FIC: Prove It, Part 4 (F/M)
Title: Prove It
Rating: R
Genre: Humour, smut
Fandom: A-Team movieverse
Warnings: Language, slash, sex
Summary: For a prompt on A-Team Prompts: Face wants to help Murdock get laid. Murdock shows him that he needs no help in that department, thankyouverymuch.
(PART ONE) (PART TWO) (PART THREE)
Breakfast was both more and less awkward than Face expected. Less, because Murdock promptly flipped through his mental Rolodex and donned the (figurative, this time) hat of one of his many personas. This one was from New Zealand. Face absently noted the skill it took to mimic the accent so well, especially with a mouth full of bacon.
That, of course, led to thoughts about how talented Murdock’s tongue was in other areas. Face covered his flush with a feigned coughing fit, but Ikaroa (as Murdock was insisting on being addressed) took no notice and simply continued his animated discussion with his reflection in the back of his spoon. Why they were speaking Russian, Face didn’t question.
He was just happy that his needy, borderline-rapey conversation with Murdock had been cut off. It hadn’t sounded so creepy in his head! Something about this situation kept putting Face on the back foot, and he didn’t like it. He was supposed to be the smooth one - he WAS the smooth one! - but this was going all wrong. It was backwards. And stupid, because Murdock was being a real prude about this, and if he was going to do that, he probably should have started before he put his fingers up Face’s-
A deep, annoyed grunt came from the doorway. Thinking that Hannibal had taken issue with the animated way Ikaroa was explaining what sounded to Face like the plot of The Facts Of Life (his Russian was a bit rusty) to his spoon, the blond swivelled in his chair. Nope. It was BA.
That’s when things got awkward again.
BA was glaring loudly, and yes, he could do that. It was one of his superpowers. He was clad in the same clothes as last night and had clearly just rolled out of bed. The wrong side, too, by the look of it. His vibes of hostility and unhappiness were so strong that even Ikaroa fled, leaving Murdock to fend for himself. Face could tell by the shift in his friend’s posture and abrupt ceasing of babushka babble. And if a Maori warrior couldn’t handle it…
“Good mornin’, Bosco!” chirped Murdock. His chipper attitude only seemed to feed BA’s rage. This could not come to good.
“I ain’t talking to you two,” grumped BA as he stomped over to the fridge. Face noted that he wasn’t beating them to death with his fists, which was a good sign.
“Aw, why not?” asked Murdock, not put off in the slightest. “It is because we didn’t save you eggs? I can make more! I’ll even put blueberries in them.”
BA ignored him, which was probably for the best. “All damn night,” he said instead, gulping milk straight from the carton. “That just ain’t cool. I don’t wanna hear that shit. You got no respect for me, for Hannibal, for yourselves… You two are disgusting, you know that.” He shook his head and took another swig.
Face tensed. He was pretty sure that BA had known, before last night, that Face… something something metaphor for having sex with both men and women (his brain still wasn’t on fire yet), but Face had always respected the team’s sensibilities and never engaged in that kind of activity around them. Maybe BA had been harbouring strong opinions on the matter this whole time, and just hadn’t had an excuse to air them? This could get ugly.
Beside him, Murdock seemed to be coming to the same conclusion. Remarkably, the normally manic pilot didn’t say anything, but he looked away from BA and started twirling his spoon like a baton. Classic Murdock nervous fiddling. Face felt a wave of protectiveness. BA could say what he wanted about Face, but if he said anything that hurt Murdock then Face was gonna be over there so fast that BA could have two black eyes before he’d even-
“Aw, cut it out.” BA let out a frustrated sigh. “Stop looking so hang-dog, both of you. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He busied himself making toast, not looking at his teammates as their postures relaxed. “Don’t think you can turn this around and be the victims. You ain’t the ones who had to listen to all that god-awful, loud, ridiculous jibber-jabber comin’ out your mouths, shit, I don’t need to hear that… Hey! It ain’t funny.”
Face and Murdock respectfully disagreed, and were collapsed over their half-eaten breakfasts in paroxysms of laughter.
“Did…” Murdock could hardly speak. “Did you just say ‘jibber-jabber’?”
They nearly fell off their chairs in hysterics.
BA crossed his arms and glared, very put out that they weren’t as apologetic and fearful as he thought they should be.
“You are…” Face choked on his own breath. “Ack! Hahaha! You are, like, the LEAST threatening person…” He pounded the table with his fists when his body couldn’t find an outlet for all the mirth.
“Hi, I’m Bosco,” Murdock growled in a deep and borderline-offensive imitation. “I’m from da hood, where we be sellin’ crack and talkin’ all kinds of jibber-jabber.” His voice broke on the last syllable and he shook the table with his spasms.
“That ain’t funny,” BA informed him with a death stare that had no impact whatsoever.
Two voices answered him at the same time.
“It really is.”
“I have to disagree.”
And then the laughing continued.
BA’s toast popped up. He smeared some peanut butter on it and grabbed a plate. Snagging the milk from the fridge, he left the kitchen and headed for the relative safety of his own room. Damn idiots, couldn’t talk to them about anything.
On his way down the hall, BA passed a disgruntled looking Hannibal, who nodded at him curtly before continuing his purposeful stride towards the kitchen. BA giggled to himself. Fools were in for it now.
As soon as Hannibal appeared in the doorway once again, Face and Murdock’s cackling stilled. A hush fell over the kitchen. Sweat prickled at Murdock’s forehead. Face shifted uneasily in his chair. A tumbleweed rolled past. Wait. Tumbleweed? Face risked looking away from Hannibal’s Intense Glare to take another look. Yep, that was a ball of hair. Ew! This house was so gross. Next time he was going to scam a place owned by people with better hygiene.
Hannibal cleared his throat. Face snapped his attention back to the Colonel. Dammit. That was going to cost him points, he just knew it.
But Hannibal’s most stern, intimidating, I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed (except everyone knew he really WAS mad), Colonel-y stare was, for once, not directed at Face. The conman blinked. That had to be a first. Ha! Also: Oh shit.
“I’m just, gonna,” Face made a vague gesture with his hands, even though neither of the other men in the room was looking at him, “…Away.” Ducking his head so he wouldn’t be decapitated by the lasers shooting from Hannibal’s eyes, he all but ran from the room.
Hannibal took a seat in the hastily-vacated chair. He crossed his arms and continued to stare at Murdock.
The pilot scratched the table with his fork. “Want some coffee, Hannibal?” he offered hopefully.
Hannibal said nothing.
Murdock was an optimist. “Eggs? I have bacon too.”
Still nothing.
Then, after several tense seconds, a long, drawn out sigh.
Murdock ducked his head, fiddling with the fork. This was excruciating. But he knew he had to wait for Hannibal to start. He bounced his left leg distractedly, nervous energy needing an out. Why did he have to give Hannibal those painkillers? Normal aspirin would have taken at least five times this long to work.
Finally, after making him wait so long that Murdock was positive it was part of Hannibal’s punishment, the older man rubbed a hand over his face. “You know we have to talk about this.”
Murdock nodded vigorously. “Yes sir.”
“You know I don’t want to.”
Murdock bit his lip. “I imagine not, sir.”
Hannibal sighed again. “Son…”
Murdock tensed. Uh oh. Hannibal in heart-to-heart mode was something to be approached very, very warily. Like a pre-menstrual hyena, except hyenas didn’t menstruate; pigs were the ones that were meant to do that, but Murdock used to live on a farm and he’d never seen it.
Hannibal was still talking. “For obvious reasons, there are rules against this sort of thing in the Army.” Murdock’s fork gauged a line in the faux-wood of the table top. Hannibal, seeing the reaction, clarified himself quickly. “Fraternization among teammates, I mean, not. Well.” He cleared his throat. “Of course they have rules about that too, but that’s not what I’m here to discuss.”
Murdock put down his fork. He didn’t want to ruin these nice strangers’ furniture.
Hannibal’s expression softened. “Captain, I’m not here to lecture you, not about… that. I want you to always feel free to talk to me about… things… if you ever need to.” He cleared his throat again, possibly over the sound of horrified screaming that had suddenly erupted in Murdock’s head. The day he sat down with Hannibal and started talking about “boy problems”… Murdock shook his head slightly. If the screaming got any louder, he was pretty sure his ears would start bleeding.
“Thank you, sir,” he managed. “I appreciate that.” And he did. The offer was nice, even if the thought of following through with it was horrifying.
Hannibal seemed to agree, because he didn’t press the matter. “Right.” He paused. “But, Murdock, I need to know that you understand how important it is that the four of us maintain our ability to work and live together, as a fellowship and a team above all else, right now. With the MPs on our tail and our pictures on the news every second day, we can’t afford to have discord rattling us from within. We’re the best, but we’re only going to stay the best if we focus and keep ourselves sharp. We can’t afford distractions. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Murdock nodded again. “Yes, sir. I, uh. Last night wasn’t a planned distraction.”
He could swear that Hannibal was blushing. “Yes, well. Be that as it may. I hope you know that it can’t happen again.”
It wasn’t helpful or conducive to an easy resolution to this conversation, but Murdock’s hackles couldn’t help but rise a bit at that. He understood where Hannibal was coming from, of course, but ultimately they were grown men. Didn’t Hannibal trust him to always look out for the team? Wasn’t that what Murdock had been doing for the last nine years? Unlike Face, his personal relationships (such as they were) had never interfered with team business, officially or unofficially. Not once. Did Hannibal think that that was a fluke, or did he just assume that the crazy pilot never got laid, like Face had before this whole mess started last night?
“With all due respect, sir,” the crazy pilot in question replied, “I don’t think it’s within your jurisdiction, as Colonel or as anything else you might be to us, to dictate who we can and can’t interact with in our personal lives. In any capacity.”
The lines around Hannibal’s mouth deepened. Murdock hastened to continue. He really didn’t want this to turn into a shit-fight. “I mean it, Hannibal - I’m not trying to disrespect you. I just want you to respect that I can make my own judgement calls about that part of my life. Been doing it this long.”
Hannibal held Murdock’s gaze as the implications of that last sentence settled into the air around them. Finally, he spoke. “I know you have, Murdock, and I’m not questioning your commitment to our team or ability to make decisions.” Hannibal knew that it chafed Murdock to be constantly, consistently doubted in his military ability by people who couldn’t understand that sure, he was crazy, but he wasn’t CRAZY. Not where it counted. “This isn’t just anyone, though. This is Face.”
Murdock ducked his head a bit and nodded. “I know, sir. He’s a teammate, and I should never have-“
“Not just that,” Hannibal cut in. Murdock straightened, confused. “It’s Face.” Hannibal’s eyes were steel, staring through Murdock with remorseless warning. “You know what happened last time.”
At first, Murdock didn’t understand what Hannibal meant. Then: Of course. The last time Face had been with someone he cared about, really and truly, it had been Sosa.
Murdock raised his chin, meeting Hannibal’s stare unflinchingly. “I know, sir. I would never let something like that happen again.”
Hannibal seemed satisfied with that, and with what he could see in Murdock’s eyes (hell, Murdock himself didn’t know what he was feeling right now, so if Hannibal could decipher it then he deserved a gold cigar). The Colonel nodded, once. “Good.” He stood up, clapping Murdock on the back hard enough to nearly throw the slighter man off his chair. “Don’t make me have to talk to you about this again.”
Murdock definitely wouldn’t, not if he could help it. “No, sir.” Thank god that was over.
Now Murdock just had to deal with Face.
No problem.
(PART FIVE)
Rating: R
Genre: Humour, smut
Fandom: A-Team movieverse
Warnings: Language, slash, sex
Summary: For a prompt on A-Team Prompts: Face wants to help Murdock get laid. Murdock shows him that he needs no help in that department, thankyouverymuch.
(PART ONE) (PART TWO) (PART THREE)
Breakfast was both more and less awkward than Face expected. Less, because Murdock promptly flipped through his mental Rolodex and donned the (figurative, this time) hat of one of his many personas. This one was from New Zealand. Face absently noted the skill it took to mimic the accent so well, especially with a mouth full of bacon.
That, of course, led to thoughts about how talented Murdock’s tongue was in other areas. Face covered his flush with a feigned coughing fit, but Ikaroa (as Murdock was insisting on being addressed) took no notice and simply continued his animated discussion with his reflection in the back of his spoon. Why they were speaking Russian, Face didn’t question.
He was just happy that his needy, borderline-rapey conversation with Murdock had been cut off. It hadn’t sounded so creepy in his head! Something about this situation kept putting Face on the back foot, and he didn’t like it. He was supposed to be the smooth one - he WAS the smooth one! - but this was going all wrong. It was backwards. And stupid, because Murdock was being a real prude about this, and if he was going to do that, he probably should have started before he put his fingers up Face’s-
A deep, annoyed grunt came from the doorway. Thinking that Hannibal had taken issue with the animated way Ikaroa was explaining what sounded to Face like the plot of The Facts Of Life (his Russian was a bit rusty) to his spoon, the blond swivelled in his chair. Nope. It was BA.
That’s when things got awkward again.
BA was glaring loudly, and yes, he could do that. It was one of his superpowers. He was clad in the same clothes as last night and had clearly just rolled out of bed. The wrong side, too, by the look of it. His vibes of hostility and unhappiness were so strong that even Ikaroa fled, leaving Murdock to fend for himself. Face could tell by the shift in his friend’s posture and abrupt ceasing of babushka babble. And if a Maori warrior couldn’t handle it…
“Good mornin’, Bosco!” chirped Murdock. His chipper attitude only seemed to feed BA’s rage. This could not come to good.
“I ain’t talking to you two,” grumped BA as he stomped over to the fridge. Face noted that he wasn’t beating them to death with his fists, which was a good sign.
“Aw, why not?” asked Murdock, not put off in the slightest. “It is because we didn’t save you eggs? I can make more! I’ll even put blueberries in them.”
BA ignored him, which was probably for the best. “All damn night,” he said instead, gulping milk straight from the carton. “That just ain’t cool. I don’t wanna hear that shit. You got no respect for me, for Hannibal, for yourselves… You two are disgusting, you know that.” He shook his head and took another swig.
Face tensed. He was pretty sure that BA had known, before last night, that Face… something something metaphor for having sex with both men and women (his brain still wasn’t on fire yet), but Face had always respected the team’s sensibilities and never engaged in that kind of activity around them. Maybe BA had been harbouring strong opinions on the matter this whole time, and just hadn’t had an excuse to air them? This could get ugly.
Beside him, Murdock seemed to be coming to the same conclusion. Remarkably, the normally manic pilot didn’t say anything, but he looked away from BA and started twirling his spoon like a baton. Classic Murdock nervous fiddling. Face felt a wave of protectiveness. BA could say what he wanted about Face, but if he said anything that hurt Murdock then Face was gonna be over there so fast that BA could have two black eyes before he’d even-
“Aw, cut it out.” BA let out a frustrated sigh. “Stop looking so hang-dog, both of you. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He busied himself making toast, not looking at his teammates as their postures relaxed. “Don’t think you can turn this around and be the victims. You ain’t the ones who had to listen to all that god-awful, loud, ridiculous jibber-jabber comin’ out your mouths, shit, I don’t need to hear that… Hey! It ain’t funny.”
Face and Murdock respectfully disagreed, and were collapsed over their half-eaten breakfasts in paroxysms of laughter.
“Did…” Murdock could hardly speak. “Did you just say ‘jibber-jabber’?”
They nearly fell off their chairs in hysterics.
BA crossed his arms and glared, very put out that they weren’t as apologetic and fearful as he thought they should be.
“You are…” Face choked on his own breath. “Ack! Hahaha! You are, like, the LEAST threatening person…” He pounded the table with his fists when his body couldn’t find an outlet for all the mirth.
“Hi, I’m Bosco,” Murdock growled in a deep and borderline-offensive imitation. “I’m from da hood, where we be sellin’ crack and talkin’ all kinds of jibber-jabber.” His voice broke on the last syllable and he shook the table with his spasms.
“That ain’t funny,” BA informed him with a death stare that had no impact whatsoever.
Two voices answered him at the same time.
“It really is.”
“I have to disagree.”
And then the laughing continued.
BA’s toast popped up. He smeared some peanut butter on it and grabbed a plate. Snagging the milk from the fridge, he left the kitchen and headed for the relative safety of his own room. Damn idiots, couldn’t talk to them about anything.
On his way down the hall, BA passed a disgruntled looking Hannibal, who nodded at him curtly before continuing his purposeful stride towards the kitchen. BA giggled to himself. Fools were in for it now.
As soon as Hannibal appeared in the doorway once again, Face and Murdock’s cackling stilled. A hush fell over the kitchen. Sweat prickled at Murdock’s forehead. Face shifted uneasily in his chair. A tumbleweed rolled past. Wait. Tumbleweed? Face risked looking away from Hannibal’s Intense Glare to take another look. Yep, that was a ball of hair. Ew! This house was so gross. Next time he was going to scam a place owned by people with better hygiene.
Hannibal cleared his throat. Face snapped his attention back to the Colonel. Dammit. That was going to cost him points, he just knew it.
But Hannibal’s most stern, intimidating, I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed (except everyone knew he really WAS mad), Colonel-y stare was, for once, not directed at Face. The conman blinked. That had to be a first. Ha! Also: Oh shit.
“I’m just, gonna,” Face made a vague gesture with his hands, even though neither of the other men in the room was looking at him, “…Away.” Ducking his head so he wouldn’t be decapitated by the lasers shooting from Hannibal’s eyes, he all but ran from the room.
Hannibal took a seat in the hastily-vacated chair. He crossed his arms and continued to stare at Murdock.
The pilot scratched the table with his fork. “Want some coffee, Hannibal?” he offered hopefully.
Hannibal said nothing.
Murdock was an optimist. “Eggs? I have bacon too.”
Still nothing.
Then, after several tense seconds, a long, drawn out sigh.
Murdock ducked his head, fiddling with the fork. This was excruciating. But he knew he had to wait for Hannibal to start. He bounced his left leg distractedly, nervous energy needing an out. Why did he have to give Hannibal those painkillers? Normal aspirin would have taken at least five times this long to work.
Finally, after making him wait so long that Murdock was positive it was part of Hannibal’s punishment, the older man rubbed a hand over his face. “You know we have to talk about this.”
Murdock nodded vigorously. “Yes sir.”
“You know I don’t want to.”
Murdock bit his lip. “I imagine not, sir.”
Hannibal sighed again. “Son…”
Murdock tensed. Uh oh. Hannibal in heart-to-heart mode was something to be approached very, very warily. Like a pre-menstrual hyena, except hyenas didn’t menstruate; pigs were the ones that were meant to do that, but Murdock used to live on a farm and he’d never seen it.
Hannibal was still talking. “For obvious reasons, there are rules against this sort of thing in the Army.” Murdock’s fork gauged a line in the faux-wood of the table top. Hannibal, seeing the reaction, clarified himself quickly. “Fraternization among teammates, I mean, not. Well.” He cleared his throat. “Of course they have rules about that too, but that’s not what I’m here to discuss.”
Murdock put down his fork. He didn’t want to ruin these nice strangers’ furniture.
Hannibal’s expression softened. “Captain, I’m not here to lecture you, not about… that. I want you to always feel free to talk to me about… things… if you ever need to.” He cleared his throat again, possibly over the sound of horrified screaming that had suddenly erupted in Murdock’s head. The day he sat down with Hannibal and started talking about “boy problems”… Murdock shook his head slightly. If the screaming got any louder, he was pretty sure his ears would start bleeding.
“Thank you, sir,” he managed. “I appreciate that.” And he did. The offer was nice, even if the thought of following through with it was horrifying.
Hannibal seemed to agree, because he didn’t press the matter. “Right.” He paused. “But, Murdock, I need to know that you understand how important it is that the four of us maintain our ability to work and live together, as a fellowship and a team above all else, right now. With the MPs on our tail and our pictures on the news every second day, we can’t afford to have discord rattling us from within. We’re the best, but we’re only going to stay the best if we focus and keep ourselves sharp. We can’t afford distractions. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Murdock nodded again. “Yes, sir. I, uh. Last night wasn’t a planned distraction.”
He could swear that Hannibal was blushing. “Yes, well. Be that as it may. I hope you know that it can’t happen again.”
It wasn’t helpful or conducive to an easy resolution to this conversation, but Murdock’s hackles couldn’t help but rise a bit at that. He understood where Hannibal was coming from, of course, but ultimately they were grown men. Didn’t Hannibal trust him to always look out for the team? Wasn’t that what Murdock had been doing for the last nine years? Unlike Face, his personal relationships (such as they were) had never interfered with team business, officially or unofficially. Not once. Did Hannibal think that that was a fluke, or did he just assume that the crazy pilot never got laid, like Face had before this whole mess started last night?
“With all due respect, sir,” the crazy pilot in question replied, “I don’t think it’s within your jurisdiction, as Colonel or as anything else you might be to us, to dictate who we can and can’t interact with in our personal lives. In any capacity.”
The lines around Hannibal’s mouth deepened. Murdock hastened to continue. He really didn’t want this to turn into a shit-fight. “I mean it, Hannibal - I’m not trying to disrespect you. I just want you to respect that I can make my own judgement calls about that part of my life. Been doing it this long.”
Hannibal held Murdock’s gaze as the implications of that last sentence settled into the air around them. Finally, he spoke. “I know you have, Murdock, and I’m not questioning your commitment to our team or ability to make decisions.” Hannibal knew that it chafed Murdock to be constantly, consistently doubted in his military ability by people who couldn’t understand that sure, he was crazy, but he wasn’t CRAZY. Not where it counted. “This isn’t just anyone, though. This is Face.”
Murdock ducked his head a bit and nodded. “I know, sir. He’s a teammate, and I should never have-“
“Not just that,” Hannibal cut in. Murdock straightened, confused. “It’s Face.” Hannibal’s eyes were steel, staring through Murdock with remorseless warning. “You know what happened last time.”
At first, Murdock didn’t understand what Hannibal meant. Then: Of course. The last time Face had been with someone he cared about, really and truly, it had been Sosa.
Murdock raised his chin, meeting Hannibal’s stare unflinchingly. “I know, sir. I would never let something like that happen again.”
Hannibal seemed satisfied with that, and with what he could see in Murdock’s eyes (hell, Murdock himself didn’t know what he was feeling right now, so if Hannibal could decipher it then he deserved a gold cigar). The Colonel nodded, once. “Good.” He stood up, clapping Murdock on the back hard enough to nearly throw the slighter man off his chair. “Don’t make me have to talk to you about this again.”
Murdock definitely wouldn’t, not if he could help it. “No, sir.” Thank god that was over.
Now Murdock just had to deal with Face.
No problem.
(PART FIVE)