hydratrashmeme | The Big Bad Civil War Spoiler Thread a.k.a. The Extra Spoiled Trash

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The Big Bad Civil War Spoiler Thread a.k.a. The Extra Spoiled Trash

You asked for it. Here it is. Are you excited yet?

HERE BE SPOILERS. Enter at your own risk.

For those of you who have seen Civil War, or don't mind being spoiled: this is the spoiler prompt thread.

All spoilers here, any spoilery prompts on the other posts will be deleted.

All other new prompts still go to Round 3.

Rules from other rounds still apply.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yet another A!A here. I'm currently trying and failing to continue my pretty PG-rated fic because this prompt keeps rattling around in my brain. So I decided to get it out of my system first. Knowing me, it'll probably later be incorporated into the fic rather than be replaced with PG content. Meh. Anyway, here's the intro to what I have so far.

Twenty years ago, an envoy had gifted T'Chaka with a baby panther as a show of respect.

Once his father's intelligence sector had verified the man's story about how he'd come by a panther cub - which did not involve the deliberate butchering of the mother to get to the cub -, T'Chaka had given the cub to his son who embraced the gift whole-heartedly. It was a lovely gesture on the envoy's part, and the cub himself was a beautiful creature. As the cub grew into a powerful adult cat, T'Challa spent as much time with him as his position allowed.

Umkhulesi had been a magnificent, large panther, and worthy of his name. A defender. T'Challa had mourned his death, two years ago now, like the death of a brother. Umkhulesi lived on in his memories as a fellow warrior, a close friend, a being full of grace and power.

But today, T'Challa was forcefully reminded of the early days, when Umkhulesi had been weak as a kitten, looking around at the world with the sweetest baby eyes, spooked by loud noises and grateful for every kind touch T'Challa bestowed upon him. It had already been clear that he would one day be a large, strong predator; but back then, all that power had been leashed, the potential there but not yet realized, the tiny cat stumbling about in desperate, obvious need of love, care, and guidance.

That's exactly how James Barnes was looking at him right now.

Does anyone have suggestions for the trigger words? They should be not obviously related to sex, but somehow still awful.

I'm just filling in random Russian words for the trigger in order to get this posted. If you have any ideas, though, please let me know!

It had been nearly a year after Captain Rogers and his other friends had left Wakanda in pursuit of yet another heroic endeavour that T'Challa's researchers had hit upon a viable strategy for countering the Winter Soldier's triggers. They had no test subject for a trial run, of course, so nobody knew if the process would actually work out as predicted.

So they extracted Mister Barnes from the cryofreeze chamber.

T'Challa had insisted they wait for a day when he could be present to personally oversee the process. The least he could do for this man he had wronged was to make very sure he did not accidentally kill yet another person.

It was eerie watching the Winter Soldier's return to consciousness. There was some drowsy lolling of the head, lazily blinking eyes - and then suddenly, like the flick of a switch, the man came to attention, eyes hard and focused, muscles tense, lips pressed together in a thin line.

T'Challa wondered what the man expected to happen if this was his natural reaction upon waking. Nothing good, that was certain. He hurried to disperse the man's anxiety. "Mister Barnes, welcome back," he said politely. "You are still in Wakanda and in no danger from anyone present. We have not removed your restraints yet as we were not certain you would be able to stand on your own. Will you be alright if we remove them now?"

Barnes's rigid posture loosened a little, but he still seemed wary. "Where's Steve?"

"He is currently on a mission," T'Challa explained, "and has been for several months. In the meantime, my researchers have devised a process that may succeed in removing your triggers. Would you like to get out of your restraints and discuss it with us?"

Barnes looked pensive. "You'll need better ones before you use any of the words," he demanded.

"Of course," T'Challa easily agreed. He was relieved; he had been thinking the same thing, but hadn't been sure he'd get the other man to agree.

"Alright then," Barnes said.

They released him, and while it seemed to cost him an extreme amount of effort, he made it over to the table and managed to lower himself into a cushy chair unaided. A tiny sigh escaped, then his features lost all signs of strain and rearranged themselves into a blank mask.

T'Challa and the head researcher then explained the process in detail. They talked about the three copies of the red book they had acquired and checked against each other, about their plan to counter the trigger Zemo had used. They mentioned the other trigger phrase they had found, and their theory that since Zemo had focused on the longer one, the shorter one might be less powerful and did he know what it might do? They went into detail on their counter-action strategy.

Barnes listened quietly, never interrupting or even moving his head in approval or denial. Twenty minutes later, the researcher fell silent and T'Challa looked inquisitively at Barnes. "What do you think? Does this have a chance of working?"

Barnes finally spoke. "Honestly? I understood maybe half of what you said." His mouth twisted. "Okay, so actually it might have been closer to thirty percent. The thing is, I don't really remember much of the training, much less each separate mission. I didn't even know there was more than one trigger. Knowing Hydra, it could be an activation phrase for some specialist skill I'm not otherwise aware of as easily as it could be a kill switch. I don't have a degree in psycho-crap either, so your guess is as good as mine. No wait," - he looked at the researcher - "you probably do have that degree, so your guess would actually be better."

He leaned back, suddenly projecting lazy abandon rather than the previous rigidly cold tension. "So, hit me with that second trigger. If it's not a kill switch, we'll know what it does and you can devise a plan for that one, too. If it is... well, we'll burn that bridge when we come to it, right?"

A kill switch. Somehow, despite all their theories and research, none of them had ever spoken that out loud. None of them had wanted to believe that such a thing was possible: to program a human being to the point where he would die on command. Not kill himself, but die, without application of any exterior force. Yet here Barnes was, telling them he had no idea how human psychology worked while at the same time talking about kill switches like they were a natural given. Something that just existed. Something that might exist inside him.

T'Challa looked at Barnes then, really looked at him. All the gestures were right, the tone was perfect, and yet... He was nearly certain that the man underneath the bravado was scared shitless.

As he realized that Barnes was serious about the kill switch, T'Challa's respect for Barnes grew tenfold. The man had no idea what would happen to him now and yet he was still ready to trust T'Challa - a virtual stranger who'd tried to kill him not so long ago - with his life.

"Is it likely to be a kill switch?"

"As I said," Barnes reiterated, "you probably know better than I do, so you tell me."

T'Challa looked at Anathi. The studied psychologist bit his lower lip. "Until now, we assumed that such a thing cannot exist."

Barnes smiled grimly. "No harm in trying, then."

T'Challa wasn't buying it. "Have you ever seen a kill switch successfully being used?"

A shadow passed over Barnes's features. "I have no memories of that. Doesn't mean it hasn't happened."

Well. That told them exactly nothing. Barnes seemed to believe that kill switches existed, but couldn't substantiate it. His conviction could stem from personal experience just as well as it could be an old wives' tale his captors had told him to keep him in line.

"How do you wish to proceed?" he asked Barnes. Ultimately, it was his life.

"Let's do this," Barnes said, once again trying for nonchalance, failing more noticeably this time.

"Are you really sure?"

Barnes gave up on the pretence and his eyes focused on T'Challa's with frightening intensity. "I need to know."

T'Challa silently stared at him for a long time, trying to guess his motives. Did the man want to die? Or was he just understandably sick of not knowing what was inside his own mind? In the end, he decided that whatever his reasons, Barnes did know what he wanted and T'Challa had no right to refuse him. Actually, seeing how he had wrongfully hunted the man before, he rather had a duty to help him be free of his chains now.

He gave a single, slow nod, looking back at Barnes unwavering. "I will be right here the entire time. I will keep you from harm to the best of my abilities, and I will protect everyone else from being harmed by you. I personally take responsibility for whatever happens during this test. This, I promise you."

For a fraction of a second, Barnes looked like a deer caught in headlights, then the shutters came down again. "Alright. Do it."

He stood up on his own and walked back to the cryofreeze chamber, waiting for T'Challa's men to retie the bands around his torso and legs. They brought over the reinforced vibranium cuffs T'Challa had ordered to be made and tied them around the man's three limbs, attaching them both to each other and to a triple-reinforced hook in the floor.

Barnes raised an impressed eyebrow, but still asked: "You equipped to stop me if this turns me into a rabid monster and I snap 'em?"

"I have heightened strength myself," T'Challa said, hoping it would reassure the man. "Even if you broke lose of your restraints, I am confident I could contain you."

Barnes raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't contradict him. T'Challa supposed he must really trust those restraints.

"...We will also withdraw behind that one-way glass over there. It is bullet proof and might give even you some trouble." T'Challa cocked his head. "Are you satisfied with these precautions?"

Barnes gave him a grim smile. "I'll be like a bug under the microscope. Just what I always wanted." Then he shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Just go ahead already."

One last, piercing look, then T'Challa left the room, followed by his research team. As promised, they gathered on the other side of the one-way glass.

"Proceed," T'Challa said.

Fundani stepped up to a microphone, holding onto one of the red books, and read the trigger words in flawless Russian. "Золото. Mучение. Покой."

Barnes grew still. His chin fell to his chest, eyes closed. At first, it looked like it might be the attentive quiet that had been described to them, the Soldier waiting for orders. But then Barnes's body started trembling, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"Mister Barnes," T'Challa spoke into the microphone in alarm, "what is happening to you? Can you tell me what is going on?"

The man's head snapped up and T'Challa took a step back from the glass in shock. Barnes's eyes were lifeless, with the pupils blown wide, but not a shard of recognition in them. His mouth stood agape as though opened around a voiceless scream, or maybe a moan. His trembling increased, right hand opening and closing uselessly at his side.

"Barnes," T'Challa tried again, but there was no reaction save for a tiny whine that escaped before the man cut it off with a panicked look around.

"May I...?" one of the researchers said, gesturing to the microphone. T'Challa nodded.

"Soldier!" the man barked. "At attention!"

It worked. Barnes's head snapped up, his entire being focusing on the origin of that harsh voice. The trembling increased when he only found a small speaker in the corner of the ceiling.

After a quick glance at T'Challa, seeking confirmation, the man continued. "What is your mission, Soldier?"

Some of the tension seemed to go out of Barnes at the words. "I exist for your pleasure, Sir." A stronger shiver went through his frame, followed by a gasping, loud moan.

T'Challa looked at his research team, who looked back at him with widened eyes. "Was that...?"

"I believe so," T'Challa answered. He had to make sure, though. "Soldier," he now addressed Barnes himself, "are you in pain?"

Every bit of tension returned to Barnes's muscles in a heartbeat. "My pain is of no consequence, Sir." It was very obviously not what he wanted to say, but just as obviously the only thing he was allowed to answer.

Another moan escaped Barnes's lips as his head first tilted back, then dropped to his chest, like he were writhing in pain or ecstasy.

"Your majesty," Anathi said, sounding unusually hesitant, "look." T'Challa looked where Anathi was pointing and saw something he had so very much not wanted to see just now.

A tent in Barnes's pants.

T'Challa flinched. "Don't tell me those lowlifes...," he whispered.

"It rather looks that way," Anathi answered. "What are we going to do about it?" This was not the kind of conditioning they had expected, and they were it was unlikely that their original plan of attack would help with this.

"I am uncertain. Do you think this will just come to an end on its own if we let it, or is some action required?"

"We lack data," Anathi admitted. "It's hard to tell."

They silently looked on as Barnes made tiny, helpless sounds of arousal, eyes searching the room for something, or maybe someone. Anyone.

"Barnes, are you in there?" T'Challa asked through the microphone. "Do you know who we are? Who you are? Do you remember anything? Have you got any idea how to end this?"

"Sir," Barnes repeated in a throaty whisper, "I am here for your pleasure."

"Can we put him back in cryo?" Anathi asked. "The reports say his conditioning broke before when he was knocked unconscious."

"It's worth a try."

It didn't work. Barnes panicked when they closed the lid on him, and he resurfaced three hours later equally as panicked, and still very much in his sex slave mindset.

Meanwhile, T'Challa had tried to contact Captain Rogers but had been unable to reach him. The only one he could get a hold of, Stark, had informed him that he was currently missing a supreme intergalactic battle and Steve Rogers was, as usual, in the thick of it. Then something like the sound of a lightning bolt striking a boulder sizzled through the line. "Sorry, now's not the best time, I'm being shot at by -" Stark explained before the line went dead.

T'Challa wanted to scream.

There was no telling when Rogers would return to Wakanda, or even if he'd be in one piece when he did. There was no-one left to ask for help or, failing that, information, and Barnes was still suffering in the next room.

T'Challa sighed. "Let's wait and see if it passes on its own."

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*

Just happened to revisit this page out of the blue and saw this lovely fill, hooo boy I am into this set up! I’d suggest reposting the prompt on the latest dumpster and putting this fill on it, that way more people should see it! <3

Hey thank you! Nice to know someone is reading this. :)
Is re-posting in the current thread allowed, then?

It's been done for a handfull of other fills. Alternatively, I could link this fill to the current thread and say "heads up, this is being filled - whichever you prefer really.

If you could just throw a quick link in there, that would be great! :)

I've decided that T'Challa is very, very hetero in this fic. Beware.

And here they were now, in T'Challa's bedroom. Barnes had fallen to his knees the moment the door closed behind them and was looking up at him with those eager and yet anxious puppy dog eyes that reminded him so of his erstwhile companion, Umkhulesi. Just like his panther cub, the dark-haired man now depended on him for guidance, to fulfil his needs and treat him with care and respect.

"Take off your clothes, please," T'Challa ordered and watched with saddened eyes as Barnes hurried to obey. Discarding his own shirt, then his trousers, T'Challa sat down on the bed in his underpants. "Come here," he requested, once more extending an inviting hand.

Barnes, now buck naked - and wasn't that just an ironic turn of phrase - wavered on his feet for a moment and T'Challa belatedly realized he hadn't told the man if he should walk or crawl. Clearly, he needed very explicit instructions in this state. But before he could remedy his mistake, Barnes had already chosen to abandon form in favour of expediency and taken the three steps necessary to bring him over to T'Challa's side. He made as if to kneel in front of the bed, between T'Challa's feet, but T'Challa stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Don't," he said. "Please come up here." He patted the bed beside him.

While Barnes cautiously took a seat, T'Challa tried to school his features into a mask of kindness or at least indifference - while inside, his mind was screaming. He did not want Barnes to kneel before him in the perfect position to fellate him. In fact, he had no desire whatsoever to have sexual relations with this man. Or with any man, ever.

He didn't really have a choice though, did he? He'd given his word.
T'Challa wanted Wakanda to be part of the 21st century, to be a country people admired and respected. Hence, one of his first acts as king had been the repeal of several outdated laws, amongst them the ban on sexual relations between two people of the same gender. He felt the tiniest bit smug about that right now. However...

He had repealed the old law; but he'd still grown up under it. To him, two men together in a sexual situation were utterly alien and, though he would never say so out loud, wrong.

Admittedly, witnessing the cautious distance between Captain America and his long-lost friend, the careful lack of touch where there should have been hugs, pats on the shoulder, maybe even more, had been excruciating.

Here were two people who obviously should have been a couple yet weren't. He knew they had grown up in a time when love between two men had been forbidden in America as well, by the state and by their religion, and he supposed they were carrying that prohibition in their hearts and minds.

It had been painful to watch. He'd acknowledged then that maybe sometimes homosexual couples needed to exist. And maybe he could accept that, as long as he didn't think about the details. Seeing two men walking down the street hand in hand did not disturb him. He didn't like to imagine what they got up to in private, but then he didn't have to. There was no need for him to personally be with a man, was there?

Well. Now there was. And the immediacy of Barnes's naked body nauseated him.

It wasn't the missing arm; it wasn't even the servile behaviour, though that didn't help. Mostly, it was the plain and simple fact that he didn't find men attractive. Knowing on an abstract level that he was good-looking himself and that women would probably do unspeakable things for a night with the roguishly handsome James Buchanan Barnes was one thing; logically, he knew all this. But he didn't feel it. He didn't look at men and think: "Wow, this is one good-looking guy" or "Hello there, I'd like to have sex with you." He thought: "built to fight" or "pencil pusher" or "trustworthy" or "dangerous" and maybe, sometimes, "Does everyone around this conference table eat donuts three meals a day??" But the various men's attractiveness was never of his concern.

He prided himself on evaluating women by the same standards as men upon first meeting them. Was this an intelligent person? Were they being truthful? Could they fight? Still, a part of him was always aware of each woman's attractiveness, the way they smiled, filled out their dress, or even just the scent of their hair. In a woman, those were intriguing details.

In a man, not.

Barnes was desperate to have sex with him. He was handsome, and he was naked. And what T'Challa felt most keenly at the sight was the very strong wish to be elsewhere.

It wasn't all he felt, though. There was also the desire to protect; there was guilt; there was empathy, understanding, and the wish to help. He wasn't going to walk out on this man, not after the way he had wrongfully hunted him in the past. Not after he had allowed that trigger to be used without further research. Not after he had given him his word that he would take care of him whatever the result of that trigger.

This was the result. He would take care of it.

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.

This is so wonderfully horrible. T'Challa doing everything he can to not think about touching Bucky sexually while doing his best to jerk him off and how complete Bucky's lack of agency is...

This is wonderful anon! And thanks to the person directing us here in 4 :)

What he could tell, however, was that ordering Barnes to come had not helped matters any. Clearly, something else was required before Barnes's single-minded focus on serving him would stop.

So, sex.

"Let's use the bed," he told Barnes, withdrawing before the man could decide to be proactive about this. He finally stripped out of his soggy underwear, perfunctorily washing himself before exiting the shower stall. He grabbed a towel for himself and one for Barnes and told the man to dry himself off. To his great relief, Barnes easily followed the command. He may have been shivering a bit while he did it, but he got himself dried passably well without further incident.

They returned to the bedroom where T'Challa told Barnes to lie down on the bed on his stomach. This command, too, Barnes obeyed without hesitation. He even stopped trembling. It seemed they were finally moving in a direction Barnes approved of.

Of course, approval did not necessarily equal enjoyment, as the full-body flinch when T'Challa laid a hand on his flank attested to.

"Don't worry," T'Challa said quietly, trying to soothe Barnes's fear. "I will not hurt you." He had failed to prove his point before, but maybe if he tried again? He got up and went back to the bathroom to retrieve some multi-purpose massage oil.

When he re-entered his bedroom, Barnes was once again shaking and whimpering. It seemed he really did not react well to being left alone for any length of time in this state. Hot guilt stabbed through T'Challa at the realization that he had left Barnes to himself for several hours before finally deciding to act.

He had to make it up to Barnes.

"Shh, I'm here," he murmured as he quickly climbed back onto the bed. Barnes took a deep, shuddering breath and forcibly calmed himself. "Just try to relax," T'Challa said. A moment later, he noticed with dismay that Barnes had begun twitching all over.

It occurred to him that ordering a man to relax who was tense because he expected punishment for any failure to heed orders perfectly wasn't necessarily the best idea he'd ever had. The command to relax seemed to be warring inside of Barnes with the nervous tension this situation was rightly inducing, both feeding into it and trying to beat it into submission at the same time.

No wonder he was shaking.

"No, it's alright," T'Challa tried to calm the man down. "You are doing great, you're perfect, there's nothing to worry about. There won't be any punishment. I'd like you to relax, but if you can't that's fine. You're good, you are doing so well."

The shaking diminished a little. "I'm g-good?" Watery blue eyes stared up at him over Barnes's shoulder.

"You are great," T'Challa repeated. "You are doing so well, I am so proud of you."

Barnes gave him the tiniest shy little smile. T'Challa smiled back warmly. Without looking away, he blindly opened the bottle of massage oil and spread it over both hands. They were still warm from the shower so he wasted no time putting both hands flat on Barnes's shoulder blades.

Barnes moaned, the porn-worthy sound trailing off into a happy sigh as T'Challa began to move his hands, slowly beginning to massage Barnes's entire back one area at a time.

At first, T'Challa focused on the massage to the exclusion of everything else. But after a while, guilt started heckling him because he was once again putting off the inevitable. He wasn't usually a man to dawdle once his task was clear. Why was this so different?

And still, even though he knew he was stalling, he went on with the massage. Barnes was enjoying this, surely it couldn't be a bad thing?

Another five minutes passed, ten, half an hour. With every time he looked at the clock and found the hands had miraculously jumped stunning distances since his last look, he felt worse. Eventually, he could no longer put it off.

Not really wanting to look, but wanting to hurt Barnes even less, he made himself focus on the man's arse. One hand began massaging the left cheek and pulling it aside a little as the other hesitantly trailed down the crease.

Barnes froze.

T'Challa stopped, withdrawing the hand. Wasn't this what Barnes needed, then? "Do you want this?" he asked, needing to check despite the certainty that Barnes wasn't capable of informed consent at the moment. He couldn't not ask.

Unfortunately, Barnes's core personality was still disengaged. "I only want to please you," Barnes informed him in a throaty whisper. "I have no other purpose." Although... had there been a slight edge to the comment? T'Challa stared hard at Barnes, but the man was facing forward now and the back of his head really wasn't all that expressive.

"It will please me not to hurt you while we do this," T'Challa said, his low voice as calm and soothing as he could make it while still sounding sincere. "If you tell me what you like, I will listen."

Barnes relaxed fractionally, but T'Challa thought it might be from defeat rather than relief, going by his words. "I am here for you to use as you like."

"Right." Wishful thinking, then. Barnes wasn't being sarcastic and self-aware. He was probably just really on edge because T'Challa wasn't sticking to the script the Winter Soldier had been given, and in the Soldier's experience that most likely translated to unpredictable, large amounts of pain and humiliation.

Feeling a hundred years old, T'Challa once more warily put a well-lubed finger to Barnes's hole and began tracing very soft circles around it. Barnes was stiff as a board underneath him. And he stayed that way for the next ten minutes while T'Challa tried and failed to get the man's body to open up.

Slowly letting out his pent-up breath little by little to stop himself from huffing in frustration, T'Challa reclaimed his finger and sat back on his haunches. "Well," he said, "this is not working."

Barnes started trembling again. "Sir, there's no need for all this. If you're worried I'll squeeze you too hard, just put something else in first. You can use a... a plug, or a baton, or -" He raised his head, frantically looking around for a suitable tool "-that bottle of massage oil is looking real handy, or that scabbard there." He tried something that might have been intended as an inviting smile but only succeeded in making him look scared spitless.

"It's alright," T'Challa said, voice low and as calm as he could make it. Use whatever is at hand, was that what Hydra had normally done? What did Hydra agents usually have at hand when they raped their superhuman asset? Stun batons, weapons, medical equipment? Lady have mercy. And the bottle he was holding had a diameter at least twice the width of his cock. There was no need for such an extreme dilation. What was more, if he forced this in when Barnes was as tense as he was now, T'Challa was sure to cause immense damage. Was that what Barnes was expecting him to do? What was usually done to him after this trigger was activated?

T'Challa remembered how fiercely the Winter Soldier had fought even when injured. It had seemed like he didn't even notice his wounds. What did it take to make a man like that tremble and cower? What punishment was he expecting if he failed to service T'Challa? And how much was he expecting to be hurt even if he complied?

"I refuse to hurt you," he said slowly. "There has to be some way to get you to relax."

"Drugs will work," Barnes offered, sounding very unsure of himself.

I want to give Bucky some legitimate drug like Prozac or some such and have him suffer horribly from side effects... but I'm also extremely tempted to have him and T'Challa smoke pot. This might get really cracky really fast if I do that, though. Opinions?

Random anon, and feel free to ignore this, but I think you're thinking of something like Valium, which is used to treat anxiety attacks. Prozac is an antidepressant - it doesn't relax you or make you happy, but about 2 weeks after you start taking it it can help restore normal function in people whose serotonin receptors don't work normally. Long term, it would help Bucky start to get his life back, but not here :)

Yep, that's what I was thinking of. I am completely clueless about any kind of meds, but I have since asked an apothecary friend of mine and she also recommended valium. : ) I might still go with weed, though.

I vote pot! :)

This is great. I don’t care what you do, I just want more!

Thank you so much to everyone who commented!

T'Challa thought about it. He considered what little he knew of homosexual intercourse. He had heard about anilingus, but the mere thought was enough to cause him to dry-heave, so that was that. He had already tried soft touch, reassuring words, massages, a relaxing warm shower; he didn't have any further ideas of what might work.

Face it, he told himself, you are trying to fuck a traumatized rape victim against his will. He isn't going to relax.

So what was left?

Should he try to penetrate Barnes despite his tension? He frowned. He didn't know how he'd even get his own cock hard enough to cooperate. The thought alone was enough to make him feel like it was trying to withdraw back into his loins.

Not an option.

Should he do as Barnes had told him and use some kind of sex toy to widen him? That would take time to acquire, though, and Barnes had already been suffering for many hours. But he refused to use the massage oil bottle, and the scabbard was a relic and entirely out of the question. Besides, even if he had the perfect sex toy at hand, he'd still have to force it through an uncooperative, tense muscle. That couldn't possibly be the best option.

"What kind of drugs are you used to? And how much would be required, considering your metabolism?"

Barnes slowly turned onto his back, then sat up. "You would give me drugs?" He did not sound reproachful. Rather the opposite, really. There was that wondering look again, like a little child promised a visit to the fair with an affluent relation. "Anything, sir. Any drug will work on me, if you use about four times as much as for a regular person." His shoulders hunched. "Of course, you should not waste so much money on something like me."

"Someone like you deserves all the drugs in the world if they need them," T'Challa said emphatically. Sweet child of Bast, the man sounded like he'd never gotten any medication at all. But he knew his own dosage, so clearly that had been tested. The way Barnes was talking, though, he must never have gotten any drugs outside of those tests.

T'Challa warily looked at the metal arm and the criss-crossing scars all over the shoulder. Had that been done with anaesthetics? He just so managed to hold back an undignified snort at that thought. He was beginning to doubt that Hydra had ever done anything remotely humane, even when it would have been the most expedient way.

"Valium," he said.

Barnes looked at him with a concentrated look as though he was trying to figure out what language T'Challa was speaking.

"Mother's Little Helper? No? ...It's a drug. It reduces anxiety and relaxes the muscles. It might help." T'Challa frowned. "I believe it's somewhat addictive, but using it just once will probably be fine. And I don't really see another way to..." He waved his hand to indicate the entire sick mess they found themselves in.

Barnes didn't react to the comment, just continued to silently stare at him.

"Right." T'Challa got up and fetched his phone.

"Your highness?" came the breathless voice of Lumka. T'Challa supposed everyone had been waiting for word from him, hoping the situation would have been dealt with by now and awaiting the good news that Barnes was back to himself.

He grimaced. "I need some Valium," he told her. "Four pills should do it."

There was a pause at the other end of the line before Lumka rallied and said in a professional tone: "Is it for yourself or for your guest?"

He winced at her choice of words. They made such a stark contrast to the actual situation he and Barnes found themselves in. "For him."

"You're aware that a heightened dose of Valium may lead to a reverse effect?"

"Really?" He blinked. He didn't want to cause anxiety by accident. How sure of his dosage was Barnes really?

"Am I right in assuming that you need him to be more relaxed and less anxious?" Lumka went on, uncannily aware as always of T'Challa's sudden doubts.

"Yes, that's right," he answered somewhat distractedly.

"Then I wonder..."

"What?" He valued Lumka's opinion as a medical expert. If she had a better idea than drugging Barnes, he was all for it. "I'll take anything that helps."

"Anything?" Lumka asked, and he could hear the calculation in her voice.

"Anything that won't hurt him or me even worse," he qualified with an eyeroll she couldn't see. Trust his employees to be nitpicky even in a fraught situation like this. He had to admit the familiar back-and-forth helped him lose some of his own tension, though.

"I think I have something for you, then," she said mysteriously. There was a moment of silence on the other end, then Lumka was back. "I've sent a runner. He should be at your door in under five minutes."

"What are you sending us, then?" T'Challa asked, curiosity piqued by her secretive behaviour. "And how do we apply it?"

She actually laughed at him. "I trust you'll know what to do when you see it."

T'Challa frowned. This was serious business. How could she sound so chipper about it?

Five minutes later, he knew exactly why she'd been laughing as he was staring down at a package of cigarette paper, a large bag of dried leaves and a lighter.

Next update will hopefully be a bit longer, I've already got a few pages there. Still might bin them all and decide to make Bucky suffer a bit more, though, so no promises.

Very nice! I can see why she's laughing too :)

I'd like to point out that I have no first-hand knowledge of anything I write about in this chapter, so if my ideas of what grass can and can't do are wildly off, please let me know. Like, I don't really think it would make sex magically tolerable for a rape victim, but please just let me have that fantasy; however, if their reactions are wrong in other ways, feel free to let me know. ; )

"I've never done this myself," he explained to Barnes. The man was sitting up on the bed, watching intently as T'Challa tried and repeatedly failed to roll a proper joint. The theory wasn't hard, especially since Lumka sent only the one bag so he didn't need to worry about whether or not this needed to be mixed with tobacco or anything, but... "I suppose it takes some practice."

Barnes opened his mouth as though to offer his help, then looked down at his one hand and apparently decided he had nothing to add to the effort. T'Challa suppressed a wince, but then counted it a win that Barnes had shown any initiative at all. Even though T'Challa silently agreed that one more hand with a different mind attached to it wouldn't help with this finicky business. He already felt like his own left hand didn't know what the right was doing.

Eventually, he gave up and just twirled the ends of the misshapen and slightly over-stuffed zeppelin he had produced. Lighting one end on fire, he handed the clumsy joint to Barnes. "Just smoke it like a regular cigarette," he instructed.

Barnes looked uncertain for a moment. T'Challa wondered if he'd ever smoked, and if so, whether that was a memory Hydra would have let him keep. Luckily, as Barnes raised the joint to his lips, muscle memory seemed to take over and he inhaled a well-measured lungful without any trouble. Huh. Looked like smoking had been very much a habit at some point.

Barnes smoked mechanically at first, in and out, in and out like clockwork. T'Challa rolled seven more fat joints, as much as the supplies would allow him, then sat down behind Barnes on the bed and started massaging Barnes's shoulders. Barnes tensed at first but then slumped forward, tension slowly rolling off him. "Just take your time," T'Challa said soothingly.

Barnes's next drag was slower, and when he exhaled, slowly and with obvious pleasure, T'Challa saw his eyes fluttering closed in the mirror across the room.

By the time Barnes was finishing his third joint, the air was heavy with cannabis. Barnes was slumped back against T'Challa, the massage having been foregone in favour of resting his back as well as, T'Challa suspected, sneaking more physical closeness. Barnes's head was lolling to one side, the end of his joint only just remaining in the corner of his mouth. T'Challa felt pretty foggy himself from breathing in the herb-scented air for the better part of an hour.

He thought he might need to do something. It was kind of hard to pull up the energy to do anything at all, though. There had been something... but maybe it didn't matter so much? He kind of just wanted to lie there and relax for a little while longer. Just, you know, until Barnes was relaxed enough. Barnes might look calmer now, but T'Challa was sure a little while longer would...

Barnes emitted a mild snore. The roach dropped from his mouth and landed hot on T'Challa's thigh.

"Ouch," he hissed, slapping the smouldering remains off of his skin.
Barnes woke up in time to see the sparks fly. His face formed a loopy grin. "Pretty," he mumbled.

T'Challa blinked. His brain decided this was inordinately funny and he heard himself giggle rather than feel his usual deep, rumbling laughter. Hearing it set off more giggles, Barnes joining in a moment later.

"It b-burned me," T'Challa confided. He felt certain that this was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. He was glad his buddy Barnes was here to share it with him. "You're a great guy," he chuckled.

"Y're not so bad yerself," Barnes answered, looking up at him from where he lay slouched in T'Challa's lap, his smile sweet and just a little too wide.
"Why have we never done this together before?" T'Challa asked, his brow creasing as he tried to figure it out.

"'cause we didn't have drugs before," Barnes answered easily. Then he frowned, as well. "'m kinda uncomfortable, though." He scowled down at his crotch. "Think this got worse."

T'Challa joined him in looking at Barnes's unrelenting stiffy. "Yeah, I'd say you have a problem, man." He leant back against the headboard, putting it out of his mind. Not his problem. Although… "You wanna take care of that, go ahead. I won't mind." He wouldn't, at that. Barnes was a cool guy, if he needed to wank right now, let him wank. In fact, he kinda felt like wanking, himself.

He thoughtfully stroked his own stiffening cock. He heard a moan and wondered who had made it until he noticed that his own mouth was open and there was sound rushing through.

Huh. That felt interesting.

Abandoning his cock, he instead focused on his vocal cords and his lips, the way they were causing and directing the sound, the way the air around him was twirled around in little dancing circles by his voice. He changed the sound, slowly modulating his voice until what had begun as a breathy moan had turned into a deep, rumbling bass sound. The vibrations in his chest and stomach were amazing! He let his voice drop as low as he could, closing his eyes to focus inward. Colors exploded behind his closed eyelids, cartwheeling jolts of red, flashes of yellowy whiteness, and sprinkles of... something... His head lolled back against the headboard, changing the tone of his voice. He chuckled at the once more changed feel of it, then fell back into the sound of his own voice. He began slowly raising the pitch, climbing up the scale by tiny increments, savouring each nuance, feeling them prickle in his stomach, on his lips, down to the tips of his toes, and in his erect cock...

His attention snapped back to the room when he realized there was a firm hand that wasn't his own touching his cock. His eyes shot down to perceive Barnes stretched out next to him on the bed, his head in T'Challa's lap, one hand wrapped around his cock and lips lowering down toward it.

T'Challa blinked. Revulsion surged up for a hot moment, but ebbed away just as quickly at the intense pleasure when Barnes's hot mouth descended. "Ooh..." His head fell back against he headboard with a heavy thunk.

"Ouch," T'Challa opined before his own clumsiness elicited a new round of giggles. Barnes joined in, and didn't that just feel terribly exciting. The giggles Barnes huffed against his cock were all hot and ticklish and wonderful. T'Challa squirmed around, seeking to anchor himself with a hand in Barnes's hair. Barnes stiffened for a moment, but relaxed again as T'Challa started clumsily stroking his hair, petting him, getting himself all distracted with the lovely silkiness of Barnes's freshly washed hair. As he felt Barnes relaxing, he fondly looked down at the man.

Yeah, so Barnes was a man. So what? This felt amazing! Also, his hair was long enough that T'Challa could kind of pretend he was a girl. That was good, wasn't it?

Has to be, he answered himself. It felt too good to be wrong.

He moaned again, prompting Barnes to suck harder. He saw the man sit up on his knees, his left hand vanishing from T'Challa's sight. He chuckled happily, sure that Barnes was enjoying himself.

A moment later, though, Barnes's mouth slipped off his cock. T'Challa moaned sadly at the loss, eyes seeking out the reason for this unexpected let-down. He'd been flying so high on the warmth and the skilful tongue and just everything and now it was gone and that was sad and why was this happening?

What he saw when he got his eyes to focus was Barnes kneeling in front of him, arse up in the air, with two fingers of his metal hand furiously pumping in and out. "Need...," Barnes gasped, "I-- will you..." He shot a pleading look back at T'Challa.

T'Challa looked at what was on offer. He needed, Barnes got that right. This wasn't the woman he desired, wasn't even a woman at all; the skin was too pale, the back too broad, too much hair everywhere; however, it was a freshly washed, human body that had given him so much pleasure a moment ago, and it was sure to feel amazing and it was very much on offer and he needed...

T'Challa took the invitation.

Scooting closer on his knees until he was right behind Barnes, he pushed the man's metal hand aside. He giggled a little at the fascinating feel of the metal brushing against his cock in passing. That part of him bounced back and forth several times before he could line it up with the inviting hole right ahead.

This wasn't a girl. He frowned. That wasn't supposed to happen.

It didn't look all that different, though, an ass was an ass, wasn't it? If this were a hairy girl, he wouldn't mind the... He snorted and lost his balance, bumping down onto the person's back at the thought of Ororo sprouting this much hair all over.

His cock collided a bit painfully with someone's arse cheek as he fell, startling him back upright. Barnes made a plaintive noise.

Oooh, that was right... sex!

Carefully, slowly, T'Challa guided his cock to the hole and pushed forward.
It was hot. Tight and hot. T'Challa stopped moving. Great Lady, what a feeling! Sensation shot through his cock, pooling hot in his belly and shooting upwards to claim every last brain cell. He wavered.

Barnes needily rocked back against him.

That felt... "Nice," he purred. Barnes giggled and did it again. "Niiice," T'Challa repeated. He found that both his hands were now on Barnes's hips. He moved them in slow circles, admiring how that felt against the calluses on his palms. Barnes pushed into him again, nearly throwing T'Challa off balance.

"Uh," T'Challa said.

"You need to -" Barnes said, then broke off, obviously looking for the right word and not finding it. After a moment of silent contemplation, he suddenly looked back at T'Challa, face alight with a bright smile. Triumphantly, he presented his find: "-move!"

T'Challa grinned at him. Barnes grinned back.

Nothing happened.

Barnes cocked his head. "You need to move?" He made it sound like a question this time.

T'Challa considered it seriously.

After what felt like no more than maybe five minutes to him, T'Challa realized that Barnes's words had been a prompt for him to follow. He'd been more focused on the way Barnes's happiness at finding the right word lit up his face like the sun. That was really nice to look at. Also, easier to look at than the actual sun. But still nice, and warm. T'Challa loved things that were nice and warm. His cock was in a nice and warm place, too, so this was great.

You need to move.

He'd just had the best idea ever: Nice and warm and friction.

T'Challa started to move.

Barnes rewarded him with a heart-felt, relieved groan.

Once he got going, the intense sensation of sex kept T'Challa seeking more of it; he didn't get distracted again. True, his speed varied, depending on which of the many sensations that the act brought with it he was focusing on at the time, but he never stopped entirely, and he kept closing in on his climax.

When it happened, it surprised him so much he once again fell over laughing. Barnes, startled, lost his balance and folded when T'Challa suddenly came down all heavy and uncoordinated on his back. They crashed into the bed together, limbs getting tangled and arms poking into ribs or cheeks, with T'Challa's cum merrily spurting between them.

Needless to say, it set them both off again.

There was still something, maybe, that he needed to do. But T'Challa lost track of it when he realized how lovely it was to lie here, all spent and warm and cuddled up to an inviting, warm body. With a hazy noise of contentment, he buried closer into the other person's side and fell asleep.

Wow they are so out of it. It's both sad and adorable.

I have no idea how Bucky will react after waking up. Will the trigger have worn off this time?

Can’t wait for more!

Sorry this last bit took so long. First I was off visiting relatives, then I was sick. Also, upon re-reading I noticed that Bucky's left hand intermittently reappeared. In case it slipped past me again below, please just replace "metal hand" with "right hand" anywhere you see it. - Anyway, happy New Year everyone, thank you all so much for reading and commenting!!!, and please forgive me for starting the year on such a depressing note... *toddles off to look at fluff*

T'Challa woke to the sound of retching.

He floundered for a moment in hazy disorientation, wondering why there was someone in his bathroom, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the room - was that dope??? And … and sex? - before it all came crashing back into him.

Barnes.

He'd had sex with Barnes while the man was incapacitated by an apparent sex-slave trigger. He had raped Barnes. What was more, he realized with horrified disgust, in the end he hadn't remembered to make Barnes come. The man was probably still hard and trapped in his mind!

He felt sick. And disgusting. Following the emotion to his core, he realized he didn't just feel disgusted with himself for raping someone; he felt like a victim.

Which was stupid. Until the drugs, it had all been his own actions, he had been in control the entire time. And he had willingly allowed those drugs into his room, had been determined to go through with the sex even before them. He could have stopped and he hadn't. This was on him.

Then why did he feel dirty and used?

He angrily stopped that line of thought. He could deal with this later. For now, he had to ask himself: If he felt this bad, how was Barnes feeling? Surely he wasn't making those noises for fun.

Slowly, afraid of what he would find there, he made his way to the bathroom.

Barnes was kneeling, still naked, with his head bent over the toilet, gasping out bile from his empty stomach. From his position in the door frame, T'Challa could clearly see the line of cum trickling down his thigh.

For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to push Barnes aside to take his place in front of the toilet.

He hadn't even used a condom.

One of his hands reached out to the door jamb to steady him, holding on to the edge in a white-knuckled grip. "Barnes?" he asked quietly.

The man slowly sat up and turned toward him.

He was still hard.

"Oh no," T'Challa breathed. This couldn't be happening. He had done all this, sacrificed so much, and hurt Barnes so much, and for what?

This time, he couldn't quite control his body's response. Still, he didn't crash down onto the tiles as he wanted, but instead forcefully swallowed down the bile that rose at the thought he had raped Barnes for nothing.

"T'Challa," Barnes greeted him roughly.

T'Challa blinked. "You know me?"

"Yeah," Barnes said, vocal cords worn down by his stomach acid. "Trigger's worn off."

"Thank the goddess!" T'Challa said heart-felt. Relief crashed through him like a tidal wave. Then he frowned. "But... why are you still...?" He waved at Barnes's crotch.

Barnes looked down. "Oh, that? That's not connected to the end of the trigger. I remember now." His voice was dispassionate, just reciting facts, even while a shudder ran down his spine. "The compulsion always wears off after a few hours and I stop aching for touch. But the erection usually takes a bit longer to fade. Weird. But whatever." Another shudder, then he shrugged his shoulders, obviously trying to overplay it with a mask of false bravado.

T'Challa stood still as though struck by lightning.

The compulsion always wears off after a few hours.

The compulsion always wears off after a few hours.

None of this had been necessary. NONE OF IT! Not the wanking, not the shower, not the fellatio, not the intercourse. It had all been useless, it didn't take care of the erection, and the trigger wore off on its own anyway.

Fuck.

He slowly slid down the door jamb to the floor.

"T'Challa?" Barnes asked, scooting over to him uncertainly. "What's wrong?"

"It was all in vain," T'Challa moaned, "none of it needed to have happened!"

Barnes looked unsure of how to take that. "I... appreciate what you did for me," he said slowly.

"I raped you!" T'Challa roared. "How can you say you appreciate that?!"

Barnes shook his head as if to clear it. "That's not how I remember it."

T'Challa gave him a tight smile. "You had more of the drug than I did."

Barnes seemed unimpressed. "I know that. I also know that I convinced you to fuck me, not the other way around."

"You weren't competent to make that decision. I should have said no."

Barnes cocked his head. "Then why didn't you?" He asked neutrally.

T'Challa closed his eyes, head leant back against the cool tiles of the wall. "We thought you needed it to break the hold of the trigger."

"See?" Barnes said. "Reasonable medical decision." His eyes were still full of dark emotions despite his flippant tone.

T'Challa snorted inelegantly. "Right. That's one word for it. Another one is rape. Just because we thought it was necessary doesn't make it any less non-consensual."

Barnes seemed to get angry now. "Well fuck that legalese nonsense! It helped, alright? I wanted touch, you gave me touch. Friendly touch, even. You didn't even hurt me! And you didn't make me rape anyone else-"

He broke up abruptly, what little color there had been leaving his face.

"But I did."

His eyes were wide, his breath getting shorter. "I remember now. You promised to take care of the results of the trigger, otherwise you wouldn't have... You weren't even hard. There was... and you tensed when I started sucking you... You... You aren't bent at all, are you?"

T'Challa forced his face into a neutral mask. Barnes didn't need to deal with T'Challa's issues on top of his own. "It was fine."

"Oh god," Barnes moaned, "I raped you!"

"You did no such thing!" T'Challa fiercely denied. "I did this of my own free will."

"So I made you rape yourself, that makes it so much better," Barnes spat back, sarcasm dripping from his every word, before he covered his face with his hand. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..."

T'Challa didn't know what to say. He wanted to soothe Barnes, to tell him he was wrong, to somehow make this better. But the words wouldn't come. Because in his heart of hearts, he felt that Barnes was right.

Two days later, Barnes found him on one of the balconies overlooking the jungle.

"Put me back," he said without ceremony.

T'Challa turned to look at him. Barnes looked thin, worn and pale. There were dark circles underneath his eyes that even the superserum hadn't managed to cure. Clearly he hadn't slept at all.

"I'm still not safe to be around," Barnes went on when T'Challa didn't speak. "And if there are any more triggers in my fucked-up head, I don't even want to know."

He looked so haunted. T'Challa's stomach cramped up painfully. He knew he was partially to blame for that.

"I can't risk hurting anyone else," Barnes continued. "You have to put me back into cryo."

Maybe T'Challa should have fought him. Maybe he should have reassured him that nothing like that was going to happen to him again, that they wouldn't let it. Maybe he should have told him about the night-shifts his team had put in since activating that horrible trigger and all the progress they had made.

But then Barnes said the one word T'Challa was sure the Winter Soldier had never said in seventy years of captivity.

"Put me back. Please."

Closing his eyes in pain, T'Challa slowly gave a nod.

Oh, ouch.

I know. Sorry. That's the way it wanted to be written.

SA, I'm not actually complaining.

Still ouch.

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The Big Bad Civil War Spoiler Thread a.k.a. The Extra Spoiled Trash

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