Work Text:
“It’s a prototype,” Phlox happily explained as he placed the electrodes on Hayes’s head. “It should stimulate the pain center in your brain directly. We limited the output to what the Major considers manageable, and we’ll start you low before working our way up. Understandable enough?”
Hayes just nodded along. He looked perfectly relaxed, even strapped to a biobed; Reed, on the other hand, was beginning to feel like the lecture was part of the torture session. Phlox’s voice was giving him a headache, and they hadn’t even started.
“Ready?”
Reed and Hayes gave him a side eye at the same time. The MACO squad was not a kindergarten; they were ready for pain just like they were ready for battle, meaning always.
With that, the doctor’s hands pressed the buttons like a victorious chord.
Hayes frowned for a moment, then his features relaxed again. He looked normal for a good minute; after that, Reed saw Phlox type in another command that zeroed the energy levels for now, and then saw Hayes glance over at him in clear confusion.
Isn’t this supposed to be torture?
Reed only chuckled. He’d thought the same when the electrodes had crowned his head for the first time; it hadn’t taken long to change his mind.
Hayes must have caught on to the general idea, even though no word had been uttered, and once again looked straight ahead, blissfully unaware of what was coming. Reed had to hold back from licking his lips as he watched the man’s face with intent.
The first test, the one that had confused Hayes so, had been a shift from 0 to 10 and back. They were soon in the 80s, and Reed could tell when the effect grew past the level of dismissible discomfort. Hayes’s face, while not too expressive, normally showed that a brain was present behind those gorgeous grey eyes—but it went interestingly blank by the time the scale went over 100 for the first time.
Emotion was draining from his features drop by drop as the numbers on the screen grew, his face muscles twitching just so as he fought to keep his expression neutral—and, little by little, lost. His face was now developing uneven red stains, now turning pale as the agony really peaked out; his teeth were firmly clenched, but they gritted audibly more often than not.
Reed’s eyes were riveted to the man. Not news per se, but the sight had hardly ever made him suffer so acutely. It was just as hard for him to keep a straight face, especially so when he could expect Phlox to look at him any moment; the doctor was supposed to watch the indicators and the patient, but he’d shown enough of an uncanny interest in the process of wrenching the human spirit, and could just as well have been harbouring a curiosity for watching those who were witnessing torture, rather than receiving it.
Well. Even with that concern in mind, Reed couldn’t look away if he wanted. He’d never seen anything better; he’d never seen anything worse.
Hayes was just unfairly attractive as he clenched his teeth silently, sweat beading up on his forehead. For Reed, 350 had felt like actual physical damage was being done to his body; Hayes still refused to make a sound as the numbers shot up to 370, but his breath was beautifully short and shallow. If Reed had been alone with him, he would be looking for a precise breaking point that would make him moan out loud or scream, to force that first step towards ruin.
Breaking him wasn’t the point, no matter how attractive the idea was. But Reed wanted—no, needed to hear the man’s voice, or he might scream instead.
410 made him think that the point of no return was near. He’d seen people in agony before, and he’d liked bringing a similar expression to Hayes’s face in private—similar being the key word. Hayes was in proper agony now, and just because he could handle it somewhat, didn’t mean he was having a good time. It was becoming clear to him that this little device could actually break a man’s spirit, and his realisation was becoming clear to Reed as he watched the terrible progress, the slow disintegration of will.
The machine worked, cold and sure like the torture device it was.
Hayes’s body worked too, shivering and shuddering and beginning to shake, testing the restraints involuntarily, just like when he couldn't hold back from writhing in a completely different context. His stare into space was growing all the more intense in its uncanny blankness, eyes unfocused and empty, like his whole personality had been claimed by the electrodes and replaced with the white fire that gnawed at his every nerve ending.
Reed knew the feeling. On himself, he’d kicked it up to 500 before Phlox had stopped him.
The stimulation turned off as abruptly as it had started, and Hayes’s eyes slipped closed. He never looked quite this helpless when Reed played with him, one way or the other—clearly more effort was due next time—
The subtly vocal sigh of his relief was one last drop to what Reed could bear.
It wasn’t even a full-chested moan. But apparently one spark was enough to ignite Reed’s jealousy, and both men’s breath caught hard in their chests as the machine started up once again.
“Enough,” Reed ordered, even though the pain wasn’t even in the 200s yet.
“Major?” The doctor gave him a truly weird look. “I believe we’ve agreed to—”
“Enough.”
“Well. Suit yourself. But I would like to take—”
Reed gave him a look. One more word, and further experimenting is going to be conducted on you. What he said out loud was, “Are you expecting any lasting effects?”
“Other than the potential trauma, none whatsoever.”
If the fucker had traumatised Reed’s best fighter, Reed was going to traumatise him. But even that was a concern for later.
“Come on Sergeant,” Reed commanded, ignoring the slight tremor in his hands as he undid the straps. “And you—pick an alien next time.”
He was surprised with himself when he didn’t hesitate to give Hayes a shoulder and all but carry him to the turbolift. He couldn’t find it in himself to be concerned with what others might think, and even if anybody talked—the agony machine could always use new test subjects.
“Sir—?” Hayes tried, in the same weak tone.
He didn’t have to finish the thought. “Your quarters,” the answer was, and the man fell silent again.
How he still had his legs under him, was a mystery to Reed. His own hands were shaking, and not with strain, as he lowered Hayes on the bunk, as slowly as he could. The man heaved a full sigh of relief when he was finally down, and Reed nearly groaned with the desire to reach out and—
And do what?
Offer comfort?
“How did I do?” Hayes asked way too quietly.
That did it.
“Gorgeous,” Reed growled right in his face, and then reached out indeed.
He found himself kissing Hayes with desperation—no, with despair, as if the man had indeed nearly died back there, and Hayes kissed him back to the best of his ability. Which honestly wasn’t much at this point: he may be willing, but with a body that felt fresh out of a meat grinder, he simply wasn’t capable, and Reed couldn’t blame him for that.
He, too, as willing as he was, couldn’t insist. Not to mention that the sight of the man’s agony had been satisfactory in a way he hadn't quite expected.
He ploughed Hayes’s mouth for quite a minute, both hands fisted into the man’s hair. They were both gasping when they finally parted for air, equally tortured by the need to pull back from one another—although Hayes’s situation was decidedly worse. He was panting heavily, nearly moaning with every exhale, like he was still in pain or already in pain again; the man, a fighter by no means fragile, was deliciously boneless and breathless in Reed’s white-knuckled hold.
Which didn’t stop him from leaning back in and kissing Reed on his own with equal despair—no.
Desperation.
He looked and felt like he was taking solace in the contact, like he would do anything Reed might ask if a warm touch was promised as a reward, and not because he would be obeying his commanding officer.
The longer they were at it, the more heavily their panting leaned away from pain and into something else, and Reed’s muscles were beginning to burn with the tension that his grasp required, except he couldn't possibly let go. He knew well that he would break the hand that touched Hayes outside of the training sessions—but it was a torture unlike anything he’d ever felt to know with crystal clarity that Hayes himself would only let his, Reed’s, hands to hold him in this manner.
He didn’t even know what had told him that. Only that he had the knowledge now, and that it had blindsided him thoroughly.
When had they crossed into that?
Or rather, had it ever been any other way?