Author's Note: Here it is, the last chapter of this story, and it's a freakin' monster. A strangely large amount of research went into this chapter, and it is also brought to you with the help of Rhanon Brodie, without whom it would not have near its current concentration of raging awesomeness. I have some ideas for new stories, as well as the needs-some-renovation-but-is-basically-done story pair I've been promising for a while. This story ended in a direction that I did not see coming, and I love it.

Saturday, Week 2 – Part 2:

— It's a Bit Nipply Out Tonight—

"Just for ye, lass! 'M real sorry fer makin' ye use yer sad face earlier." Murphy is solemn and sincere long enough to present me with my new cotton candy before turning and punching Connor hard in the shoulder.

"Took ye fuckin' long enough, y'bastard! Felt like a right idiot sittin' out here holdin' a giant pink puff!"

"But, Murph," Connor whines innocently, "pink goes so good wit' yer eyes, 'm sure th'fellas were just linin' up t'sweep ye off yer feet, y' bein' so sweet an' all.."

Oh, lord, I need to stop this now or it'll go on for hours.

"So, games anyone? Next week's tab at McGinty's says I can beat both of you at something by the end of the night." That's got their interest at least. Well, it has Connor's interest. Murphy, on the other hand, is suddenly staring rather intently at my chest.

"Uh…Murph? Am I cold or something?"

"Huh?" Murphy shakes his head, clearing it, and turns his face to mine. "Sorry, lass?"

"You're staring at my chest, which I don't actually object to, but you seem rather…overly fascinated. Am I cold and it's showing or something?"

"Well, lass, it's just…Before ye went in th'haunted house, yer shirt was buttoned right. Now, though, well…eh…"

I glance down and find to my horror that in my hurry earlier I missed a couple of buttons and there's a large, gaping opening in my shirt that my shiny, emerald green bra is cheerfully showing through.

"Did ye not feel a bit of a breeze there, girl?" Connor asks in what is probably supposed to be a helpful tone. I glare at him, shoving my cotton candy back at Murphy and carefully re-buttoning my shirt.

"No! Did you feel my foot up your ass, though, because I'm considering it hard enough for it to've already happened! Why didn't you say anything?"

"I swear, I didn't notice!" Connor holds his hands up defensively, backing up a step and doing his best to hold back his grin, "Ye pulled yer jacket all tight around ye, an'—"

"Son of a bitch, that's why the haunted house guy was grinning at me! Oh, he is dead!" Well…dead-er.

Murphy placatingly holds out my cotton candy with a neutral expression on his face. "Why don't we find some games fer ye t'show us up at an' make ye feel a bit better instead o'beatin' on th'workers?"

I seriously consider staying upset for a few moments, but honestly I've been having too much fun so far to give it up just so I can be pissy. "Fine, but I'm going to need to go get a corn dog or something first. We haven't eaten for real yet, and I need something more substantial to fuel my raging awesomeness."

Murphy grins and offers me his arm. "There's m'girl."

I take the proffered arm, looking over at Connor, who is staring fixedly at my chest. I glance downwards, slightly panicked, but my shirt is securely buttoned now. "What's wrong? Am I missing something? I know I buttoned it right this time."

He grins, taking my other arm. "Just checkin'. Didn't want t'miss somethin' so important a second time around."

— Ye Throw Like a Girl—

Ten minutes, two corn dogs, and one cotton candy later, I'm ready to put my boys to shame. What I haven't taken into account, however, is that apparently lifting pints, beating on each other constantly, working in the meat packing plant, and eating whatever the hell Annabelle raised them on has resulted in two semi-athletic, fairly well-coordinated men who seem to excel rather ridiculously at carnival games.

By the time they've out-manned me at the ring toss, test-your-strength, milk bottle toss, rope ladder climb, and the fish bowl toss, I'm loaded down with two respectably-sized stuffed dogs (matching, of course, though one is blue and the other green), a plastic goblet, and a chocolate bar larger than my face. Murphy actually won me a goldfish, but I'm no good with pets, so I gave it to the next crying child we came across and high-tailed it away before the parents could protest.

I'm halfway between seriously impressed and seriously disgruntled, and I am completely determined to show them up at something tonight. They, of course, are taking turns pointing out to me why each of them is superior to the other based on their successes this evening.

"An' wit' Connor over here throwin' like a girl an' all—"

"Fuck you! Out-threw our girl two t'one back there!"

"True," I interject reasonably, "but I throw like a girl because I am one. What's your excuse?"

Connor's face reddens just a bit as he starts to retort, "Now, that's just—"

"That one!"

"What?" I've stopped so suddenly that Connor runs into me, jostling the plastic goblet from my arms and nearly making me drop everything else, but I'm not paying enough attention to him to care.

"That's the game where I'm finally going to beat the snot out of you two!"

Murphy grabs the goblet from the ground, placing it back on top of my pile of swag as he glances around, following my gaze until his eyes land on one of the larger booths. "Archery? Y'sure, lass? Yer aim's not so hot t'night. Ye don't just want t'admit defeat an' go on t'th'fun house wit' me?"

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively for emphasis, but I'm already heading for the booth, attention completely diverted from him and Connor. There's a small range set up within the booth with three circular targets hanging on the back wall about twenty or thirty feet from the line in the dirt where the attendant stands. On the line, in front of each target, are three metal stands with a ring on one side and a hook on the other about three feet high. Five arrows lean inside each ring, while a bow hangs sideways on each hook.

As we draw nearer, I can hear the attendant calling, "Five shots, five tries to pop the balloon! Two dollars a round, three rounds for five dollars!"

"Ye've got terrible aim, lass. Sure ye don't want t'try somethin' else?" Connor's tone is kind, but I also happen to know that he wants to finish the night with the promise of his next week's tab at McGinty's paid for, so I don't bother listening.

Instead, I turn large, innocent eyes on him and say, "If you're that worried, why don't you and Murphy go first and teach me how it's done? I'm sure you'd both be able to show me enough to at least not embarrass myself. Or…well, Murphy can, at any rate, if you're worried about your own aim. I mean, he did out-throw both of us, after all. How about this one is on me. Will you feel better then?"

With Connor's pride sufficiently singed and Murphy grinning at me behind his brother's back, they step up to the line and pluck their bows from each of their hooks while I set my things on the ground next to the third stand and hand a five to the attendant.

"Here's how it works, gentlemen!" the attendant calls, starting to pull a bow from his shoulder, but Connor cuts him off.

"It's alright, lad, we got dis one. T'anks, anyhow."

The archery attendant catches my eye and winks, and I shoot him a grin before turning back to my twin idiots. If there's one thing I've picked up from the games tonight, it's that you always watch the attendant's demonstration.

I turn my critiquing mode on, carefully observing how Connor and Murphy load their bows, how they stand, how far back they draw the string. I have to bite my lip to keep from correcting Connor's stance and Murphy's grip on the nock of the arrow, but that would give my game away. Besides, they aren't doing too badly on their own. Most of their arrows end up in the yellow and red areas, and though they brush their balloons and even nick it once or twice (causing them to bounce back and forth cheerfully and almost mockingly on the bulls eye), neither succeeds in popping it.

"Your turn, miss?" The attendant grins at me as he goes to retrieve the arrows from the targets. "Care for a proper demonstration?"

"I would, thanks," I reply, meticulously avoiding Connor and Murphy's eyes.

I watch the attendant just as carefully as I did Connor and Murphy, paying special attention to how far he draws the bow back and where he sights from. His arrow lands in the balloon with a pop as little shreds of red latex explode outward. I nod to myself as he hurries over to retrieve the arrow and pin up a replacement balloon.

While he's at the other end of the range, I take a moment to inspect the arrows at each of the stands. Sure enough, three out of five arrows in each stand are fairly well abused with most of the plastic feathers either maimed or missing altogether.

I take the two good arrows from Murphy's stand and one from Connor's, sliding them into my own stand, removing the bad ones and handing them to the newly-returned attendant. He grins knowingly and asks, "Need anything else before you start?"

"As a matter of fact, if you don't object, can I test the pull on your bow? I think these might be a bit weak for me."

I ignore the incredulous looks from Connor and Murphy as the attendant cheerfully hands over his bow. I test the draw, lifting the bow and pulling the string back to my cheek. Instead of releasing the empty string with a snap like you see all the people in movies do, I gently follow the string back to its resting position with my hand. I glance at the attendant who is biting his lip to keep from laughing at the looks on Connor's and Murphy's faces.

"Will it do for you, miss?"

"I think it'll work."

"Any time you're ready, then, Robin Hood. Fire away."

My first arrow goes a little to the left, landing close enough to nudge the balloon over just a tad but not pop it. I knew I'd have one arrow to land where I didn't put it, at least until I got a feel for the bow. As luck would have it, though, that arrow at least lands somewhere I can build from. Since I can tell the balloons are under-inflated (and therefore harder to pop), this first arrow works nicely into the strategy I've decided on.

Three arrows later, I've got one arrow that's just above the balloon, on just below, one to the right, and the original that landed just to the left.

I hear a low whistle from next to me as I pick up my last arrow. "Those are some pretty close calls there, lass," Murphy murmurs appreciatively. "Ye didn't miss by much, didja?"

"Who says I missed?" I ask as I load the bow. "I just didn't want the balloon to move." Before he can respond, I draw quickly to my cheek and sight down the arrow then let it fly. Trapped in my cozy little arrow cage, the stubborn balloon has nowhere to bounce, and my arrow pierces it with an extremely satisfying pop.

"That was fuckin' amazing!" Connor crows, throwing an arm around my shoulder as he kisses my cheek.

"Pretty fantastic," the attendant grins as I hand him his bow. "Pick your prize, anything I've got hanging up."

A couple of minutes later, Connor and Murphy have divided my pile of prizes between them while I lug my giant frog along with us.

"So, were ye holdin' out on us at t'other games, or didja just ferget t'mention y'were Robin Hood in a past life?" Murphy quips, nudging me with one shoulder.

"Ten years as a camper, five as a counselor at summer camp. Did I ever mention I used to be a certified American Archery Association instructor? Must've slipped my mind. Anyway, what's next?"

"Bout time fer us t'head over t'th'fun house, yeah?" Murphy says. "Less there's somewhere else y'wanted t'try first?"

"Well, I was kind of hoping to try one of the shooting games, actually. That one with the star?"

"Why?" Connor asks. "Ye gonna channel Annie Oakley next?"

"You remember I told you I'd only ever dated a few guys before I ended up with you two?"

The twins nod stoically, silent acknowledgement of unapproved, past male relationships.

"My first boyfriend ever when I was a teenager was the riflery instructor at camp. His idea of a hot date was to go at the targets until his arm was sore from pumping the action on the bb rifle, and no, that isn't innuendo."

"Thought ye said ye never slept with someone who owned a gun," Murphy reminds me, eyes narrowed.

"I was sixteen Murphy, what exactly do you think we did?"

Impassive stare.

"We were at summer camp! Why would I do that?"

Impassive stare.

"Oh, for the love of anything! No, you Irish man whore, I did not sleep with him, and definitely not while I was at camp! And anyway, he wouldn't have known was to do with a real gun with real bullets or a female who actually wanted to do something sexual with him if they both tried to blow him at the same time!"

Murphy finally seems mollified, which I find interesting, as I've never seen him show anything like jealousy before.

"If th'pair o'ye are done, we can move on t'findin' a shootin' game t'satisfy our cowgirl over here an' prove once an' fer all who's got the best aim," Connor cuts in.

I grin and start forward. "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!"

— Need Some Time To Reflect—

"Ye ready t'have yer head fucked wit'?" Murphy asks, grinning. I throw a smile over my shoulder to Connor, who is currently scowling and surrounded by my horde of stuffed animals and prizes, which has grown to include an impressive water gun (won by Murphy), a t-shirt with a Celtic knot work shamrock across the chest (won by Connor), and a giant plush panda bear (won by me).

He grimaces theatrically at me when I catch his eye, but it quickly dissolves into that lovely, knee-weakening smile where his eyes crinkle at the corners. He waves cheerfully enough while he pulls his cigarettes out of the pocket of pea coat with his other hand.

"Don't pay him any attention. He's just sore fer bein' left b'hind; was his choice takin' ye t'th haunted house. Stupid choice, rookie mistake."

"How do you mean?" I ask as we round a corner and the giant, barrel-shaped entrance proclaiming "FUNNEST HOUSE!" comes into view.

"Ye've truly never been through a fun house? B'fore?" I shake my head, and Murphy continues, "Well, fer starters, there's plenty more dark corners t'find'n take advantage of. Fer another t'ing, ye don't have a group t'worry about. There's the occasional couple o'people movin' through, but th'haunted house is much more crowded. In th'fun house, though, might even get a bit of alone time fer ourselves, find a nice quiet corner in th'mirror maze t'reflect on things."

I groan and smack his arm, and he laughs, not even trying to dodge. "That was terrible! How long have you been waiting to use that?"

He slides his arm around my waist, pulling me snug to his side and kissing my temple. "Knew ye'd appreciate that one. Thought of it while Connor was harrassin' ye in th'haunted house."

"It's not like I was rebuffing his advances, Murphy. I did kind of jump him in the cemetery."

"Aye, but after spendin' some time playin' house wit' me, ye won't even remember me little brudder's pat'etic attempts at puttin' th'moves on ye."

I privately and sarcastically thank the Lord I didn't harm that side of his ego with the beat down I gave him and Connor at the archery range. Murphy hands our admission price to the man by the entrance who utters a tired and bored, "Watch your step," as we move inside. As the door swings shut behind us, I notice the distinct lack of anyone either already ahead of us inside or approaching behind us, and I figure Murphy must behind right about the haunted house being more popular.

As the door shuts, we cross the very brief entryway that leads directly into a short, spinning hallway that looks like nothing so much as a giant—

"Hence th'barrel entrance," Murphy says cheerfully.

Oh, Sweet Lord above, this will not turn out well. I eye the turning hallway with more than a little trepidation. "We've established my clumsiness, yes? Like, zero physical coordination?"

"I know it looks rough, an' if ye fall, all I can say is stay down an' just kinda aim fer th'end. But while yer up, try t'run sorta…forward but toward th'side. Does that make sense?"

No.

"Uh…maybe you could go first and demonstrate?"

Murphy tosses a smirk at me but obliges, and to my complete shock, he makes it without falling or tripping even slightly, the bastard. He's across so quickly and adeptly that I have a brief flashback to the Lord of the Dance performance I watched on the Oscars last spring, and for one giddy moment I almost ask him if he's related to Michael Flatley. I mean, they're both Irish; there's a chance, yeah?

I clamp down on that impulse, glad that at least now I can see what he means by running forward but "towards" the side. Doesn't mean I can do it, but at least I don't feel stupid anymore.

Mentally, anyways.

"So, it's a bit like a vindictive treadmill on acid?" I ask.

"Somethin' like, yeah. C'mon, give it a shot; I'll only laugh a little, I swear."

That's probably the best offer I'll get from him, too. Deep breath. "A haunted house I can handle. This? You didn't tell me it required athletic ability!"

"Promise I'll make it worth yer while. C'mon, girl, it ain't gonna kill ye."

"Says you, you freakin' Riverdancing, Irish spider monkey," I mutter. He shoots me a rather concerned and confused look, which I shrug off as I gaze at the Whirling Hallway of Pain. Oh, for goodness sake, this is ridiculous! "Fine, I'm coming, but you can't tell Connor, no matter how stupid I look!"

Murphy just grins and holds his arms out and ready for me.

Lord help me, here goes. One…two…

Three steps, a stumble, four more steps, a fall, and several rolls later, I find solid, non-moving ground. Murphy pulls me into a standing position while I grasp his arms for support.

"Any bruises, scrapes?" He's smiling, though I can detect the genuine concern behind his words.

"None that I can see, but you can search for hidden ones later. I'm fine, just…whew…dizzy. Hold me up for a minute, okay?"

"Not bad fer a beginner, ye damn near caught yerself after that first stumble. Mine an' Conner's first time through one o'these I bruised me tailbone an' Connor busted his nose on me elbow. Didn't even have to help him do it, either. Ye don't even have a visible mark on ye, gotta be somethin' said fer that, lass."

"Small favors and all that," I smile weakly. "And thanks for the praise, I promise I'll appreciate it appropriately when my stomach gets out of the barrel and joins the rest of me. Is the rest of this place going to be quite so American Gladiator?"

"Dunno. Most o'th'places are all just a bit different. S'part o'th'fun. Will say, though, probably good yer not wearin' a skirt."

I don't ask.

Five steps into the next hallway, though, three sudden blasts of air coming straight up from the floor underneath me let me know exactly what Murphy meant. I let out a startled, rather girly shriek as I stumble gracelessly backwards into Murphy who thankfully seems eternally ready to catch me.

"There's probably gonna be a lot o'that in this hallway," Murphy says as we start forward again. My heart is thudding in my chest in a way the haunted house could never have caused, and as Murphy's fingers linger on my waist, I notice there are two distinct but equally exciting knots curling deep in my belly.

We've only made it a few more steps forward when the actual freakin' floor starts moving. I cling to Murphy like a barnacle, nearly refusing to move, but he manages to coax me forward a shuffle-step at a time until the floor becomes stationary and logical again.

"That was…unnerving?" I say. "I don't suppose I'd ever do well in California."

And that, of course, is when the lights start switching on and off and loud booms punctuate the rapid-fire flashing. Oh, and every few steps is punctuated by another jet of air blasting from the floor.

If Murphy's hands weren't firmly on my waist slowly urging me forward, I would stay exactly where I am for at least the rest of the night, albeit curled up in a whimpering ball on the floor. Monster movies, ax murderer tales, and ghost stories I can deal with. Being stuck in the middle of what feels like the worst electrical storm ever? Apparently not.

And evidently it doesn't much matter that I know it isn't real.

There's a dim light at the end of the hallway, so Murphy steers me in that direction. We turn a corner to find the flashing and booming ceased and the images gone. Murphy turns me to face him, chaffing my arms a bit.

"Yer shakin'…ye alright there, girl?"

"I don't…don't deal well…with lightning storms." I stutter into silence, taking a moment to regain my mental equilibrium. My heart is thudding so loudly I'm honestly surprised Murphy can't hear it, and I'm still shaking a bit, but I force myself to switch to non-panic mode. Nothing to be scared of, after all; it's all part of the fun, right? "I'm normally…fine…if I'm inside; it's even nice and kind of relaxing, but I can't..."

Murphy's eyes are full of concern, and I feel a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "I'm fine, really. I know that wasn't real back there, it was just too close for comfort is all. I was caught outside in an electric storm when I was a kid, and I just don't handle being close to storms very well now. I swear I'm fine, I just wasn't expecting that. And you did warn me this place would fuck with my head. I guess I should've paid more attention."

"Ye want t'leave? Entrance isn't too far back."

"Hell, no!" Even I'm a bit startled by my vehement response, and I grapple my vocal cords back under control before continuing. "Sorry. Only, there's no way in hell I'm going back through that again. Besides," I add, meeting his eyes again, "Someone promised me some reflection time in the mirror maze. I have a feeling I might need to unwind a bit after all…that." I gesture back at the now silent and dark hallway.

"Onward, then?"

"Onward, then."

The next hallway proves to be fairly tame. The floor is vaguely slanted with random protrusions as well as strange shapes hanging down from the ceiling. It's only when my eyes have adjusted to the light that I realize we're walking through an over-sized, distorted, upside-down living room. The shapes on the ceiling (the ceiling to us) prove to be a rather misshapen set of living room furniture, including matching sofa and chair set.

"I think if Tim Burton walked on his hands he'd feel right at home here," I mutter. Though this room is obviously not as heart-pounding as the other two, there's a fun sense of wrongness that makes it just a tad difficult to completely relax in here. I can feel my smile returning as I start to see why Murphy might find this place so amusing.

The slanted floor makes walking just a bit odd, like I think I'll need a railing or something, but we finally make it to the other end of the room. Instead of a solid wall or even a door, there's a hole with a slide that slopes gently downward and curves out of sight around a bend.

"Y'want me t'go first?" Murphy offers. I kiss him swiftly on the cheek, appreciating that he is trying to help me conserve some dignity by asking instead of just assuming I'm too scared to do it.

"Nah, but thanks, really. If it's too horrible, I'll just close my eyes, curl up in fetal position, and wait for you. Seriously, though, give me about a minute or so to get out of your way at the bottom. As much as I love it when you're on top, I'm not too keen on it happening at an accelerated velocity."

I clamber down to sit in the hole, my legs resting on the slide. Murphy places his hands on my lower back and says, "Ye ready?" Nod. "Ye sure?" Vehement nod, nervous swallow, minor heart palpitations. "Three…two…"And he shoves, not bothering to wait for "one," but I figured he wouldn't, so I'm expecting the early departure.

The ride down is exhilarating, if a little nerve racking simply because I have no idea what I'll find at the bottom. I notice on the way down that, unlike the Flashing Hallway of Mind Fucking, the lighting on the slide changes cheerily from one color of the rainbow to the next. Then the slide straightens out, the bottom opens up out of nowhere, and I go flying through the air to land with a strange, scattering, scrabbling noise in a…ball pit?

Oh, hell, yeah!

I figure Murphy's probably on his way down, so I dig myself out, scrambling hurriedly through the colored plastic balls to the exit. I grab one of the balls on my way out and duck around the exit, leaning back against the wall and working to calm my excited breathing into a quieter rhythm.

Sure enough, a few seconds later I hear a whooshing noise and the unmistakable sound of Murphy cursing as he lands. There are a few moments of scrabbling, then a pause.

"Lass? Ye still here?"

I risk a peek around the corner, and as luck would have it, Murphy happens to be facing away from me. I aim carefully, and since the room isn't very large (hence Murphy isn't too far away), I manage to nail him square between the shoulders before I duck back behind the doorway.

There's a curse, then another pause.

Murphy's voice is soft and dangerously low when he finally speaks. "So that's how yer gonna play, huh? Ye've got five seconds t'run."

Oh, shit…

Without another thought, I take off into the new area, which I very quickly figure out is the mirror maze. If I were going at a more leisurely pace, I'd probably take the time to stop and admire the lighting scheme of soft black lights from above with lighted, different-colored frames around each mirror. I might take the time to contemplate my reflection in the distortion mirrors placed strategically among the regular mirrors. But since I'm currently running from one of my boyfriends and channeling just enough air to laugh and keep going, my concentration is a bit split, so I only get dim, ghostly, distorted images of myself flashing by as I sprint down the winding hallways.

Though the lights are blessedly steady, the dimness combined with the distortions and the monotonous design of the maze have me rather lost after only a few twists, turns, and forks. I have no idea where I'm going.

Of course, Murphy's pounding footsteps behind me are a pretty good indicator of which way not to go.

He's catching up a lot more quickly than I would've thought possible, and as giddy as I already was from the upstairs mind-fuck and Connor's earlier attentions, this chase is definitely ratcheting up the adrenaline (along with a couple of other key hormones). Though I don't want him to catch me too quickly, I'm more than willing to be caught sometime in the near future. After the briefest of pauses to try and catch some breath, I tear off again, unable to hold back a shriek of laughter.

Several twists and turns later, I've managed to stay out of sight from Murphy, though I can hear him hot on my trail. I don't know how, but no matter which turn or fork or twist I take, he always keeps up with me, never taking a wrong turn, always a couple of corners away, muttering hotly about all sorts of things he's going to do when he catches me.

Promises, promises…

I come upon another fork and pause, not sure which way to go. I choose right at random, taking off to turn three right corners in rapid succession before finding myself in a dead-end room roughly as big as a medium-sized closet. I'm completely surrounded by mirrors, all pleasantly normal at least, but with the far wall also covered in a mirror, I feel like I'm literally boxed in by reflections of myself that seem to be going on for quite some distance.

Breathless and a little bit light-headed, I step closer to the wall, brushing my fingertips over the glass while my reflections mimic me. The reflection of my chest is heaving in the mirror, my skin taking on a bluish tinge from the overhead black light while hints of the colors from the mirror frames play over my various forms. I stare around me as what feels like scores of myself gaze back, all panting and flushed deeper hues of whatever color they're framed in. My skin prickles, overly sensitized from Connor's teasing, from the lightning hallway upstairs, from the running, from anticipation of the inevitable conclusion to the running…

Another face appears next to mine, also flushed and more than a little bit devious, strong arms wrapping tightly around me, and Murphy growls my ear, "Gotcha."

I'd jump if he didn't already have me pinned tightly against him, and I feel a delicious twinge between the apex of my thighs as the evidence of his enjoyment of the chase throbs firmly against my lower back. I squirm in his arms deliberately, aiming to provoke rather than escape, and he squeezes just a bit tighter.

Murphy's breath hisses out sharply, hot against my neck and shoulder, and he switches his grip until he's holding tightly to my wrists. Leaning forward, he presses my hands flat against the mirror, palms forward as if my reflection and I were playing pat-a-cake.

"Don't move."

Except for the shaking in my knees, I don't think I could move if I wanted to. Which, by the way, I really, really don't.

Murphy slips his coat from his shoulders, tossing it carelessly a few feet away. My coat comes off next, with Murphy quick to replace my hands on the glass. My reflection stares back at me, wide-eyed and blue, just a bit darker around the face and neck. She's panting, her chest rising and falling as rapidly as mine while Murphy watches over my shoulder.

My eyes find Murphy's in the mirror then, and my breath catches in my throat at the darkness cast there by the strange lighting. Hungry black pools gaze avidly back at me from the mirror, and a shiver runs down my back that has nothing to do with the chill night air.

Murphy reaches up, catching my hair and sweeping it around so it's hanging in front of one of my shoulders. His lips brush slowly down the exposed skin of my neck, and I murmur something indistinct as his hot breath washes over me. My eyelids start to flutter shut then—

Then he stops.

"Eyes open an' on th'mirror, lass. Wanna see ye watchin'."

I reluctantly obey, and his reflection smirks back at me, cocky and completely sure of himself. "After all, if I'm gonna use some o'me best moves, I'd like to have a bit of an audience."

My eyes fasten on the juncture of my neck and shoulder where Murphy's lips have gone back to work, joined lazily and unhurriedly by his teeth and tongue. I'm so intent on watching him work (and of course enjoying the fruits of his labor) that his hands sliding suddenly under the hem of my shirt come as a complete surprise.

As he sweeps his hands upwards, Murphy brings my shirt along for the ride, exposing inch after inch of feverish skin to the cool air. A tiny moan slips from my lips, and my eyes nearly roll back in my head.

"Eyes front, girl."

"Murphy, for the love of—"

But his hands are moving again, swiftly and deliberately shoving my shirt up. His thumbs hook under the edges of my bra along the way, and with a sharp tug, my breasts fall free and my chest is completely exposed in the mirror. Murphy's eyes are fixed on my reflection, drinking in the sight, and it's all I can do to keep my hands pressed against the glass that's rapidly growing slick with the sweat of my palms.

Murphy pushes until my shirt and bra are bunched up across my collarbone then allows his palms to leisurely skim down over the rapidly cooling skin of my chest and belly. His calloused hands graze roughly over my nipples, scraping a moan from deep in my gut.

"Shhh," he soothes, running his fingers along the underside of my breasts until he's cupping them firmly. "S'much as I love t'hear ye make dose noises, ye need t'stay quiet fer me, just in case anyone happens by. Now keep yer eyes on th'mirror, lass; wanna see ye watchin' me work."

It's all I can do to keep quiet as Murphy sets about proving just how skilled he really is with his hands, and if I weren't so distracted just now, I'd be worried about drawing blood from biting my lip this hard so I can keep quiet. When Murphy goes back to attacking my neck and shoulder with his mouth in addition to the miracles he's working with his hands, I nearly lose it right there.

"Murphy…"

"Shh."

His hands sear a burning trail down my torso and toy at the waistband of my pants a moment before sliding open the buckle on my belt. He undoes the button on my pants, and I swear I can feel the vibration of every tooth on the zipper letting go. His left hand returns to its slow torture of my breasts, but his right…

Oh, his right hand…

"Need…to…wipe…palms. Sweat…" The whisper barely reaches my own ears, but I can feel Murphy nod even as he continues his assault on all three fronts. I rapidly (if shakily) swipe my palms against the legs of my pants, and Murphy's teeth scrape against the shell of my ear.

"Put yer hands back in front of ye, then look around th'room at yerself, lass. Look at all o'ye in here, enjoyin' yerselves. Want ye t'see yerself let go fer me."

There are dozens of him reflecting around the room, eyes full of dark fire, hands seeming to be everywhere all at once. My own reflections writhe against them, forsaking all cares of public propriety without a second thought. The raw, wanton abandon in all those eyes manifesting from so many angles sends a surge of lust through me so powerfully that I nearly buck him off. Murphy grins from a dozen angles, and scores of arms tighten their hold on all me as he redoubles his efforts. I swear I don't think my legs are going to last much longer.

"Murphy, please…" The whisper is nothing short of begging, and I've been grinding back against him for a solid minute now. "Please…"

"What d'ye want, lass?"

Is he kidding? How can he not know? How can he not already be ripping my pants off, shoving them to the floor and bending me over and—

He thrusts a finger roughly inside me, shattering my frantic train of thought.

"Tell me, girl." His voice is ragged, made deeper by the restraint he's using to hold himself back. Even in the mirrors I can see the imprints his fingers are leaving on my breast as he presses harder and harder into my flesh, squeezing and twisting and pulling.

"Remember…remember th'first night I was wit'ye, girl. Ye got t'tell me what it is ye want."

No, just…oh, God…please, Murphy, just read my fucking mind already before I explode!

And he does, just not how I want him to.

"Tell me, girl…Be so much better if I could jus' hear ye say it. What is it ye want?"

"Jesus, Murphy!" I can barely rein in my voice, and my whispered plea sounds frayed and bizarre in the dim, crowded mirror room. "Please…just…please…"

But he won't relent. "Lord's name, lass. Am pleasin' ye, doin' a fine job, too." He squeezes my clit and my nipple hard at the same time, and I have to bite back a shriek as little stars twinkle at the edge of my vision. "What d'ye need done differently?"

Can't…take…oh, please, just…

"Fuck me, Murphy…please…just fuck me…and...please…"

Murphy has my pants and underwear sliding down my thighs before I've even finished speaking. I hear a jingling, a zipping noise, then a quiet swoosh as his jeans follow.

Despite Murphy's repeated warnings, I can't stop the low, desperate keening that claws its way up from my chest as he jerks my hips back and plunges deep inside me. I wouldn't even notice if someone else were in the room with us, much less care about someone overhearing.

It's fast, rough, and perfect, and some far away part of my mind vaguely hears Murphy making a few noises I've never heard before. He pulls hard at my hips, anchoring me against his increasingly brutal thrusting. Momentum inevitably carries us forward until I'm pressed against the surface of the mirror, my breath hot and wet as fog forms around my burning cheek. The cold glass, Murphy burning against me and inside me and all around me, and it's too much, and for just a moment I have to shut everything out and just feel.

"Open yer eyes."

As lost as I am, I can't ignore the intensity in Murphy's voice, but it's still so much, and I don't want to—No…I can't, I just…

"Watch yerself come fer me, lass…need ye…t'see. Do it fer me, girl'."

I pull my face up from the glass just enough, and I turn glassy, barely-focused eyes back to my reflection. I watch the crash of emotions flooding over my face, and my mouth works silently around the cries I'd normally not think twice about releasing. My face is flushed deeply even in the strange light, and I barely recognize who I see there. I catch of glimpse of myself completely open, completely unguarded for what I think might be the first time in my life, and I'm not sure I know who she is.

As Murphy's gaze finds mine in the mirror, I see something in him now that unsettles me: a side of him, just a small part that I've never seen before; something deep that I have a sudden, instinctual desire to fall into. As open as he's always been with me, I wonder that I've never seen this depth in him. I wonder just how deep this part of him goes and how far I'd have to fall to be able to find out. What would I have to let go of in order to fall, and why is it I'm so afraid of this release?

I have a single, surreal instant where I wonder if Murphy and I are really seeing each other for the first time, and whether I've been found wanting. And without a word, Murphy lets me know that I haven't.

And that's my undoing.

Murphy growls against my neck, burying his face in my shoulder as he stifles the sounds of his own finish. My breath comes out in a rush, and every muscle inside me locks for an instant before completely liquefying.

The only sounds in our small room now are the combined rhythms of our ragged breathing. I'm pressing hard against the mirror though Murphy is mostly what's keeping me on my feet.

"Yer gonna…be th'death o'me, lass," he pants, helping me regain my balance.

"Not if you kill me first. I can barely handle one of you, and somehow I'm supposed to handle two? I don't even know if I'm going to be able to walk out of here."

The next couple of minutes are consumed by pulling up, fastening, and straightening clothing. I've just finished buttoning my coat when Murphy catches my arm and pulls me to face him. His mouth is working against some new emotion, and he stalls for a second, searching my face silently before finally speaking.

"Just wanted t'tell ye…how much…how much I love…watchin' ye…lettin' go fer me." Before I can comment on the very distinctive pauses and the sudden catch in his voice, Murphy dips his face to mine and kisses me soundly, stealing what little of my breath I've managed to regain.

I want to question those pauses, to ask him about the sudden shift in his mood, but the look in his eyes stops me, and suddenly I don't need to ask. Warmth that has only a little to do with the mind-blowing sex spreads from my chest. I stand up on my toes and pull his face down to mine, placing a kiss in the center of his forehead.

"Alright, lead the way out of here. I have the feeling we've left your brother alone too long, and there's no telling what kind of trouble he's gotten himself into."

— Drifting Off—

Images float past in my head like a montage reel at the end of a summer, feel-good, family flick:

- Connor surrounded by a group of giggling high school girls, his eyes pleading with me to rescue him. Apparently it's "sooooooo adorable" how he's surrounded by all those stuffed animals, never mind that they belong to his girlfriend, which he's apparently told them multiple times by the time Murphy and I get back. One of the braver ones even attempts to get in some groping time, which Connor barely manages to dodge. I quickly discourage further attempts simply through the menace behind my gaze and few simply phrased, completely sincere threats. After all, I don't care that they're minors. This, of course, leads Murphy to spend the next ten minutes outlining all the ways I must be terrifying to children and a horrible babysitter, which leads me to point out that I have never once mentioned any desire or intention to babysit anything, much less children.

- Connor and Murphy nearly getting in a fist fight over who gets to take me on the Ferris wheel first only to look up after a couple of rounds to find the ride starting with me on it and my hoard of stuffed animals as my seat companions.

- The train ride home where I somehow manage to fall asleep on both boys at once after which I'm barely able to walk up the stairs to my apartment without assistance while Connor and Murphy haul along my prizes.

- Both boys taking turns tucking me in and kissing me goodnight. Connor's lips are cool and sweet against mine, and he murmurs something about picking up where we left off outside the haunted house the next time he sees me. Connor steps out to give Murphy his turn, and he crouches by my bed, resting his knuckles softly against my cheek. "Best date I've ever been on, lass," he murmurs. I smile sleepily, my eyes already drifting shut. My brain fuzzes in and out as he continues.

"Ye know…back in th'mirror room…" He stops for a minute and scratches the back of his neck nervously. I wonder vaguely what happened to all the assuredness he had in the fun house. It's too dark to really tell, but I think his face might be just a tad flushed. "I was gonna tell ye…Well, that' is, I wanted ye…think ye should know…that I—"

"Murph! C'mon, girl's gotta work in th'mornin'! Get yer ass outta there!"

Murphy sighs, kissing my forehead.

"G'night, lass. We'll lock th'door behind us."

"Night, Murphy."

Murphy retreats, shutting my bedroom door behind him. I hear my front door shut and latch, and after a few lovely, long moments of reliving my favorite parts of the evening, I feel myself drifting off. Just before unconsciousness claims me, I have one last image of deep, unexplored midnight blue depths. Then I'm asleep, dreaming of letting go and falling into the unknown.

And I am blissfully unafraid.

Author's Note: BAM.