I wrote this fluffly little thing for my friend's birthday. It is twincest of the Connor/Murphy variety, but it isn't graphic in any way, shape, or form. As I said, just a lot of fluff. I don't even think they swear. But yes. Here is your 730 word one-shot of fluff to get you going in the morning.

In Ireland, the sky stretch from each horizon, going untouched except for the deep green hills in between. Whenever people looked at that Irish sky, on a crystalline blue day with not a cloud tainting the, they always said that it stretched on into infinity, just going and going. Everyone thought that, it was as though it was just general thought that the gods of the skies beamed into their head in some joke of conformity. The sky was a general misconception to most people, the people that only thought the azure overturned salad bowl was pretty because it was a comparison to things with great depth and personal meaning, because that was what everyone else said. Except for the boys.

The boys, being Connor and Murphy, always saw the heavens far beyond what the general human population did. Of course, they had that religious sense of the heavens, as most Catholics do. Heaven was in the sky, along with God, and that unto itself made the boys cherish it at the youngest age such a notion could be instilled into them. But, that wasn't the first and foremost reason that the sky about their head was so special, and unique.

It was that when it was just Connor, Murphy, and the sky…they were truly invincible within themselves. With their hands clasped together, even in a place as crappy as their apartment roof, they were fine, content. With the blessed heavens above them, they were one.

"Connor?" Murphy asked one day, his head buried in the crook of the elder boy's neck with his eyes staring up at Connor's jaw and the brewing clouds above them.

"Yeah, Murph?" It was the beginning of a question, like any other, yet there was something different in Murphy's tone that caused Connor to be cautious in his own voice.

"D'yeh t'ink…do yeh ev'r wond'r what it'd be like, wit'out that stretch o' blue 'bove our heads?" Murphy's fingers curl loosely into the black material of Connor's shirt, somewhat bracing himself for the response, or maybe the lack of one. He was usually the one that thought the most, analyzed things, more so than his older brother, (Stupid fuckin' rope, anyone?) and as a result he usually just kept his contemplations to himself, no need to bring the mood down or rile it up or anything. But at this point, genuine curiosity had gotten to him, and for some reason, he needed an answer.

"'Course I do," the older brother replies, brow furrowing in confusion.
"What do yeh imagine?" Murphy presses, his fist growing a little tighter as his gaze shifts fully to the face above him. "All of it?"

"I imagine it'd be dark. Y'know, there wouldn' be anyt'ing for the sun to reflect off of, so it'd be dark, and cold. And in a way, it's rath'r blasphemous to imagine no, no heaven, no place where you and I'd be. No place to look up at when the days are warm and it's just the two of us, not ev'n the sky…" He thinks for one more moment while glancing up at the ever-darkening clouds before finishing up. "It'd be just…diff'rent." They both ponder for a moment, staring into each other's faces, having an eye conversation.

"'Twouldn't feel…incomplete?"

"No," Connor replies, not skipping a beat. "I'm always complete as long as yer here. It'd just be diff'rent, but I'd adapt." A small grimace contorts his face, a second thought bubbling up on his lips. "Unless you weren't there. Then I wouldn't even feel human."

"I'll be there." Murphy presses a kiss to the base Connor's throat, trying to calm him down. "I'll always be there, yeh know tha'."

"Yeah. So r'ly, as long as yer there…here…wi'f me…I don't ev'n need the sky."

"But it's nice to have around."

"But I don't need it like I need you. That's the t'ing." A few moments pass before the youngest responds.

"Yer such a fuckin' sap, d'yeh know that?"

"Well, I'm only your sap, so I'm entitl'd." A simultaneous lazy smirk passes over the boys' faces, as Murphy's hand slowly releases its grip on Connor's shirt, still lying restfully on the man's stomach as the other strokes his hair.

"Damn straight."

The clouds lighten.