Another two hours later, nothing had changed. Barnes was still hard, moaning and panting, and very obviously in distress.
"He is sweating a lot," Anathi observed. "At the very least, we need to give him water."
"I will take it to him," T'Challa said dejectedly. He gathered up a glass, filled it with sparkling water, and took it to the other room.
The moment he stepped through the door, Barnes's body stopped moving. "Sir," he said. He might not have spoken it, but the PLEASE came through in his tone loud and clear. He watched T'Challa approach him with the glass like an abused puppy watching his Master carry a bone. There was fear there, a lot of fear, but also anticipation, eagerness... desire?
With every step T'Challa took, Barnes's body relaxed a bit more, relief starting to win out over despair. But when T'Challa lifted the glass to his lips and told him to drink, it all fell away. Confusion took the place of relief, and desperate need once more coursed through his body, bringing sweat and shivers and helpless little moans. T'Challa wondered if Barnes had even perceived the water in his hands as he approached; it certainly hadn't been what the man had been hoping for.
Barnes took a few sips as commanded, but it was clear this wouldn't help his situation much.
"Be still," T'Challa said, instinctively reaching out a comforting hand towards the man's cheek.
The effect was instantaneous.
Barnes did still, his entire body just stopped. His senses focused on that single point of contact, T'Challa's hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch like a hypothermic man embracing an oven.
Startled, T'Challa withdrew the hand, eliciting a horrified whine that made him feel lower than the scum beneath a butcher's shoe.
Replacing his hand on Barnes's cheek, T'Challa quietly asked: "What do you need?"
"I exist for your pleasure, Sir," Barnes repeated. "I am here... for your use." He looked pleadingly at T'Challa, eyes huge and begging with all the words he didn't speak.
"This isn't going to get better until you get more touch, is it?" T'Challa asked, putting his other hand on Barnes's arm.
"I am here for your pleasure," Barnes repeated, and was it T'Challa's imagination that he put more emphasis on the last three words? In a broken voice, he added: "I exist only to please you."
He got it. Of course he got it. He wasn't a stupid man, he had known more or less from the beginning what was going on. But may the Lady of the East have mercy upon his soul, he hadn't wanted to believe it.
There wasn't really any choice now, though. Barnes was in a horrible state, hurting and trapped in his programming, and this was obviously not getting better on its own. And Barnes himself was asking him for what he needed, the only way he'd apparently been allowed to.
Really, there was only one thing to do.
T'Challa looked straight at the glass. "I gave him my word I would take care of whatever resulted from this experiment."
"Your majesty!" Fundani protested via speaker. "He would not ask this of you!"
"Nevertheless I promised," T'Challa insisted, "and I stand by my word. Please leave."
"...as you command, your majesty."
The speaker disconnected with a final bleep. T'Challa knew his people. They were good men, loyal to their king, and confident in his judgement. They would heed his orders.
Slowly, T'Challa removed his left hand from Barnes's arm. A soft whine was quickly hushed when he stepped closer, providing more direct body contact. With his left arm now trapped between them, it was hard to get those restraints opened, but he managed.
The moment Barnes had full use of his right arm, he moved it up to clutch at T'Challa and pull him in closer. Then, once again, his body froze and he looked at T'Challa in horror. "I am sorry, Sir, I am so sorry!!!" His hand dropped as though he'd gotten burned.
And maybe he had, in the past. Who knew?
"It's alright," T'Challa said, picking the hand back up - ignoring Barnes's flinch - and putting it back onto his own waist. "You're allowed to touch." The wonder that blossomed on Barnes's face was heartbreaking to witness.
Hesitantly, Barnes moved his own hand about an inch up T'Challa's back, accompanied by dozens of little furtive looks at T'Challa's face to check if this was really permitted. When T'Challa gave him his most reassuring smile, Barnes smiled in return. It wasn't a big smile, nothing like the easy-going one he had worn earlier when he was playing the unconcerned card. No, this one was much smaller, almost shy; but genuine.
Certain that Barnes was appeased for the moment, T'Challa once more dedicated his attention to the task of freeing the man from his restraints. Barnes looked vaguely disconcerted by the goings-on, but didn't protest. He managed not to whine when T'Challa moved back a few inches in order to undo the belts around his torso and legs, and even patiently - albeit with a noticeable full-body shiver - waited while T'Challa knelt to free his legs, hand once more twitching uselessly at his side.
Finally, the last bit of vibranium was put aside and T'Challa straightened. He looked around and realized this wouldn't do at all. "Let's take this to my bedroom," he said, holding out his left hand to Barnes.
Barnes took it, hesitantly, his face the picture of anxious disbelief. He flinched when T'Challa tightened his own hand around Barnes's, but when nothing further happened, a soft look of wonder once more overtook his features.
"It's alright," T'Challa said and led the way out of the room.
Barnes followed him through the door and into the hallway. There, they both came to an abrupt stop and just looked.
The researchers looked back.
Barnes's shaking increased as he uttered a soft, anguished moan. A quick once-over confirmed there was nothing physically wrong with him. But Barnes was staring wide-eyed at the team, gaze jumping from one to the other, flickering over faces, hands, clothes, taking it all in and despairing.
Like a bucket of cold water, it hit T'Challa that Barnes expected having to service all of them.
"I ordered you to leave," he said, only years of practice keeping his anger from showing in his voice.
"We did leave the room, your highness," Fundani said respectfully, "but we wished to stay close by in case you needed us."
"We were concerned," Nobuhle added with a hint of challenge in her voice. Pushing back the anger, T'Challa admitted to himself that their worry was justified. This situation was outside any of their experiences, and it wasn't impossible that the Winter Soldier was still a deadly assassin even in this state. Who knew? Maybe Hydra didn't do this to him just for their sick, perverted pleasure, but also as a front to get him closer to certain targets.
T'Challa considered the shaking man next to him who seemed to be making a tremendous effort to keep shivering in place rather than hide behind T'Challa as he no doubt wanted to. He sighed. Even if it turned out that Barnes was murderous like this, he still couldn't let him down. He'd just have to risk it.
"Thank you for your concern," he said to his researchers, "but please go and find something else to do for a while. We are going to my private suite, and you know exactly what will need to happen there. I would prefer not to have all of you sitting on my porch thinking about what might be going on inside."
There were a few down-cast eyes and shuffling feet, but they all agreed. Each of them came up to T'Challa to wish him their best before they turned to go, and ever single one also found some kind words for the traumatized Barnes who was watching the goings-on with wide, uncomprehending eyes.
Finally, the two of them were left alone. "They will not join us," T'Challa explained, putting special emphasis on the negation. "Now let's go."
He started walking in the direction of his suite of rooms, Barnes trailing after him like a confused puppy abandoned by his family outside in the rain.
I don't suppose anyone is still hanging around this old thread. Oh well. But if you stumble upon this by accident, maybe give me some better ideas for those trigger words? *looks pleadingly at non-exisitent readers*
Fill: Touch-starved 3/?
"He is sweating a lot," Anathi observed. "At the very least, we need to give him water."
"I will take it to him," T'Challa said dejectedly. He gathered up a glass, filled it with sparkling water, and took it to the other room.
The moment he stepped through the door, Barnes's body stopped moving. "Sir," he said. He might not have spoken it, but the PLEASE came through in his tone loud and clear. He watched T'Challa approach him with the glass like an abused puppy watching his Master carry a bone. There was fear there, a lot of fear, but also anticipation, eagerness... desire?
With every step T'Challa took, Barnes's body relaxed a bit more, relief starting to win out over despair. But when T'Challa lifted the glass to his lips and told him to drink, it all fell away. Confusion took the place of relief, and desperate need once more coursed through his body, bringing sweat and shivers and helpless little moans. T'Challa wondered if Barnes had even perceived the water in his hands as he approached; it certainly hadn't been what the man had been hoping for.
Barnes took a few sips as commanded, but it was clear this wouldn't help his situation much.
"Be still," T'Challa said, instinctively reaching out a comforting hand towards the man's cheek.
The effect was instantaneous.
Barnes did still, his entire body just stopped. His senses focused on that single point of contact, T'Challa's hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch like a hypothermic man embracing an oven.
Startled, T'Challa withdrew the hand, eliciting a horrified whine that made him feel lower than the scum beneath a butcher's shoe.
Replacing his hand on Barnes's cheek, T'Challa quietly asked: "What do you need?"
"I exist for your pleasure, Sir," Barnes repeated. "I am here... for your use." He looked pleadingly at T'Challa, eyes huge and begging with all the words he didn't speak.
"This isn't going to get better until you get more touch, is it?" T'Challa asked, putting his other hand on Barnes's arm.
"I am here for your pleasure," Barnes repeated, and was it T'Challa's imagination that he put more emphasis on the last three words? In a broken voice, he added: "I exist only to please you."
He got it. Of course he got it. He wasn't a stupid man, he had known more or less from the beginning what was going on. But may the Lady of the East have mercy upon his soul, he hadn't wanted to believe it.
There wasn't really any choice now, though. Barnes was in a horrible state, hurting and trapped in his programming, and this was obviously not getting better on its own. And Barnes himself was asking him for what he needed, the only way he'd apparently been allowed to.
Really, there was only one thing to do.
T'Challa looked straight at the glass. "I gave him my word I would take care of whatever resulted from this experiment."
"Your majesty!" Fundani protested via speaker. "He would not ask this of you!"
"Nevertheless I promised," T'Challa insisted, "and I stand by my word. Please leave."
"...as you command, your majesty."
The speaker disconnected with a final bleep. T'Challa knew his people. They were good men, loyal to their king, and confident in his judgement. They would heed his orders.
Slowly, T'Challa removed his left hand from Barnes's arm. A soft whine was quickly hushed when he stepped closer, providing more direct body contact. With his left arm now trapped between them, it was hard to get those restraints opened, but he managed.
The moment Barnes had full use of his right arm, he moved it up to clutch at T'Challa and pull him in closer. Then, once again, his body froze and he looked at T'Challa in horror. "I am sorry, Sir, I am so sorry!!!" His hand dropped as though he'd gotten burned.
And maybe he had, in the past. Who knew?
"It's alright," T'Challa said, picking the hand back up - ignoring Barnes's flinch - and putting it back onto his own waist. "You're allowed to touch."
The wonder that blossomed on Barnes's face was heartbreaking to witness.
Hesitantly, Barnes moved his own hand about an inch up T'Challa's back, accompanied by dozens of little furtive looks at T'Challa's face to check if this was really permitted. When T'Challa gave him his most reassuring smile, Barnes smiled in return. It wasn't a big smile, nothing like the easy-going one he had worn earlier when he was playing the unconcerned card. No, this one was much smaller, almost shy; but genuine.
Certain that Barnes was appeased for the moment, T'Challa once more dedicated his attention to the task of freeing the man from his restraints. Barnes looked vaguely disconcerted by the goings-on, but didn't protest. He managed not to whine when T'Challa moved back a few inches in order to undo the belts around his torso and legs, and even patiently - albeit with a noticeable full-body shiver - waited while T'Challa knelt to free his legs, hand once more twitching uselessly at his side.
Finally, the last bit of vibranium was put aside and T'Challa straightened. He looked around and realized this wouldn't do at all. "Let's take this to my bedroom," he said, holding out his left hand to Barnes.
Barnes took it, hesitantly, his face the picture of anxious disbelief. He flinched when T'Challa tightened his own hand around Barnes's, but when nothing further happened, a soft look of wonder once more overtook his features.
"It's alright," T'Challa said and led the way out of the room.
Barnes followed him through the door and into the hallway. There, they both came to an abrupt stop and just looked.
The researchers looked back.
Barnes's shaking increased as he uttered a soft, anguished moan. A quick once-over confirmed there was nothing physically wrong with him. But Barnes was staring wide-eyed at the team, gaze jumping from one to the other, flickering over faces, hands, clothes, taking it all in and despairing.
Like a bucket of cold water, it hit T'Challa that Barnes expected having to service all of them.
"I ordered you to leave," he said, only years of practice keeping his anger from showing in his voice.
"We did leave the room, your highness," Fundani said respectfully, "but we wished to stay close by in case you needed us."
"We were concerned," Nobuhle added with a hint of challenge in her voice.
Pushing back the anger, T'Challa admitted to himself that their worry was justified. This situation was outside any of their experiences, and it wasn't impossible that the Winter Soldier was still a deadly assassin even in this state. Who knew? Maybe Hydra didn't do this to him just for their sick, perverted pleasure, but also as a front to get him closer to certain targets.
T'Challa considered the shaking man next to him who seemed to be making a tremendous effort to keep shivering in place rather than hide behind T'Challa as he no doubt wanted to. He sighed. Even if it turned out that Barnes was murderous like this, he still couldn't let him down. He'd just have to risk it.
"Thank you for your concern," he said to his researchers, "but please go and find something else to do for a while. We are going to my private suite, and you know exactly what will need to happen there. I would prefer not to have all of you sitting on my porch thinking about what might be going on inside."
There were a few down-cast eyes and shuffling feet, but they all agreed. Each of them came up to T'Challa to wish him their best before they turned to go, and ever single one also found some kind words for the traumatized Barnes who was watching the goings-on with wide, uncomprehending eyes.
Finally, the two of them were left alone. "They will not join us," T'Challa explained, putting special emphasis on the negation. "Now let's go."
He started walking in the direction of his suite of rooms, Barnes trailing after him like a confused puppy abandoned by his family outside in the rain.
I don't suppose anyone is still hanging around this old thread. Oh well. But if you stumble upon this by accident, maybe give me some better ideas for those trigger words? *looks pleadingly at non-exisitent readers*