AN: Yep, it's been a while. I know. I haven't forgotten this story. It is just that I realized I came to a bit of a crossroads. I have decided to take a few liberties as far as the timeline is concerned. Nothing huge, just trying to get things to make a bit of sense. Well that and I have been distracted by two other stories. I know. I know, for shame! Ever grateful for every single one of you who read, follow, review. I have a few favorites thanks to y'all. SWEET! Thanks! AN

Sam stumbled out of the bathroom, her legs forgetting their original purpose. Though to be fair, they'd just gone through a vigorous bit of training for their apparent need to wrap around Connor's waist. Halfway into her newborn colt reenactment, Connor strolled out of the bathroom, zipping up his pants. He pinned her with a poignant stare, as she leaned against the opposite wall.

"What?" she asked indignantly, while she tried to brace herself and adjust her clothing at the same time. Connor crossed his arms, watching her expectantly.

"You're still fun when you're mad," she smirked at him. His eyebrow perked up at the defiant little remark. His arms dropped to his side, and took a step forward. Her back slammed back into the wall behind her. Scraping up her dignity (that she'd apparently been wearing on her back) off of the wall, Sam watched from a fluorescent red face, as Connor made his way back to the bar. She patted her leg muscles, trying to bring sensation back to her body. As far as her pride was concerned, she was determined to at least walk normally to the booth. Anyone with half a brain would be able to put two and two together to get had sex in the bathroom. Still she could seem a little less wrecked.

After the final patches of her body regained its feeling, she walked back to the booth, only with the occasional limp. Murphy was waiting for her in the booth, rolling his beer between his palms. Sam plopped her sore hind end onto the seat next to him. She turned to him, lips pursed.

"Murphy," she slurred. "I am very, very disappointed."

"Well," he said, taking a long pull from his beer. "Ye should be takin' that up with Connor, not me." Sam popped him in the shoulder with her palm.

"No, I am disappointed in you." Rather than answer her, he stared at her anticipating the explanation. "All the sneaky underhanded effort only to be outmaneuvered."

"Be honest," Murphy murmured, a crooked smile returning to his handsome features. "Ye have more fun with my tactics than his." His finger curled around a stray lock hanging in front of her left eye. "I don't have to chase ya down." Sam squirmed, feeling his fingertip slide along her earlobe. "And if it'd been me in the bathroom wit ya, ye would've been crawling out." Sam muttered quietly under her breath.

"What was that?" She turned her head away, muttering again under her breath. A sharp pressure shot up the inside of her thigh. Wincing, she turned to the only possible suspect for her pain. He continued to stare at her expectantly. Her lips thinned, emphasizing the position her mouth intended to stay in. His hand perked up between them, his index finger and thumb opened and closed in a threatening manner. Sam enclosed his fingers in her hand, not wanting another pinch.

"Ok," she squeaked, struggling against the random pushes of Murphy's hand. "I said talk is cheap." He pulled his hand from her grasp, eyeballing her. A peculiar expression trickled into his eyes. She felt her stomach tighten with a growing concern. Shrinking back from a clearly apparent threat, Sam wiggled towards the end of the chair. He tracked her motions as she attempted a getaway. Refusing to be cornered in the bathroom, she scooted towards the rear entrance. The little neon exit sign a beacon of escape from trouble. A pleasant trouble, but trouble none the less. Unfortunately the door screeched in protest at being disturbed. Way to alert the masses mister door. The second the loudest door in creation clamped shut behind her, she clamped her hand on the handle holding it shut. Poking the cage was hard to resist, but her quivering knees reminded her that she was still reeling from earlier playful sessions.

Five minutes into holding the door, Sam started to loosen her grip. She figured Murphy would have been right behind her, but the door remained undisturbed. Soft chuckling floated to her ear. A defeated sigh skipped from her lips, as she turned to see a smug sexy Irish man with crossed arms waiting behind her.

"Who ya waiting for?" He asked, peering at the door with a sarcastic curiosity.

"No one," she snapped.

"No one," he repeated. "Then yer not busy." Murphy's right arm snaked around her waist, pulling her body flush against his side.

"You are not getting me naked in an alley, Murph."

"Wouldn't dream of it girl," he assured her, smiling his mischievous crooked smile at her. "But ye have to promise to behave." Sam's mouth opened, a parade of protests tickling the back of her throat. His arm slipped up her back, letting his hand clamp down on her mouth. Pulling open the door behind them, he led her into the back hall of the bar. She caught sight of the bar, just before they disappeared down the hall. Unable to fight the urge to tease her captor, she called out to Connor. With her mouth firmly covered by Murphy's hand, the muffled sound barely rose above their shuffling feet. Her disloyalty earned her a light smack on the rump. He tugged her into a storage room, locking the door behind him. Sam glanced about the small room. Square in the center of the room stood an old pool table. Her smothered sarcasm teased his palm.

"What was that?" he asked releasing his hold on her body.

"I think this counts as chasing me down." Murphy propped his body against the pool table, crossing his arms over his torso. She watched with slightly narrowed eyes as he popped the button open on the meticulously opened the button of his pants, parting the fabric slightly. Rather than moving to his zipper, both of his hands landed on either side of his body to rest on the pool table. She stared at the opening in his pants, her eyes catching the smallest hint of skin peeking out. The mere suggestion of his open pants sent her mouth to watering.

"My eyes are up here, darling," he laughed.

Cheeky…

If her dignity had already surrendered to her lust, then she might as well relish in it. Sam waltzed over to him, leaning in until the tips of their noses touched. Her tongue sneaked out and flicked out along his lower lip. Rough hands slid up her torso, brushing lightly over her hardened nipples, before stopping at her neck to cradling her jaw. She felt herself melting under the soft wave of soft kisses peppering her lips. In spite of the screaming protests echoing in her head, Sam pulled away from his lips. A small groan rumbled in his throat in frustration at the broken contact. Embracing her buckling knees, she slid down his body. Her knees broke her fall, bringing her face to face with the open button of his pants. Murphy's hands moved with her body's descent, settling finally in her hair.

Her eyes rolled up, gifting her with his devastating blue eyes, now several shades darker. She let her fingers slide up over his thighs, plucking at is zipper. Tugging his pants down to his ankles, Sam smiled at the thick length bulging out of his boxers. Her lips wrapped around the tip through his boxers, sucking on him through the soft cloth.

"Teasin wench."

Sam chuckled, her warm breath flitting across the wet circle on his underwear. She tucked her fingers under the hem of his boxers sending them swiftly to meet his pants at his ankles. She turned her attention back to the pulsing length twitching before her. Turning her eyes upward, she watched Murphy's head roll back, as she slipped her mouth over him. Little moans escaped her full mouth at the purely masculine flavor coating her mouth. She squeezed her knees together, trying to ease the growing agony building between her thighs. Sam sucked him as far down as she could handle, feeling the blunt tip bumping the back of her throat. She swallowed, her throat muscles convulsing around him. His fingers wrapped locks of her hair, holding her firmly in place. His hips rocked slowly against her mouth. She allowed him to take control of the rhythm, stroking her tongue against him.

"Fuck." Murphy's normally soft voice, came out in strangled gasps. A deep seated satisfaction filled her chest from knowing the delicious suffering he felt under her touch. Hips becoming more frantic, he pushed deeper into her throat. A rhythmic pulse rolled between her lips, sending warm jets shooting into her throat. Sam allowed herself a long lingering lick, before rising to her feet.

"Murphy!" a voice called through the closed door. "Put the poor girl down and get out here." He shook his head at the intruding sound.

"Fuck off," he shouted back, yanking his pants back up. Sam giggled, wiping lingering moisture from her lips.

"I think you owe me a drink," she smiled while he adjusted his clothes.

"That I do." Murphy tossed an arm over her shoulders and pulled her to the door.

"Who the fuck is this bitch!?" The high pitched shriek slammed into Sam's ears bouncing about in her skull. Her eyes snapped opened to take in a scraggly hair woman leaning over her. "Rocco!" The crazy woman's spit hit her on the cheek. She watched her stumble out of the room, dragging the sleeve of her torn red jacket over her shoulder, the strap of her white top slipping down passed her shoulder in response. Sam slid off of the couch, panicking at the unfamiliar surroundings. This was far from the brother's loft. Although dusty and cluttered, it seemed to be a proper furnished apartment. As she scrambled to her feet, Rocco's shaggy form came running around the corner.

"It's fine!" he shouted at her. "Everything is fine!" Sam's eyes widened at him, looking back and forth between the couple.

"Why is everyone shouting?!" she yelled. He closed his mouth and stared at her for a moment.

"I don't know," he admitted, a confused look on his face.

"What the hell is going on?" Screechy Mcgee asked, her voice on the cusp of another yelling match.

"Calm the fuck down Donna," Rocco snapped. He pulled her to the side whispering in her ear. Sam watched Donna roll her eyes and glare at her, before she thankfully closed her mouth. He turned back to her, looking both guilty and concerned.

"What?" she asked, fear leaking through her ribs.

"Ok, it's fine," he said fairly delicately. "They want you to know first that everything is ok." Sam grabbed onto the arm of the couch behind her.

"If everything is fine," she said slowly, her words beginning to increase in both pitch and speed. "Why do you keep saying everything is fine, like you are trying to convince me everything is fine? It makes me think that everything is NOT fine. What is not fine Rocco?! I know it's not fine, because you're trying to convince me it is fine." She paused her little rant to take a deep breath.

"Woa," he said. "I promise you everything is ok. They're just a little banged up and in jail."

Sam inhaled, another rant poised on her tongue.

Rocco threw out his hands, "They weren't arrested! I just talked to them on the phone." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Donna walking over to the television set. The little screen flared to life, buzzing as she flipped through channels. The channel surfing stopped on a news channel showing with a bar at the bottom of the screen reading breaking news in big bold letters. A perky brunette with a solemn expression stood before a familiar neighborhood.

"Police, responding to a report of gun shots, discovered two bodies just behind this section of illegal housing behind me." Sam plummeted to the floor. Not. Fine.