Rating: Explicit

Notes: My first time writing in this fandom, and oddly not the first time I've played with voyeuristic inanimate objects. For the A-Team Prompts community on LJ. I'm a little too comfortable inside Murdock's head.

Prompt: BA. Murdock. Van. Sex.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.

Written: 2/2013

She's a pretty girl, polished and glistening like a fine pool of oil when she cuts across the Arizona side of the Mexican border. No, not tarted up yet… non-descript but soon to bear swatches of red paint from a guard tower – a smear of chrome across the passenger door from the border patrol.

And an 'I Stop For UFOs' bumper sticker he'd been holding onto since Nogales.

For now, though, she's as virginal as the day she rolled off the assembly line when they climb into the back inside some barn just outside Douglas where they'll wait until exactly 4am to cross into Agua Prieta and pick up Face before heading south for their leader. The cold isn't as bad in the desert as they say, he thinks curling up against his friend's back – pressing his face into the sweaty collar of Bosco's jacket – it may be December but it feels more like a chilly March.

"What you doin' back there?" He mutters, already exhausted from the fourteen hour leg – but damn if he'd let that lunatic take a turn behind the wheel.

"Getting comfy…" Murdock answers simply, looping his arm around the solid rise of BA's waist and locking himself in far too close for most people's comfort. But Bosco knows him… they've died together a hundred times only to rise back from the brink – it's the sort of knowing that makes full contact snuggling acceptable.

"We're up in ten hours, fool… get some sleep."

"Sun's up." He works his hand under the black jacket, one less layer between them as he traces the rough denim line toward his goal.

A rumbling groan fills her interior, annoyance she's seen already as her Master drove her mercilessly through Texas and New Mexico, swinging in a bold zigzag through Arizona to avoid checkpoints. But not only that… no, something new to her unsullied upholstery as her Master rolls onto his back and rocks her solid springs with only the slightest squeak of protest from the machine. "How 'bout I put your lights out?"

"How about you put me to sleep?" He answers with an innocent smile that may have worked on Face, maybe, but they all know that BA knows better.

His eyes narrow and he frowns; "I'll put you to sleep all right…"

Murdock's grin spreads and he tugs up his dirty t-shirt, showing his pale belly exposed down to where his khaki's hang low enough to show a dusting of curls below the band. "I like belly rubs…"

Knuckles clench into a fist and for the briefest second even the Vandura seems to think he might actually put it to use. A tense moment passes before he unclenches his strong fingers and manages a lesser frown. "Rub it yourself."

Murdock sighs, theatrically, curling himself much more comfortably over his friend's chest – rubbing his open palm down the jagged edge of the open jacket, catching his fingertips on the cotton shirt underneath until they rest on Baracus' bulky belt. "I'll rub yours if you rub mine."

She clicks almost silently, her engine cooling as she urges them on – pushing the inevitable. They'd been close in New Mexico – some tiny town with a hotel that has a sign with a burro – but Murdock and tequila were entirely too involved with each other in the Vandura's front passenger seat to invite the sober driver to come play. But Murdock had seen him looking, the dark eyes following his hands from the driver's seat as he let the bottle sleep while he took care of the dirty part while they crossed through a bigger city.

"Albuquerque…" Murdock says with a wild grin, eyes imparting far more than the name. "You both watched while I played the fiddle…"

Baracus rolls his eyes, but answers; "Man, you were so far gone I believe you were seein' double."

He laughs and very carefully nudges the leather through the metal – clearing one hole and then another. "No, just one of you… and her." He glances up toward the roof – her new dome light set into it and not yet broken by a stray bullet crashing through her flawless glass.

"Now I heard everything…" he groans, easily clasping his palm over Murdock's hand and stopping it just as the belt cleared its catch and he yanked it open. "I think you do enough of that for the both of us."

His heart pounds at the warm grip squeezing his hand, gentle at first but then tightening down enough to feel the shift and pivot of his fingers closing around the buckle. He's not afraid, never afraid. Not even when he's got that look in his eyes that says Murdock's treading on dangerous water and best be backing off. Danger only means things are about to get a lot more fun.

When the smaller man rolls on top of him, it's the last thing Baracus expects short of the brush of twitchy lips against his. He pushes up, bucking Murdock onto his back against her doors hard enough to sully her with a shallow dent in the soft panel. He squeals, but it turns into a shallow groan when Bosco reels onto his knees and pulls him down flat. "You're right…" he laughs nervously, "I do it too much… but when we're out here like this I just get…"

"Crazy." BA cuts him off, pressing one hand against his collarbone to hold him firmly in place between them – his heavy body solid and strong against Murdock's chest and belly while her floorboards cradle surely against his back and ass. "Stark… fucking… crazy."

"… was gonna say pent up." He replies meekly, knowing even the Vandura doesn't believe it. "The offer still stands." He works a hand between them, already tugging open the button while his thumb hooks against Bosco's zipper.

BA never answers, but pushes tight against him and forces the breath out of his chest as his tongue opens Murdock's lips and ceases debate. When the jeans are forced down lower, taking his shorts with them, the hand is pulled away and met with its brother above Murdock's head in a powerful single-fisted grip.

She groans again, louder than before, as Baracus unceremoniously yanks down his pants and then shifts hard against him. The dirty girl, she knows what they're doing… Murdock's told her stories of the things lonely men do on the road and the things he thinks about doing were the opportunity there. A shudder of excitement runs through her chassis with each hard thrust driving him down against the carpeting until his cock's hard and aches for every slide of bare skin against skin.

Barracus doesn't stop, he grunts against Murdock's face – sloppy kisses trailing down his cheek to his ear to make the most erotic sound the lunatic has ever heard… low, animalistic but with that familiar voice that growls; "You like that?"

"Yes…" he hisses between clenched teeth, pushing up against the hand that holds him down. "Use me… please…"

His hips buck harder; driving his thick cock once more over the shallow dip of Murdock's hip – spreading wet arousal across his belly. "Bet you like it rough, huh?" He groans, slamming harder against him to elicit another squeal of springs bouncing back against the shifted weight. "If I just pushed lower…"

Murdock cries out, but not in pain. His body flashes hot and when he tries to hook his legs over Bosco's he realizes they're trapped under the larger man's knees in the taut fabric of his own pants. "Uh-huh…" he whimpers, rewarded with the hardness pushing down the curve of his ass – teasing him further. "I… I don't need anything… I… I done it before."

"Like hell…" He murmurs, splitting him with another hard thrust but doing no more than driving the tip over the tender skin.

It's a lie, sure… but he's seen it done lots of times over the years, been curious enough to try on his own with mixed results. Results that mean nothing when the Vandura silently moans his name and BA's manhood slides so easily against his body each time the large man rocks against him. "Please…" he begs, but he's not even sure if he's asking for him do it or for each dig of his cock against Baracus' belly to be enough to bring him over the edge he's been riding higher and higher.

Each thrust makes her shudder harder, her carpet suddenly rough against his elbows and back as she rocks on her axles. "Next time…" he growls against Murdock's ear, slipping just high enough for the tip of his cock to spread him open – pushing the slightest bit inside him before grunting as he comes; "just ask."

"Right…" he gasps, eyes heavy-lidded and body throbbing when BA pushes back and frees his hands – gently stroking the warm wetness across his asshole. It takes a second, seeing the stained hem of Bosco's shirt where he'd come dangerously close to shooting his load, to let instinct kick in. His own grip is firm, reassuring and familiar as he strokes fast and hard – focusing on the sensation of something real and warm inside him, the threat of more to come, and the satisfied look on his friend's face as his narrow hips buck and twitch.

She's warm inside, flustered as he tumbles over the edge – besmirching her with his seed dripping down his thigh and Barracus' smeared into the tight wool of her carpeting. But it was bound to happen, she wouldn't stay clean long… they never did. And in Tijuana there'd be a nice man named Alejandro who would put down a passenger mat so he didn't have explain the rug burn again when Face teases him and their moments would be left somewhat more private… just the three of them.

And before that, they'd find a suitable tent or hammock or stretch of sandy beach… and even once a real bed… to lay claim to.

For now they curl together and wipe clean with napkins Murdock shoved in the console each time they hit a drive-thru on the road. The smaller man tucks down into his team mate's arms and finds sleep easy for the first time without drugs in years, satiated and safe burrowed between the solidness her cargo door and BA's chest as the Arizona sun dips below the horizon.