Last Day Alone
Mar. 16th, 2011 10:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trista_zevkiaTitle: The Last Day Alone
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/2
Fandom: A-Team (series)
Characters/Pairing: BA/Murdock
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: A look back at loving a crazy man.
Disclaimer: All monies made will be given to the A-Team’s legal defense fund.
Author's Notes: Previously posted on A-slash at yahoo dot com
The death was unexpected. Bosco was seven years old when the Chicago winter roads took the life of his father. At seven, parents were god like and lived forever. But suddenly he was faced with a world where him Momma had to work two jobs just to feed him, and trusted neighbors looked in on him after school. At thirteen he was self sufficient, a young adult who collected odd jobs. At fifteen he got his first full time job at a grocery store; determine to reduce his Momma’s work load. He maintained A’s and B’s throughout school, but never fooled himself into thinking he could go the college. College was for rich people who already had money and all the scholarships went to people with nothing better to do than demonstrate leadership skills; however a high schooler managed to do that.
For as long as he could remember he had divided his free time between repairing cars and working out. One was a labor of love, the other a necessity. People might laugh if your car broke down, but they did much worse to a skinny boy with no father and second hand clothes. By the time his muscles got big enough to rip through traditionally made sleeves, they had stopped picking on him. Most of the neighborhood considered him an expert on automobiles and engines, but he didn’t have formal training and couldn’t get a job in a repair shop. Besides which, he graduated into a war. His honor would only allow him one way to avoid the draft, and that was to sign up the Monday after graduation. This way he was allowed to choose his field, Special Forces, and the recruiter signed him up to get formal training in mechanics.
Basic training was not exactly a physical challenge for him. The hard part was learning to ignore the insults and threats hurled at him. Nobody had dared to talk to him that way for years, or had severely regretted doing so. He did his share of time on kitchen patrol, but eventually got through basic. The extra training required for Special Forces was far more interesting and they kept him busy enough that his temper was held in check.
Vietnam was not the same as training, and he cried the night after he saw a bullet he fired rip a hole in another human being. But he survived it, it made him tougher. Once the men at base camp accepted him as one of their own, after a little bit of hazing and a couple of bloody lessons on respect, he felt he was no longer just a black man, but a soldier to most of them. Prejudice had been present in his life but had never been more than background noise, until Colonel Dean. The man was constantly giving him the dirtiest assignments, but that was easy enough to put down to being the new guy. Until Colonel Dean selected a team for the mission and left Private Baracus in charge of digging the new latrine.
Turning to him, Dean said for the benefit of all his men. “Some people are too scared to take into battle. They put up a good show, but bad blood will out. At the first shot the average Jew or Ni…”
Whatever he had intended to finish that sentence with had been lost in the meaty pop of a quick jab in the face. The single blow shattered his nose and blackened both his eyes. The private responsible thought he was justified but went quietly with the M.P.’s. He got a month in solitary for that little stunt. In retrospect it was all right with him, as two good things happened while he was in there. Later he learned that Colonel Dean’s nose healed wrong and the doctors had to re-break it. But most importantly, on the first full morning of his confinement, something else happened that turned out to be very good. Someone dropped a comic book through the bars of his cell window. Confused and curious, he had read the comic but found no name or handwriting to trace back to the owner. Each morning for thirty days, a new comic came souring through his window. He stood on his bunk and watched but couldn’t see anyone through the unusually high window.
He was rather nervous as he left the building at the end of the month, sweaty hands grasping his precious comic books to him. Strange how those little bits of paper had come to symbolize a special friend he hadn’t even met! Waiting outside the compound was a tall, lanky man sprawled over the hood and windshield of a jeep. He was reading a comic book. Baracus made a bee line for him, but walked slowly, as if afraid the new friend would not live up to his imagination. Without looking up the stranger spoke, in a Texas accent so thick it had to be put on.
“Howdy, handsome! Need a ride back to Shangri-La?”
Ignoring the handsome comment, as the stranger probably just liked alliteration; Baracus took the Shangri-La comment to be code for base camp. Slowly he settled into the passenger side of the jeep. The lanky man slithered off the top of the jeep and placed his comic book in a strange wooden contraption in the back seat. Bosco’s best guess was the thing kept the comics nice and flat in the jungle humidity. He took a moment to evaluate that. They were in a foreign country, in a jungle, in a war zone and this guy was worried about preserving his comic book collection? Baracus suddenly had doubts about letting this guy drive. But before he could voice them in a polite way, the man was driving away from the compound. He drove rather slowly but often swerved to avoid road hazards that Baracus could not see. He introduced himself as Murdock, not bothering with a full name. His Texan accent came and went as he talked, and he kept calling Baracus B.A. Eventually Baracus got a chance to interject some carefully chosen words.
“Why’d you keep calling me B.A.?”
Murdock laughed. “You haven’t heard?”
After a quick head shake, Murdock continued. “After the MP’s hauled you away one of the other officers came over to hear the story. He said, and I quote, ‘That Baracus is a walking bad attitude.’ Bad attitude is a great little nickname, and you know how a nickname can follow you around in the army. So better a good one than a bad one. Just look at me. I have been tagged Howling Mad Murdock. I mean seriously, does that express my personality in any way?”
The newly christened B.A. did not respond, as at the time he said this Murdock was staring avidly at the sky, his hands slack on the wheel of the car he was ‘driving’. Eventually they pulled into the motor pool of base camp. Murdock tossed him a smile, grabbed his stuff and disappeared before B.A. climbed out of the jeep. By the time he had his gear stored in his hooch, B.A. had made up his mind to find Howling Mad. He might be crazy, but it was a crazy time and you needed all the friends you could get. Besides, he had never thanked him for the comic books.
When he found Murdock hanging out with the other pilots, B.A. was greeted with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Soon all his free time was spent trying to elicit that smile from Murdock. Not that it was hard, as Murdock was a genuinely happy person who regarded all of life as a great adventure. The only time B.A. had felt more welcome and appreciated for who he was had been in his mother’s arms. With Murdock around, B.A. was somehow calmer despite the fact that nobody could push his buttons as well as Murdock. He managed to avoid hitting any more officers and got promoted to sergeant, about the time July rolled around. A big celebration was planned for the fourth, with officers turning a blind eye to moonshine and beer. Real steaks were brought in, though they would be ruined by the mess hall. B.A. didn’t drink, but was planning on giving the steaks a go, once he had finished a jeep repair. He’d hoisted himself up on the bumper and tire, and was bent over the engine when he heard the door to the repair shop close.
“Hey, Silent Bill. I’ll be done in just a minute.” No answer. That was strange as Silent Bill was, of course, the most talkative person B.A. had ever known. Then the big doors that let the jeeps in closed. B.A. wasn’t concerned; it wasn’t like the Viet Cong were going to come after the broken jeeps. So he kept at the engine, until he felt a warm hand slide up his butt. Surprised, he jumped, hit his head on the hood, landed and turned to face his attacker. Murdock took the opportunity to sidle between B.A.’s spread legs and place a hand on each muscular thigh.
“Howdy, handsome. “ The drawl was back, coming to B.A. with the strong scent of alcohol. B.A. had never known Murdock to drink before.
“Man, you’re drunk!”
Murdock shrugged. “Just a couple shots of liquid courage.”
B.A. had seen and heard of Murdock flying into situations that most pilots would have backed away from, so he didn’t see Murdock as lacking in courage.
“Courage to do what?” B .A. voice trembled as he spoke, as if it knew what Murdock wanted even if he didn’t.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you walk off the plane. You were so strong and confident. You walked like you knew you could take whatever this world threw at you. Now that I have gotten to know you, I understand why you could walk that way. You really can handle anything! Best of all, your strength of character far surpasses your muscle strength. Not that I’m opposed to your gorgeous physique. “
With a grin B.A. had never seen before, Murdock broke eye contact and looked down at what his hands had been doing. B.A. followed the look. He had been peripherally aware that something was happening, but had been too lost in Murdock’s words to pay it much attention. So he was only somewhat surprised to see his pants were open. What really surprised him was how big he was already. It must be because it’d been so long since someone else had touched him there. He had almost convinced himself of that when Murdock bent his head and licked the tip. Just that one little touch was almost enough to send him over the edge. His hands grasped the engine beneath him and he tried to identify the parts through touch, as his vision was focused on the top of Murdock’s head.
B.A. had no idea how long he sat there, at some point if felt like forever but somehow it didn’t last long enough. His vision blurred and he was lost in the sensation. When his eyes focused again, it was on Murdock’s smiling face. His mouth was closed and his cheeks were puffed out, as if he had a mouthful of something. A dribble leaked from the corner of his mouth. It was white and B.A. had only just mentally identified the fluid when Murdock swallowed it, his Adam’s apple bobbing along. A tongue snaked out to catch the dribble and B.A. felt himself twitching with desire.
Murdock stepped back and the loss of physical contact made B.A. gasp. B.A. found his way to the floor and tried to siphon blood from his penis to the other body parts that’d lost feeling sitting on the engine. Murdock turned and talked to the door.
“If you want to beat me up or denounce me to the world as a fag, I’ll understand. But desire for you has filled my life since I first saw you.” Murdock bowed his head and took a couple tentative steps toward the door. B.A. covered the distance between them, grabbed his arm and spun him around. Murdock’s eyes were closed and he braced himself for a beating. B.A. hadn’t been sure of what he was going to do until he saw the sadness etched on Murdock’s face. His soul cried out that Murdock should never be that sad, it was a crime against nature! Leaning forward, B.A. placed a gentle kiss on those soft lips. Murdock’s eyes flew open and joy filled them once again. He returned the kiss with abandon. Soon B.A. couldn’t tell how much of what he tasted was Murdock and how much was his own seed. Soon their bodies were so close B.A. couldn’t tell which ram-rod stiff cock was his. Soon, they were on the floor of the garage, clothes scattered around them. Murdock produced a small tube and pressed it into B.A.’s hand.
“Take me.” He whispered.
B.A hesitated, and Murdock understood his confusion. He showed him how to use the lube and whispered instructions on prepping your partner as he rode B.A.’s fingers. Finally he settled over B.A. and howled his pleasure as they met. When he found the edge, Murdock dove over it with another howl that covered up B.A.’s moan.
Sated, B.A. could have lain on that tool strewn, oily floor all night, but a passing voice brought him back to reality. The windows showed it was fully dark and Murdock hadn’t needed to turn on lights when he started this. If someone passing by wondered why the doors were closed they could be caught like this! Just the rumor of homosexuality would be enough for a dishonorable discharge and time in the stockade. Murdock was spent and languid, happy enough to lay on the floor forever. After prodding and poking, B.A. managed to get most of his clothes back on him. Murdock’s boxers got shoved into a pocket. Murdock managed to walk, but only by leaning on B.A. Hoping anyone who saw them would just think Murdock had celebrated too much, B.A. eased out into the night and to Murdock’s hooch. B.A. had never had reason before to be glad that Murdock had the rank to have private quarters, but if this night was any indication B.A. would be very glad of that shortly.
By the time they reached the hooch, a despairing voice in B.A.’s head had informed him that this only happened because Murdock was drunk and it would never happen again. Another voice chided him for wanting it to happen again. An isolated incident with a drunken partner didn’t make you gay, right? He dumped Murdock on his cot and was headed for the door when a voice whispered in the darkness.
“Una Mas?”
B.A. didn’t speak Spanish and turned to ask what Murdock meant. Murdock was out of his pants and erect, glistening in the moonlight. B.A. was on him in moments, all insecurities forgotten.
They still spent time together in public, careful not to touch or look too long at each other. It was hard on them both, as neither of them were used to subterfuge. B.A. was tough enough to back up his opinions with force when necessary and so was pretty honest. Murdock was on open person who didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to feel what he felt. He wanted to write his feelings across the sky, but instead learned to choke back the howls he emitted when B.A. entered him.
The sex was good, it was important but it wasn’t all there was. After a particularly harrowing fight or when forced to do something against their better natures, they would find solace in just holding the other. B.A. could work his way through something disturbing and move on. Murdock took his experiences and held on to them, with all the pain they brought him. B.A. could only hold him so long, before his practical nature forced him to walk back to his own hooch just before dawn. Part of B.A. began to fear what would happen if he wasn’t there to hold Murdock. He chided himself when these thoughts happened. Murdock was a strong man who could more than take care of himself, despite his lanky frame. Still, B.A. took extra care not to wind up in the stockade. Kept his nose clean and stayed out of trouble, until trouble found him.
Rounding a corner on his way back to his hooch, his mind on what he was going to do to Murdock when he got back from his mission, B.A. ran into trouble. Two newly minted officers were harassing a boy with blonde hair and a duffle over his shoulder. New recruit from the looks of things, trying to find his assigned space and running into two of the biggest jerks in camp. B.A. could only see the boy’s back but he must’ve been good looking from the comments B.A. was hearing.
“Tell you what, if you get down on your knees and polish my knob, I’ll pretend you’re a girl. Then you’ll be the only fag here.”
Tweedledum offered his two cents. “Or you could just bend over and spread your ass. Then your’ pretty little face won’t even matter.”
B.A.’s protective instincts warred within him. If he protected the kid, he could wind up in the stockade. But if somebody tried that with Murdock he would rip off their limbs. Then the idiots reached out and grabbed the kid, deciding things for him. They looked like they were trying to force the kid to his knees. He locked his knees and tensed his shoulders. He wasn’t going down without a fight, but B.A. was there before he could do anything else. The officer’s eyes widened when they recognized who was beating them into pulp. They got in a few punches but wound up with a fractured jaw, six broken ribs and two broken arms between them. As they moaned at his feet, B.A. turned to the kid. He was beautiful, with a soft face and ancient eyes. B.A. decided he much preferred the wide eyed innocence of Murdock’s eyes. A whistle sounded somewhere; the MP’s were on their way. B.A. glanced down and noticed the Special Forces beret held in the kid’s left hand.
B.A. gestured. “If I’d seen that, might’ve left them to you.”
The kid smiled. “I appreciate the assist anyway. Shouldn’t you be running from the MP’s?”
B.A. shrugged and gestured at the bodies. “They know me.”
“Yes, I could see where you would be a recognizable figure.” The kid ran an appreciative gaze over B.A.’s form. “My name is Templeton Peck.”
B.A. shook the proffered hand and said. “Man, I thought my name was weird. Bosco Andronicus Baracus. Call me Bad Attitude. “
MPs rounded the corner B.A. had been at just moments before. They approached cautiously, and B.A. just grinned at them. B.A. turned back to Templeton as the MPs got close enough to handcuff him. “Find a pilot named Murdock and tell him what happened.”
Templeton was let go, as he’d never raised a hand. The officers were sent to the infirmary. B.A. found himself with another month of solitary. Peck’s statement was the only thing that prevented B.A. from losing his stripes. A month without touching Murdock would be torture, but the thought of their reunion sustained him that first night. He spent the next two days staring at the window, waiting for comic books to fall through. Nothing came. Sleep was hard to come by and often punctuated by dreams of flying comics just beyond his reach. He lost track of the days, and was trying to figure out an escape plan when a scrap of paper was delivered with his meal.
“Howling Mad is safe. Just delayed.”
No words on the back, just the cryptic message hastily scrawled. It didn’t use Murdock’s real name, just in case the message was confiscated. But safe? That implied Murdock had been not safe at some point. Now his dreams were full of images of Murdock in situations B.A. wouldn’t allow his waking mind to contemplate.
Time straggled by, and after an eternity, B.A. found his way to the jeep parked outside the stockade. The Stars and Stripes newspaper flipped aside to reveal the worried face of Templeton Peck. He jumped out of the jeep and walked to meet B.A. His fatigues were neatly pressed and showed no signs of the sweat that permeated all other army clothes in this country. Even as agitated as he was, B.A. noticed this oddity.
“B.A., the day we met, Murdock was the head of a six helicopters flying in to pick up some grunts. The newbie behind him got over excited and slammed into his tail. Murdock did his best to control the crash; his skill saved the lives of his copilot and gunner. But he hit a small hut hidden in the trees. The helicopter blades tore through the hut and everyone in it, before it caught fire.”
Peck paused to take a deep breath before continuing in a hurried voice. “Murdock cracked two ribs and dislocated his left shoulder in the crash, but they had to knock him out to keep him from running back into the burning hut. He’d made several trips before the other helicopters could land and get to him. Apparently he was bringing out chunks of body parts and trying to fit them together. Later they determined there was a woman and four kids in there.”
B.A. couldn’t digest this. Dead civilians, dead kids, bad enough but no doubt Murdock felt responsible. And B.A. hadn’t been there to help him through it. He forced himself to breathe.
“Where is he?”
“After they fixed his wounds they sent him to mental facility for a “rest.” B.A. could hear the quotes around rest. “You can’t get in to see him.”
Peck’s words suddenly took on a rushed quality. “I tried! They’re only letting doctors see him. Same thing with you, the note was the best I could do. Anything more required medical credentials, which I didn’t have. Trust me, that’s something that’s never going to happen again.”
B.A. was too busy breathing to ask what that last sentence meant. His left arm was unusually heavy, so he focused on it. Peck’s impeccable uniform was gathered in his fist. Slowly he lowered Peck back to the ground. “How long ‘til he’s out?”
Peck focused on straightening his uniform, while surreptitiously backing away. “I call, posing as his C.O. and they tell me two weeks. They’ve told me that every week since he went in. “
B.A. found his way to the jeep and settled into the passenger seat. Peck drove back to base camp in total silence. They’d passed security and were heading for the motor pool when B.A. broke the silence. “Can I write him?”
Peck considered while he parked the jeep. Turning off the ignition, Peck leaned over and whispered. “Many people will read the letter before Murdock does, so make sure what you say is appropriate.”
B.A. threw a surprised look at Peck. The secret he had kept for this long had been found out by a guy he had met twice! He supposed his reactions had been a bit much for the ‘just friends’ line. Still, it didn’t seem like Peck was going to turn on him for it. Curious. “I don’t need the warning, but I appreciate it.”
They exited the motor pool and paused to salute a colonel walking by. B.A. didn’t recognize him, brown hair going slightly white around the edges, eyes behind mirrored sunglasses and a big black cigar. But in the process of returning their mandatory salutes, he stopped and faced them.
“I wasn’t aware that you two were acquainted but it’ll make this briefing a lot simpler.” B.A. wanted to see Peck’s reaction to this, but military training overrode the impulse to turn and look. “I’m Colonel Smith. I’ve been given permission to form a special team for, let’s say, unusual assignments. Peck, you have the best sniper record I’ve ever seen, and your other talents will make you a wonderful supply officer.”
This time B.A. did look at the kid. He could see the lithe kid as a sniper, but what were these other talents that had caused the kid to blush a little? Did it have something to do with his comment about not having medical credentials? The sound of his name brought his attention back to the colonel.
“Sergeant Baracus, though I intend to use mostly brains on these missions, I am sure your brawn will be useful.” A smile played around the corners of his mouth, like he knew more about B.A. than most people did. B.A. frowned at the Colonel, feeling as if there was a complement inside that insult. Smith broke out into a full grin as he continued. “That is, if you can refrain from breaking my face. Also, I understand you know your way around engines and munitions, so you’ll be in charge of both. The pilot I wanted is currently unavailable, but the mission must go on. Meet me at the supply hut at 0600. Dismissed.”
B.A. shrugged at his new friend and teammate. Peck returned the shrug, and offered. “I’ll get that address for you and bring it to your hooch.”
B.A. wrote a carefully worded letter to his Mamma, and then settled down to write something ‘appropriate’ to Murdock. He wanted to say things like, I love you, I need you to come back to me, I want to feel our bodies entwined in silken sheets. Instead his letter was almost as short and free of information as the letter Peck had slipped him.
“Murdock, how are you? We miss you here. I was in the stockade for a fight, which is why I didn’t write sooner. Hope to see you soon. B.A.”
It would be a month of almost daily pointless letter such as these, interspaced between increasingly creative missions, before anything happened. B.A. was returning from a mission, which hadn’t gone exactly according to plan. He was tired and wanted his rickety cot, but his feet automatically took him on the circuitous route that took him by Murdock’s empty hooch. There had been no reply to his letters, so when he saw the light on in the hooch, his first thought was robbery. He practically ripped the door off the hinges, determined to beat the tar out of anyone going through Murdock’s precious comic books. Instead he found Murdock sitting on his cot, staring vacantly at the opposing wall, oblivious to B.A.’s abrupt entrance. B.A. crept in, calling his name softly. When no reply seemed forthcoming, he knelt directly in front Murdock and placed a gentle hand on his leg. Murdock registered the hand, looked at it for a moment before following the arm to the body it was attached to. His look reached B.A.’s face, and it was if something turned on his switch.
“B.A.?” He whispered, and flung himself on the figure before him. He then proceeded to fuck B.A. so vigorously that B.A. feared he might hurt himself. Murdock fell into a deep sleep almost immediately afterward and B.A. held him until he had to report for duty. On this occasion, he didn’t care if anybody saw him leaving Murdock’s hut in the daylight.
Chapter 2
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/2
Fandom: A-Team (series)
Characters/Pairing: BA/Murdock
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: A look back at loving a crazy man.
Disclaimer: All monies made will be given to the A-Team’s legal defense fund.
Author's Notes: Previously posted on A-slash at yahoo dot com
The death was unexpected. Bosco was seven years old when the Chicago winter roads took the life of his father. At seven, parents were god like and lived forever. But suddenly he was faced with a world where him Momma had to work two jobs just to feed him, and trusted neighbors looked in on him after school. At thirteen he was self sufficient, a young adult who collected odd jobs. At fifteen he got his first full time job at a grocery store; determine to reduce his Momma’s work load. He maintained A’s and B’s throughout school, but never fooled himself into thinking he could go the college. College was for rich people who already had money and all the scholarships went to people with nothing better to do than demonstrate leadership skills; however a high schooler managed to do that.
For as long as he could remember he had divided his free time between repairing cars and working out. One was a labor of love, the other a necessity. People might laugh if your car broke down, but they did much worse to a skinny boy with no father and second hand clothes. By the time his muscles got big enough to rip through traditionally made sleeves, they had stopped picking on him. Most of the neighborhood considered him an expert on automobiles and engines, but he didn’t have formal training and couldn’t get a job in a repair shop. Besides which, he graduated into a war. His honor would only allow him one way to avoid the draft, and that was to sign up the Monday after graduation. This way he was allowed to choose his field, Special Forces, and the recruiter signed him up to get formal training in mechanics.
Basic training was not exactly a physical challenge for him. The hard part was learning to ignore the insults and threats hurled at him. Nobody had dared to talk to him that way for years, or had severely regretted doing so. He did his share of time on kitchen patrol, but eventually got through basic. The extra training required for Special Forces was far more interesting and they kept him busy enough that his temper was held in check.
Vietnam was not the same as training, and he cried the night after he saw a bullet he fired rip a hole in another human being. But he survived it, it made him tougher. Once the men at base camp accepted him as one of their own, after a little bit of hazing and a couple of bloody lessons on respect, he felt he was no longer just a black man, but a soldier to most of them. Prejudice had been present in his life but had never been more than background noise, until Colonel Dean. The man was constantly giving him the dirtiest assignments, but that was easy enough to put down to being the new guy. Until Colonel Dean selected a team for the mission and left Private Baracus in charge of digging the new latrine.
Turning to him, Dean said for the benefit of all his men. “Some people are too scared to take into battle. They put up a good show, but bad blood will out. At the first shot the average Jew or Ni…”
Whatever he had intended to finish that sentence with had been lost in the meaty pop of a quick jab in the face. The single blow shattered his nose and blackened both his eyes. The private responsible thought he was justified but went quietly with the M.P.’s. He got a month in solitary for that little stunt. In retrospect it was all right with him, as two good things happened while he was in there. Later he learned that Colonel Dean’s nose healed wrong and the doctors had to re-break it. But most importantly, on the first full morning of his confinement, something else happened that turned out to be very good. Someone dropped a comic book through the bars of his cell window. Confused and curious, he had read the comic but found no name or handwriting to trace back to the owner. Each morning for thirty days, a new comic came souring through his window. He stood on his bunk and watched but couldn’t see anyone through the unusually high window.
He was rather nervous as he left the building at the end of the month, sweaty hands grasping his precious comic books to him. Strange how those little bits of paper had come to symbolize a special friend he hadn’t even met! Waiting outside the compound was a tall, lanky man sprawled over the hood and windshield of a jeep. He was reading a comic book. Baracus made a bee line for him, but walked slowly, as if afraid the new friend would not live up to his imagination. Without looking up the stranger spoke, in a Texas accent so thick it had to be put on.
“Howdy, handsome! Need a ride back to Shangri-La?”
Ignoring the handsome comment, as the stranger probably just liked alliteration; Baracus took the Shangri-La comment to be code for base camp. Slowly he settled into the passenger side of the jeep. The lanky man slithered off the top of the jeep and placed his comic book in a strange wooden contraption in the back seat. Bosco’s best guess was the thing kept the comics nice and flat in the jungle humidity. He took a moment to evaluate that. They were in a foreign country, in a jungle, in a war zone and this guy was worried about preserving his comic book collection? Baracus suddenly had doubts about letting this guy drive. But before he could voice them in a polite way, the man was driving away from the compound. He drove rather slowly but often swerved to avoid road hazards that Baracus could not see. He introduced himself as Murdock, not bothering with a full name. His Texan accent came and went as he talked, and he kept calling Baracus B.A. Eventually Baracus got a chance to interject some carefully chosen words.
“Why’d you keep calling me B.A.?”
Murdock laughed. “You haven’t heard?”
After a quick head shake, Murdock continued. “After the MP’s hauled you away one of the other officers came over to hear the story. He said, and I quote, ‘That Baracus is a walking bad attitude.’ Bad attitude is a great little nickname, and you know how a nickname can follow you around in the army. So better a good one than a bad one. Just look at me. I have been tagged Howling Mad Murdock. I mean seriously, does that express my personality in any way?”
The newly christened B.A. did not respond, as at the time he said this Murdock was staring avidly at the sky, his hands slack on the wheel of the car he was ‘driving’. Eventually they pulled into the motor pool of base camp. Murdock tossed him a smile, grabbed his stuff and disappeared before B.A. climbed out of the jeep. By the time he had his gear stored in his hooch, B.A. had made up his mind to find Howling Mad. He might be crazy, but it was a crazy time and you needed all the friends you could get. Besides, he had never thanked him for the comic books.
When he found Murdock hanging out with the other pilots, B.A. was greeted with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Soon all his free time was spent trying to elicit that smile from Murdock. Not that it was hard, as Murdock was a genuinely happy person who regarded all of life as a great adventure. The only time B.A. had felt more welcome and appreciated for who he was had been in his mother’s arms. With Murdock around, B.A. was somehow calmer despite the fact that nobody could push his buttons as well as Murdock. He managed to avoid hitting any more officers and got promoted to sergeant, about the time July rolled around. A big celebration was planned for the fourth, with officers turning a blind eye to moonshine and beer. Real steaks were brought in, though they would be ruined by the mess hall. B.A. didn’t drink, but was planning on giving the steaks a go, once he had finished a jeep repair. He’d hoisted himself up on the bumper and tire, and was bent over the engine when he heard the door to the repair shop close.
“Hey, Silent Bill. I’ll be done in just a minute.” No answer. That was strange as Silent Bill was, of course, the most talkative person B.A. had ever known. Then the big doors that let the jeeps in closed. B.A. wasn’t concerned; it wasn’t like the Viet Cong were going to come after the broken jeeps. So he kept at the engine, until he felt a warm hand slide up his butt. Surprised, he jumped, hit his head on the hood, landed and turned to face his attacker. Murdock took the opportunity to sidle between B.A.’s spread legs and place a hand on each muscular thigh.
“Howdy, handsome. “ The drawl was back, coming to B.A. with the strong scent of alcohol. B.A. had never known Murdock to drink before.
“Man, you’re drunk!”
Murdock shrugged. “Just a couple shots of liquid courage.”
B.A. had seen and heard of Murdock flying into situations that most pilots would have backed away from, so he didn’t see Murdock as lacking in courage.
“Courage to do what?” B .A. voice trembled as he spoke, as if it knew what Murdock wanted even if he didn’t.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you walk off the plane. You were so strong and confident. You walked like you knew you could take whatever this world threw at you. Now that I have gotten to know you, I understand why you could walk that way. You really can handle anything! Best of all, your strength of character far surpasses your muscle strength. Not that I’m opposed to your gorgeous physique. “
With a grin B.A. had never seen before, Murdock broke eye contact and looked down at what his hands had been doing. B.A. followed the look. He had been peripherally aware that something was happening, but had been too lost in Murdock’s words to pay it much attention. So he was only somewhat surprised to see his pants were open. What really surprised him was how big he was already. It must be because it’d been so long since someone else had touched him there. He had almost convinced himself of that when Murdock bent his head and licked the tip. Just that one little touch was almost enough to send him over the edge. His hands grasped the engine beneath him and he tried to identify the parts through touch, as his vision was focused on the top of Murdock’s head.
B.A. had no idea how long he sat there, at some point if felt like forever but somehow it didn’t last long enough. His vision blurred and he was lost in the sensation. When his eyes focused again, it was on Murdock’s smiling face. His mouth was closed and his cheeks were puffed out, as if he had a mouthful of something. A dribble leaked from the corner of his mouth. It was white and B.A. had only just mentally identified the fluid when Murdock swallowed it, his Adam’s apple bobbing along. A tongue snaked out to catch the dribble and B.A. felt himself twitching with desire.
Murdock stepped back and the loss of physical contact made B.A. gasp. B.A. found his way to the floor and tried to siphon blood from his penis to the other body parts that’d lost feeling sitting on the engine. Murdock turned and talked to the door.
“If you want to beat me up or denounce me to the world as a fag, I’ll understand. But desire for you has filled my life since I first saw you.” Murdock bowed his head and took a couple tentative steps toward the door. B.A. covered the distance between them, grabbed his arm and spun him around. Murdock’s eyes were closed and he braced himself for a beating. B.A. hadn’t been sure of what he was going to do until he saw the sadness etched on Murdock’s face. His soul cried out that Murdock should never be that sad, it was a crime against nature! Leaning forward, B.A. placed a gentle kiss on those soft lips. Murdock’s eyes flew open and joy filled them once again. He returned the kiss with abandon. Soon B.A. couldn’t tell how much of what he tasted was Murdock and how much was his own seed. Soon their bodies were so close B.A. couldn’t tell which ram-rod stiff cock was his. Soon, they were on the floor of the garage, clothes scattered around them. Murdock produced a small tube and pressed it into B.A.’s hand.
“Take me.” He whispered.
B.A hesitated, and Murdock understood his confusion. He showed him how to use the lube and whispered instructions on prepping your partner as he rode B.A.’s fingers. Finally he settled over B.A. and howled his pleasure as they met. When he found the edge, Murdock dove over it with another howl that covered up B.A.’s moan.
Sated, B.A. could have lain on that tool strewn, oily floor all night, but a passing voice brought him back to reality. The windows showed it was fully dark and Murdock hadn’t needed to turn on lights when he started this. If someone passing by wondered why the doors were closed they could be caught like this! Just the rumor of homosexuality would be enough for a dishonorable discharge and time in the stockade. Murdock was spent and languid, happy enough to lay on the floor forever. After prodding and poking, B.A. managed to get most of his clothes back on him. Murdock’s boxers got shoved into a pocket. Murdock managed to walk, but only by leaning on B.A. Hoping anyone who saw them would just think Murdock had celebrated too much, B.A. eased out into the night and to Murdock’s hooch. B.A. had never had reason before to be glad that Murdock had the rank to have private quarters, but if this night was any indication B.A. would be very glad of that shortly.
By the time they reached the hooch, a despairing voice in B.A.’s head had informed him that this only happened because Murdock was drunk and it would never happen again. Another voice chided him for wanting it to happen again. An isolated incident with a drunken partner didn’t make you gay, right? He dumped Murdock on his cot and was headed for the door when a voice whispered in the darkness.
“Una Mas?”
B.A. didn’t speak Spanish and turned to ask what Murdock meant. Murdock was out of his pants and erect, glistening in the moonlight. B.A. was on him in moments, all insecurities forgotten.
They still spent time together in public, careful not to touch or look too long at each other. It was hard on them both, as neither of them were used to subterfuge. B.A. was tough enough to back up his opinions with force when necessary and so was pretty honest. Murdock was on open person who didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to feel what he felt. He wanted to write his feelings across the sky, but instead learned to choke back the howls he emitted when B.A. entered him.
The sex was good, it was important but it wasn’t all there was. After a particularly harrowing fight or when forced to do something against their better natures, they would find solace in just holding the other. B.A. could work his way through something disturbing and move on. Murdock took his experiences and held on to them, with all the pain they brought him. B.A. could only hold him so long, before his practical nature forced him to walk back to his own hooch just before dawn. Part of B.A. began to fear what would happen if he wasn’t there to hold Murdock. He chided himself when these thoughts happened. Murdock was a strong man who could more than take care of himself, despite his lanky frame. Still, B.A. took extra care not to wind up in the stockade. Kept his nose clean and stayed out of trouble, until trouble found him.
Rounding a corner on his way back to his hooch, his mind on what he was going to do to Murdock when he got back from his mission, B.A. ran into trouble. Two newly minted officers were harassing a boy with blonde hair and a duffle over his shoulder. New recruit from the looks of things, trying to find his assigned space and running into two of the biggest jerks in camp. B.A. could only see the boy’s back but he must’ve been good looking from the comments B.A. was hearing.
“Tell you what, if you get down on your knees and polish my knob, I’ll pretend you’re a girl. Then you’ll be the only fag here.”
Tweedledum offered his two cents. “Or you could just bend over and spread your ass. Then your’ pretty little face won’t even matter.”
B.A.’s protective instincts warred within him. If he protected the kid, he could wind up in the stockade. But if somebody tried that with Murdock he would rip off their limbs. Then the idiots reached out and grabbed the kid, deciding things for him. They looked like they were trying to force the kid to his knees. He locked his knees and tensed his shoulders. He wasn’t going down without a fight, but B.A. was there before he could do anything else. The officer’s eyes widened when they recognized who was beating them into pulp. They got in a few punches but wound up with a fractured jaw, six broken ribs and two broken arms between them. As they moaned at his feet, B.A. turned to the kid. He was beautiful, with a soft face and ancient eyes. B.A. decided he much preferred the wide eyed innocence of Murdock’s eyes. A whistle sounded somewhere; the MP’s were on their way. B.A. glanced down and noticed the Special Forces beret held in the kid’s left hand.
B.A. gestured. “If I’d seen that, might’ve left them to you.”
The kid smiled. “I appreciate the assist anyway. Shouldn’t you be running from the MP’s?”
B.A. shrugged and gestured at the bodies. “They know me.”
“Yes, I could see where you would be a recognizable figure.” The kid ran an appreciative gaze over B.A.’s form. “My name is Templeton Peck.”
B.A. shook the proffered hand and said. “Man, I thought my name was weird. Bosco Andronicus Baracus. Call me Bad Attitude. “
MPs rounded the corner B.A. had been at just moments before. They approached cautiously, and B.A. just grinned at them. B.A. turned back to Templeton as the MPs got close enough to handcuff him. “Find a pilot named Murdock and tell him what happened.”
Templeton was let go, as he’d never raised a hand. The officers were sent to the infirmary. B.A. found himself with another month of solitary. Peck’s statement was the only thing that prevented B.A. from losing his stripes. A month without touching Murdock would be torture, but the thought of their reunion sustained him that first night. He spent the next two days staring at the window, waiting for comic books to fall through. Nothing came. Sleep was hard to come by and often punctuated by dreams of flying comics just beyond his reach. He lost track of the days, and was trying to figure out an escape plan when a scrap of paper was delivered with his meal.
“Howling Mad is safe. Just delayed.”
No words on the back, just the cryptic message hastily scrawled. It didn’t use Murdock’s real name, just in case the message was confiscated. But safe? That implied Murdock had been not safe at some point. Now his dreams were full of images of Murdock in situations B.A. wouldn’t allow his waking mind to contemplate.
Time straggled by, and after an eternity, B.A. found his way to the jeep parked outside the stockade. The Stars and Stripes newspaper flipped aside to reveal the worried face of Templeton Peck. He jumped out of the jeep and walked to meet B.A. His fatigues were neatly pressed and showed no signs of the sweat that permeated all other army clothes in this country. Even as agitated as he was, B.A. noticed this oddity.
“B.A., the day we met, Murdock was the head of a six helicopters flying in to pick up some grunts. The newbie behind him got over excited and slammed into his tail. Murdock did his best to control the crash; his skill saved the lives of his copilot and gunner. But he hit a small hut hidden in the trees. The helicopter blades tore through the hut and everyone in it, before it caught fire.”
Peck paused to take a deep breath before continuing in a hurried voice. “Murdock cracked two ribs and dislocated his left shoulder in the crash, but they had to knock him out to keep him from running back into the burning hut. He’d made several trips before the other helicopters could land and get to him. Apparently he was bringing out chunks of body parts and trying to fit them together. Later they determined there was a woman and four kids in there.”
B.A. couldn’t digest this. Dead civilians, dead kids, bad enough but no doubt Murdock felt responsible. And B.A. hadn’t been there to help him through it. He forced himself to breathe.
“Where is he?”
“After they fixed his wounds they sent him to mental facility for a “rest.” B.A. could hear the quotes around rest. “You can’t get in to see him.”
Peck’s words suddenly took on a rushed quality. “I tried! They’re only letting doctors see him. Same thing with you, the note was the best I could do. Anything more required medical credentials, which I didn’t have. Trust me, that’s something that’s never going to happen again.”
B.A. was too busy breathing to ask what that last sentence meant. His left arm was unusually heavy, so he focused on it. Peck’s impeccable uniform was gathered in his fist. Slowly he lowered Peck back to the ground. “How long ‘til he’s out?”
Peck focused on straightening his uniform, while surreptitiously backing away. “I call, posing as his C.O. and they tell me two weeks. They’ve told me that every week since he went in. “
B.A. found his way to the jeep and settled into the passenger seat. Peck drove back to base camp in total silence. They’d passed security and were heading for the motor pool when B.A. broke the silence. “Can I write him?”
Peck considered while he parked the jeep. Turning off the ignition, Peck leaned over and whispered. “Many people will read the letter before Murdock does, so make sure what you say is appropriate.”
B.A. threw a surprised look at Peck. The secret he had kept for this long had been found out by a guy he had met twice! He supposed his reactions had been a bit much for the ‘just friends’ line. Still, it didn’t seem like Peck was going to turn on him for it. Curious. “I don’t need the warning, but I appreciate it.”
They exited the motor pool and paused to salute a colonel walking by. B.A. didn’t recognize him, brown hair going slightly white around the edges, eyes behind mirrored sunglasses and a big black cigar. But in the process of returning their mandatory salutes, he stopped and faced them.
“I wasn’t aware that you two were acquainted but it’ll make this briefing a lot simpler.” B.A. wanted to see Peck’s reaction to this, but military training overrode the impulse to turn and look. “I’m Colonel Smith. I’ve been given permission to form a special team for, let’s say, unusual assignments. Peck, you have the best sniper record I’ve ever seen, and your other talents will make you a wonderful supply officer.”
This time B.A. did look at the kid. He could see the lithe kid as a sniper, but what were these other talents that had caused the kid to blush a little? Did it have something to do with his comment about not having medical credentials? The sound of his name brought his attention back to the colonel.
“Sergeant Baracus, though I intend to use mostly brains on these missions, I am sure your brawn will be useful.” A smile played around the corners of his mouth, like he knew more about B.A. than most people did. B.A. frowned at the Colonel, feeling as if there was a complement inside that insult. Smith broke out into a full grin as he continued. “That is, if you can refrain from breaking my face. Also, I understand you know your way around engines and munitions, so you’ll be in charge of both. The pilot I wanted is currently unavailable, but the mission must go on. Meet me at the supply hut at 0600. Dismissed.”
B.A. shrugged at his new friend and teammate. Peck returned the shrug, and offered. “I’ll get that address for you and bring it to your hooch.”
B.A. wrote a carefully worded letter to his Mamma, and then settled down to write something ‘appropriate’ to Murdock. He wanted to say things like, I love you, I need you to come back to me, I want to feel our bodies entwined in silken sheets. Instead his letter was almost as short and free of information as the letter Peck had slipped him.
“Murdock, how are you? We miss you here. I was in the stockade for a fight, which is why I didn’t write sooner. Hope to see you soon. B.A.”
It would be a month of almost daily pointless letter such as these, interspaced between increasingly creative missions, before anything happened. B.A. was returning from a mission, which hadn’t gone exactly according to plan. He was tired and wanted his rickety cot, but his feet automatically took him on the circuitous route that took him by Murdock’s empty hooch. There had been no reply to his letters, so when he saw the light on in the hooch, his first thought was robbery. He practically ripped the door off the hinges, determined to beat the tar out of anyone going through Murdock’s precious comic books. Instead he found Murdock sitting on his cot, staring vacantly at the opposing wall, oblivious to B.A.’s abrupt entrance. B.A. crept in, calling his name softly. When no reply seemed forthcoming, he knelt directly in front Murdock and placed a gentle hand on his leg. Murdock registered the hand, looked at it for a moment before following the arm to the body it was attached to. His look reached B.A.’s face, and it was if something turned on his switch.
“B.A.?” He whispered, and flung himself on the figure before him. He then proceeded to fuck B.A. so vigorously that B.A. feared he might hurt himself. Murdock fell into a deep sleep almost immediately afterward and B.A. held him until he had to report for duty. On this occasion, he didn’t care if anybody saw him leaving Murdock’s hut in the daylight.
Chapter 2
