Barnes let out a quiet little sob and T'Challa realized he had been sitting around lost in thought for too long. Barnes was still perched beside him as ordered, but he had pulled his feet up on the bed and was hugging his knees, curling himself into a tight little ball. He looked more akin to a little child than a deadly assassin.

T'Challa cautiously laid a hand on Barnes's back, predictably eliciting another flinch. "Easy there," he soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you." He pressed a kiss into the man's hair to demonstrate.

Then he hurriedly wiped his lips. "Ugh, you're filthy. Let's get you cleaned up." The fluid from the cryo chamber had dried all over Barnes's hair and skin. If T'Challa hadn't found the thought of lying with a man alluring before, sticky cryo sauce made it infinitely worse. He stood up and once more extended his hand to Barnes. "Barnes?"

Barnes didn't take it. "Sorry," he whispered tonelessly, "I'm sorry!"
T'Challa frowned. "For what?"

"I'm sorry," was all the answer he got, maybe the man didn't even know himself what he was apologizing for, just felt the need to do so. Or maybe he hadn't even heard T'Challa through the overwhelming fear that once again seemed to have gripped him. While T'Challa looked at him in question, Barnes curled in on himself even further, shrinking into a ridiculously tiny ball for such a large man.

He was obviously expecting punishment. But why? Had his words been too harsh? Or was it the idea of a shower that disturbed him? T'Challa considered it. Hydra were not nice people. With a slogan like 'Order through pain', somehow he doubted that they'd have given their weapon-slash-fucktoy relaxing, warm showers with soft sponges, fragrant hair conditioner and vanilla body lotion. A hose was more likely, and maybe painful intimate hygiene procedures.

The sobering thought helped him forget about his homophobia issues. He was able once again to see past the fact that there was a naked male body much too close to his own and see the traumatized man he had sworn to help.

"I'm not going to hose you down like some unloved thing," he promised, laying both of his large, warm hands on Barnes's shoulders. The Soldier ball uncurled a little. T'Challa started to rub tiny circles against the man's shoulder blades; slow, soothing motions. "Have no fear, there will only be nice, warm water. You won't get hurt. I will take care of you."

Slowly, little by little, he managed to coax Barnes out of his shell and get the man to follow him into the bathroom. There, he set the shower to softly spray water at a nice, moderate temperature. Not hot enough to burn, but not so cool as to be unpleasant. Just right to spend more time underneath than strictly necessary after a hard work-out, letting the comfort of the soft, warm droplets sooth aching shoulders.

"Come on in," he told Barnes, entering the shower stall first to demonstrate. Barnes obediently followed right away. With a start, T'Challa realized that he had not explicitly ordered Barnes to go to the bathroom; otherwise, the man would probably have gone without delay, albeit in a heightened state of terror.

This way was better. Barnes was still leery of the shower, but not as tense as before; and once he realized it was indeed warm, he seemed eager for it. He pushed himself against T'Challa, trying to catch as much of the spray as possible.

Or maybe just trying to get as close to T'Challa as possible. Which was very close. And very much not something T'Challa wanted to deal with just yet. He turned around to pick up a bottle of shampoo, strategically placing himself at such an angle that Barnes's solid erection was digging into his hip rather than his belly. Every man had his limits, and T'Challa had just discovered his own.

Barnes seemed a bit confused by the whole situation, clearly this wasn't something that had ever happened to him in this state. Maybe he didn't have the actual, conscious memories of these kind of 'missions', but he had procedural memories; emotional memories. Both his body and his heart remembered even if his brain wasn't currently aware of it. Some part of him knew that being triggered by these words meant rape and pain. It also knew that there was no kindness to be had, no warm showers, no compliments, no pleasure. No nothing.

T'Challa was determined to change that.

He opened the shampoo and showed it to Barnes, let him smell the lemony scent before squeezing a dollop into his hands and lifting them to Barnes's head. He didn't verbally ask for permission - he was sure Barnes would be unable to give it -, but he signalled his intention clearly and gave the man plenty of time to get used to the idea first. Then he stepped around the man to face his back, lowered his hands into Barnes's hair and started massaging in the shampoo.

Barnes's moan at that was his most indecent yet.

T'Challa spent a long time shampooing Barnes's head. Part of it was that he didn't want to go back to the bedroom and everything that had to happen there. But there was also the pure joy he felt in doing this for Barnes. The man took so much pleasure from such a simple act, it was both gratifying and heart-breaking. How long had Barnes not felt a friendly touch? Since Hydra had gotten a hold of him? Or maybe even longer, maybe since he first shipped out to join World War II? It was a truly humbling question. To think that a man existed today who hadn't known positive touch since World War II.

And, of course, Hydra had done so much worse than denying him touch. Barnes had been touched, hadn't he? Just never in a good way.

Grimly, T'Challa washed the shampoo off his hands and took up the shower head to wash Barnes's hair. "Close your eyes, I'm going to rinse this out." Next, he took up a bottle of soap and spent even more time painstakingly soaping every inch of Barnes's skin while the man gradually relaxed under his hands. It took T'Challa some mental effort, but in the end he made himself reach out to also wash Barnes's cock and balls. The reaction this garnered surprised him, even though it probably should not have. Barnes spread his legs and stuck out his ass.

Since T'Challa didn't step back in time, Barnes's rear bumped against his soggy underpants. Barnes shivered and drew back, confused. Then his whole body tensed once more, he turned around and dropped down to his knees. "I am sorry, Sir, I made an unforgivable mistake, I'll make it up to you I'll be good so good for you Sir you don't hafta -"

"Hush." Barnes's words had gotten really frantic really fast, he was clearly panicking, eyes wide, entire body trembling. He'd extended his right hand toward T'Challa's crotch, and it belatedly occurred to T'Challa that Barnes must have felt the softness of T'Challa's own cock when he bumped into it. Probably a capital offence for a sex slave, not being enticing enough to get his Master up by his mere presence.

T'Challa squeezed his eyes shut, digging his thumbs into his temples for a long moment as Barnes sat frozen, hand still extended yet no longer certain if he should touch his master.

"You did nothing wrong," T'Challa said, once more opening his eyes to the scene. He gently pushed down Barnes's hand. "I don't need to be hard right now. Trust me, I am enjoying this." And he had been, if not in a sexual way. It was good, being able to take care of another human being; washing them, providing soothing, gentle touch. A bit like caring for the elderly, or a child - an innocent thing, a warm, benign act. Nothing to be ashamed of. A good thing.

A lot better, anyway, than what he suspected still awaited them before this nightmare could end.

Although, maybe he got to take the easy way out. Maybe it was enough if he made Barnes come to break the spell, as it were. They didn't even need to get back to bed for that. Barnes was right here, he was hard, and they had water and lotions and everything...

"Stand up, please." Barnes scrambled to obey. T'Challa pushed him back until he was leaning against the wall underneath the shower head. Warm water soothingly pattered down on Barnes's glistening wet hair and shoulders, and there was even a little side bar for Barnes to grab, which he immediately did. Barnes panted, feeling the change in the mood and uncertain of the consequences. Wide eyes, torn between fear and hesitant trust, looked up at T'Challa.

And how did he manage that, anyway? Barnes wasn't much smaller than T'Challa, and still somehow he held himself in such a way that he was clearly looking up at T'Challa, expressing his own inferiority and submission with every gesture, every facial expression, even with the stunned little "Oh...!" that slipped out when T'Challa slowly reached for Barnes's erection.

He did not look anxious about that, just really confused. T'Challa didn't want to examine that fact too closely and decided just to be happy that Barnes seemed mostly unafraid at the moment. He closed his hand around Barnes's cock.

It felt... weird. He'd never had his hand on another man's genitalia. Though similar in length, this organ was a bit thicker than his own, and of course the angle was different. He gazed down at the pale cock in his hand and thought about the contrast in colours as he began stroking it. He pondered the weight of the organ, and for a moment he lost himself in calculations of how many percent of a man's body weight his cock might contribute, as opposed to a woman's breasts. He put some thought into the question whether the Winter Soldier was able to catch diseases, and thought long and hard about the exact date he had last bought condoms in order to calculate the likely expiration date on the packet in his nightstand.

Anything to keep himself from thinking too hard about the fact that he was wanking another man.

Anything to banish the realization that the cock was hard and heavy in his hand, and yet its skin was smooth like a tiny, newborn thing. That some of the fluid touching his hand was more viscous than shower water ought to be. He did not think about the sounds Barnes was making, the helpless little gasps and long, drawn-out moans, nor the way the side bar was bending under Barnes's vice-like grip. Did not want to linger on the question of whether this would be enough to make Barnes believe he 'served' sufficiently.

After several minutes had passed, however, he realized he might go on like this until he rubbed Barnes raw and the man would hardly dare to complain. He needed to see what actually went on with Barnes, if this was doing any good. So he forced himself to look up and meet Barnes's eyes.

They were blown wide with lust.

Or fear.

It was really hard to tell which. Barnes was holding on to that bar for dear life, he was gasping, breath coming in quick, shallow pants; this could be extreme arousal just as well as it could be a panic attack. For a moment, T'Challa wondered how often Hydra agents might have confused one with the other when it came to this man. He quickly pushed the thought aside. Not helpful.

"Is this good?" he asked, not really expecting a straight answer, but he had to try. "Barnes, does this feel good to you?"

Anguish immediately stood out sharply amongst whatever other emotions the man might currently be feeling. Even before he opened his mouth, T'Challa knew whatever he was going to say would be an empty phrase, something he thought his master wanted to hear; something far removed from the truth.

"You are very generous, Sir."

Yes. Didn't that just sound heart-warming. Especially the pained little gasp at the end.

T'Challa released Barnes's cock with a defeated sigh. "So I suppose it has to be intercourse."

Maybe Barnes was incapable of saying 'please' in this state. He just repeated: "I am here for your pleasure," with a voice that fairly screamed what wasn't in his words.

A shudder ran down T'Challa's spine as he wondered what might have been done to the Winter Soldier when he dared to ask for things in the past. Although... There was the slightest chance that Barnes had simply refused to ever give those bastards the satisfaction of hearing him beg. T'Challa clung to that thought and hoped the idea of a proud, strong Barnes who defiantly refused to say 'please' to his capturers would carry him through the mutually humiliating experience that loomed in their very near future.
He made one last attempt to avert it. "It will please me greatly to watch you come."

The look on Barnes's face changed. For a moment, T'Challa thought Barnes had broken out of his conditioning, so sarcastic was the pointed look of disbelief on his face. But then, the expression fell away, cycling through frustration and returning to subservience and fear. "As you wish, Sir."

And then he came. Just like that.

Well, not just like that. His face was screwed up as though he was working out a terribly complicated problem, or maybe pushing up a bar bell with a small truck attached to each end. But he did not touch himself, not his cock nor anything else. He just concentrated and made himself come.

Somehow, this was more depressing even than the revelation about the shower.

What did it take to make a man dissociate physical reaction from pleasure to this degree? Barnes had gotten hard in response to mere words, now he ejaculated on command, at a time when mentally, he clearly wasn't aroused, never mind what his body was signalling. There was nothing here that suggested this was in any way pleasurable for Barnes, and yet the man had come when he was told to.

He had seemed to feel pleasure just a moment ago, though. Had any of that been real?

Barnes silently stood underneath the shower while T'Challa tried to process what had just happened. The slightest shifting of Barnes's legs made him look down and do a double-take. The man's cock was already filling again, the forced ejaculation having done nothing to dampen the issue.

Great.

Barnes once again dropped to his knees in front of T'Challa, ending up with his nose inches from T'Challa's unpleasantly sticky, wet underpants. "Sir, what may I do for you?"

There was no reproach in his voice, not even a hint of I told you so. Just the desperate desire to please.

T'Challa gave up.

He had tried. He'd really wanted to make this good for Barnes, or at least not awful. But everything about this situation was so far outside his experience that if Barnes had enjoyed any of it, T'Challa couldn't even tell.