little hair. How our minds conceive and process information—sight, smell, touch, taste, sounds. Our wonderful ability to come to a place and rather than adapt, change the surroundings to fit our liking. And, better still, the millions of ways we communicate. Not just with a series of consonant and vowel sounds that make up words and in the greater aspect, language.

Nothing could break the silence; nothing needed to. They need say nothing to each other and still everything is heard, analyzed, understood in the human thought process. Just the simple pounding of a slightly excited beat was enough to fill the void.

Murphy's ear pressed against that smooth, delicate flesh. It took in the vibrations that turned into impulses that registered as sound somewhere in the confines of his brains. The human, English translation: heartbeat. His brother's slightly erratic heartbeat pounding gently against Murphy's head. Still working so hard, still trying to let the blood rush into that former state of exhilaration. Beating and pumping with great persuasion and its very own type of voice. Ba-bump, it said, ba-bump. The human, English translation: love.

If there were no tears
No way to feel inside
I would still feel you

It's a nasty thing to see when it happens so quickly. That love in the body starts to hammer mercilessly against its confining walls until the pain is unbearable. But the only thing that is unbearable is that nothing is unbearable, so the acid flowing through the veins from the horror that the mind registers intensifies until motion is forfeit. It is not real agony, but an imagined loss that has yet to occur.

Connor watched with those two blue eyes he had (the ones that were the same as his brother's) as the man he loved balanced precariously on a high wall, the sun shining against his back.

"Murphy! Get yer ass down b'fore ya hurt yerself!" Even though he laughed when his twin stuck his tongue out playfully, he was inwardly almost distraught with worry. Damn this, his brother, for being so reckless and carefree that it made him the most beautiful living, carefree, reckless thing on the planet.

It happened too swiftly that Murphy suddenly started to lose his balance. Connor's heart jumped wildly and for a moment he couldn't move. Just watch as his life, his love, his brother fell out of sight past the wall. Then he took off like a shot. A minute sonic boom was recorded as the result of how fast Connor ran to his lover's aid.

Murphy sat on the pavement on the other side of that wall—the side that seemed very high in comparison to the side Connor had watched from—rubbing awkwardly at his backside. He looked up at the approach of his sibling and smirked a wince. "Don' say a fuckin' word…"

The rush, the terror, the pain all faded in a slow, cool-down progression that let his arms stop pulsing and his mind stop making bloody, broken pictures of what he didn't want to see flash through his mind. Connor took a deep breath, patted his chest and smiled. "Yer an idjit," he muttered, "an' I swear I love ya for it."

And even if the sun refused to shine
Even if romance ran out of rhyme
You would still have my heart
Until the end of time
You're all I need
My love, my valentine

A fever makes the skin go flush and burn like the flames of an inferno. The body reacts with violent fluctuations and jerks as the organs bake for this long, agonizing period of illness. Nothing too hard for modern medicinal knowledge to take care of, but still enough to make Murphy sit in his chair by the bed and worry till his brain melted and leaked out of his ears.

Connor had his arms wrapped tightly around his own strong frame while his eyes clenched shut in the midst of another fit of shivering. A fierce battle raged in his skull between the bone-walls and his blood pounding and clashing mercilessly giving him no ease to rest. "Stop lookin' at me like that," he muttered; his eyes still scrunched tightly closed.

For a moment, Murphy remained motionless, but then a wide smirk stretched the plethora of muscles in his face that commanded such an expression. He leaned down slowly as if to give a comforting kiss, but Connor turned away from him.

"No, I don' want ya ta get sick."

"Conn, how many times do I have ta tell ya? Ya can't have anythin' that I can't have, remember?" Then long, pale fingers gently coaxed Connor's face to look at him. "So there." And those two blushing pilgrims ready stood for the pressure of his brother's lips.

All of my life
I have been waiting for
All you give to me
You've opened my eyes
And shown me how to love unselfishly

Violence is a billions-of-years-old practice and tradition that has evoked the beauty and majesty of our globe. From the creation of the primordial soup to the evolution of hunting and gathering to the conquests of Alexander and beyond. It is what keeps us aware with a sweet twinge of excruciation that we are alive making the next fleeting moments of life all the sweeter and more cherished.

"Son of a bitch," they muttered in unison as Murphy wiped at the blood that was flowing freely from his lip. It was obvious from the looks of it that Murphy had gotten the harsher part of the quarrel all the way up until the three guys—completely jack asses—ran off with his cigarettes and lighter.

"S'alright," Connor stated, helping his twin stay steady on two gelatinous, over worked limbs. "Ya saved my ass. Here…" Then he set two of the deadly nicotine-wraps just in his lips and lit them. He handed one to Murphy.

Neither of them got to smoke much past half the cigarette before Murphy's incessant fiddling with his punctured lip got to be just too distracting for Connor. It was night, they wouldn't be seen. The blond brother slowly, carefully moved Murphy against a wall to trap between two arms and a breath-taking lip-lock. Each left hand held a roll of paper that was still releasing toxic particles into the surrounding atmosphere.

I've dreamed of this a thousand times before
But in my dreams I couldn't love you more
I will give you my heart
Until the end of time
You're all I need
My love, my valentine

The sounds were not language that Alicia McFarland—and everyone else in the apartment building in South Boston, for that matter—could hear. Animalistic, desperate, longing, genteel, captivating, alluring, dangerous, innocent…try to describe them, I dare you. After a long while of sitting in the silence of her flat, just reading and pretending not to be bored out of her mind, Alicia began to hear something emanating from her ceiling. Immediately she knew it to be the MacManus twins—she'd heard this before. As always, of course, she put her bookmark in and listened, feeling like a dirty voyeur.

Frantic moans and the sharp slam of a door. Clothing makes a loud rustling noise as it falls from bodies to the floor. Alicia can hear the tell-tale creaking of mattress springs and the distinct thump of heavy boots hitting the floor. "O God!" a muffled cry penetrates the walls and floor, and this voyeuristic young lady gets the best seat in the building—living right below them, sitting in a spot she knew to be directly beneath one of their beds.

The panting and groaning of two deep, Irish voices cut straight through the plaster as the unseen commotion above intensifies to a point where Alicia can almost see it in her mind's eye. She face flushes a deep shade of red as that familiar, punctuated series of shouts arises. It's almost like the repetition of a bell tolling in church—on into eternity—except with a darker, more sinful nature. The following O Christ! Yes!'s and Please! Harder, fuck! Harder!'s transform into a maroon paint that spills even more across Alicia's façade because she smiles at the sounds. "The fierceness of love in all of it's forms and methods," she commented quietly, opening her book once more.

And even if the sun refused to shine
Even if romance ran out of rhyme
You would still have my heart
Until the end of time
'Cause all I need it you
My valentine

There are many things in this world that define us as human beings. How we stand on two legs with straight backs and very little hair. How our minds conceive and process information—sight, smell, touch, taste, sounds. Our wonderful ability to come to a place and rather than adapt, change the surroundings to fit our liking. And, better still, the millions of ways we communicate. Not just with a series of consonant and vowel sounds that make up words and in the greater aspect, language.

Nothing could break the silence; nothing needed to. They need say nothing to each other and still everything is heard, analyzed, understood in the human thought process. Just the simple pounding of a slightly excited beat was enough to fill the void.

Connor's ear pressed against that smooth, delicate flesh. It took in the vibrations that turned into impulses that registered as sound somewhere in the confines of his brains. The human, English translation: heartbeat. His brother's slightly erratic heartbeat pounding gently against Connor's head. Still working so hard, still trying to let the blood rush into that former state of exhilaration. Beating and pumping with great persuasion and its very own type of voice. Ba-bump, it said, ba-bump.

The pulsating still violent in his chest, Murphy reached down gently and just as tenderly lured Connor's head away from it's adopted pillow. Their lips pressed together with no passion, no fire and no words. It was simple togetherness—being as close as possible and needing it that way, if just for this night. The human, English translation: love.

You're all I need
My love…

"Murphy?" Connor stated with a tired smile. He relaxed in his brother's arms, feeling as though he'd melt into that warm form beneath him.

"Aye?" Murphy lazily stroked his twin's thigh, not at all bothered by the absence of a blanket to hide away their heretic crime.

"Love me?"

"Aye, like a good cliché."

Another smirk and Connor lay his head on the sweat-slicked shoulder. "Good, ya always have liked romantic shite."

…My Valentine…