Chapter Text
They call him Kan. It means the type of transparent sand you find some places in the desert. They don’t have a real name for him; one day he just washes up on the Wakandan side of the Twisted Visions Lake with no memories. He doesn’t remember that; apparently it took a long time for him to wake up from his sleep.
Kan doesn’t know why they accepted him; he learns that Wakandans have isolated themselves from the rest of the world, and the few encounters they’ve had, have not been pleasant. Still they nurse him back to health and let him stay. He lives with the tribe of the Twisted Visions Lake for a while, before the old horse keeper in the Royal Barn calls for help. He’s up in his years, and the tribe is looking for something to make Kan do. The Lake tribe lives around six miles away from the Barn, and the Barn is half a mile away from the palace and its people. This makes the Barn pretty isolated, and still not very far away from civilization.
Kan soon figures, that all of this wasn’t without chieftain T’Chaka’s permission. It’s probably only his word that has kept Kan welcome so far. Kan is fully aware that he doesn’t really belong in Wakanda or any country near it. If not because he can’t speak any language they try to communicate with, then obviously because his skin is transparent, his blood and blue veins visible, and their skin is as rich as the darkest soil. Prolonged stays in the sun only make his skin pink and burning.
His chieftain has ruled the country for decades, and Kan doubts that if it hadn’t been for his kindness, Kan would have been thrown right back into the lake.
He is assigned to the horse stable, where he follows the old horse keeper, Anasa, around. What usually takes a day for Anasa to do, only takes Kan a few hours. Soon Kan has taken over most of the work, and Anasa gets to rest his dry and old bones. Besides Anasa, the stable is otherwise filled with kids, their age ranging from 8-16 years old. As far as Kan has encountered, child labor isn’t a thing. But soon Anasa is able to explain him that the “stable kids are troublemakers”. They’re criminals of minor offences such as theft, tobacco trading, physical assault, vandalism, and working at the Barn is basically community service. They go to a school in the Lake-tribe and come home at noon, cleaning the surrounding area outside while Kan keeps all the stable booths clean, hurls around manure and hay, keeps the cobblestone areas clean, takes care of the horses and their food, lets them out in the field at morning time and lures them inside again in the evening.
He has a small room, and a bed where his feet hang out. That feels familiar though. Most nights the bed still feels too soft to rest in. Those nights he spends filling papers with the view and the people surrounding him with black pencils.
It has been four months since his first workday at the Barn, when Anasa packs his stuff. He’s going home to his tribe and his family; it’s a long journey and Anasa expects to be away for a while. A month later Anasa still isn’t back, but the Panther Guard has started dropping by more often. Kan suspects that Anasa usually reported to them, but because of his absence, the guards need to drop by themselves.
One of them is a newly returned scholar. Lan, who’s a tall person with bird bones, finds that Kan speaks the following languages: French, Russian, Japanese, German, Spanish, some Italian and English. When the scholar finds out about this, Kan is sent directly to the king for the first time.He is awed and slightly afraid to talk to this brilliant man everyone seems to love and respect without fear.
Women wearing spare armor surround Chieftain T’Chaka. Side slit skirts, very obvious undergarments and very dangerous-looking weapons, mostly composes their clothing. Most of them are bald and have face tattoos, but they are all also very beautiful. He figures they’re the Dora Milaje. The chieftain himself converses in English, but when he finds that Kan’s Wakandan and Yoruba are both fluid, he switches. He communicates slowly and accompanied with hand signs, but Kan has been a fast learner. T’Chaka explains how they found him, took care of him and in return the chieftain expects him to be on his best behavior. Kan will try not to speak to strangers and try to stay out of sight. Kan knows about Wakanda’s history with kan people, and figures it’s because the chieftain doesn’t want Kan’s existence to cause a ruckus.
It’s two months since Anasa left, when Kan starts to notice one of the many things that make him different from the Wakandans. He walks with a straight back, chin tipped up and strength and robustness radiating from his muscled body. Idly he observes the younger adolescents he works with; the soft, almost slow way they move, the graceful flexibility and fluid way they motion. He tries to imitate this.
As the chieftain’s son, T’Challa, returns from England, more and more travellers pass by the barn. He communicates with them, gets them to tell their personal recipes as he uses the Barn’s budget to fill up the food stock, which Kan rearranges and sorts into rations. Normally the kids just take what they want from the kitchen, but most of them don’t even eat very much and mostly in the night. It means that the stable never really quiets, and the cuisine is almost always dirty.
So he starts baking enough bread and cook enough stew for everyone to eat and lets the kids cook rice and vegetables on the sides. And since his body gets up with sun, he gets used to preparing breakfast and lunch as well. Of course that means that Kan can take the liberty of making the kids clean the cuisine with him. After a while, he figures out that kitchen duties don’t fit so well with his schedule – he’s the only heavy lifter in the stable – so he assigns some children to kitchen duty and soon the snacks in-between meals become their sole responsibility.
There’s a party for T’Challa, and the music can be heard from the barn. Most of the stable kids go, but Kan enjoys listening to the echoes of melodies in his bed. At this point his skin has acclimated to the sun, his skin finally getting a bit of color and lying down on the sheets doesn’t hurt everywhere anymore. Either way the stinging sensations is always gone by sunrise.
It’s good living there. Kan loves the routine, the hard work, and the way his head quiets when he turns off the light.
----
After a year in Wakanda, T’Chaka is murdered. Kan sits with his arms around his knees as the low, deep bass music resounds from the palace. It’s supposed to be music of grief, but also a reminder of a new beginning. Tribes are wandering in from all over the country to surround the palace in support, but there are so many of them that they’re practically camping outside the Barn’s territory, which means guards are there to uphold order. They’re harsher with him now, meaner, and he knows better than attending the ceremony which all of the Wakandans are invited to. A week passes by, where Kan hasn’t retrieved any budget money. He’s considering leaving the stable and the country, as his stay is obviously no longer welcome. He feels worried for the kids; he recognizes that he has provided a routine that has been healthy for them.
But then T’Challa, the new chieftain, calls for him. The Dora Milaje are present but with a reasonable distance, all scowling at him. He wonders if a kan man killed the chieftain. Kan can’t imagine an actual Wakandan murder the chieftain; not without a formal challenge and a duel. And people have been rougher with him than usual; he is almost sure that it was a kan man who has made even more bad blood with the Wakandans.
“It’s been over a year,” T’Challa says as the first thing when Kan is standing in front of him. His eyes are almost black, with a thin ring of black tea around it. “Have you been considering what to do?”
Kan shrugs and doesn’t meet the chieftain’s eyes. “No, my king. But I will not hesitate to leave, if you want me to. I am grateful for what has been given me so far.”
T’Challa sighs as if this is what he feared and leans back in his chair. Looks at Kan like he’s one of the many problems, he doesn’t know what to do with.
“You’re staying,” a second voice breaks in and Kan looks up. A young woman in casual clothing has entered the hall and is gracefully nearing the new chieftain.
“And why is he staying,” T’Challa asks the woman, not protesting, just thoughtful.
The woman bends over and whispers: “Father saw him as a sign of the Panther God.” Kan is not sure whether the woman is aware that he can hear her. “All those days floating in poisonous vibranium water, only to be brought unharmed to us – it’s a sign of something bigger.”
“Is it,” T’Challa says, more skeptically.
“Father wanted him to stay with us.” the woman says stubbornly and Kan is starting to figure out whom she is. She looks up at him and calls out in a louder voice: “Unless you want to leave, Kan.”
Kan looks up at them. He doesn’t want to impose on them, beg them to let him stay, even if staying is what he wants. “I can do whatever you want me to, your Highness.”
“But do you wish to stay?” she asks as bit sharper.
“I am content and happy with my life,” Kan says neutrally.
“Then so be it,” Shuri decides and T’Challa sighs.
“We can’t condemn him a life as a peasant,” T’Challa says in a low voice. “Father only placed him in the stable until he could figure out what to do with him.”
“Until the Panther God lets us know,” she assures gently, “what role he is to play.”
T’Challa stares at her for a full minute, before saying to Kan: “Anasa have still not come back to the Royal Barn. There you will be attending lessons in agriculture and veterinary medicine, so you can permanently take his place.”
Shuri frowns at him. “And history, religion and literature of course.”
T’Challa turns sharply towards her. “You don’t think that’s too much? Remember why we are grieving, my sister.”
“It’s essential,” she defends. “You just said you don’t want to let him live as a peasant, and so far you only intend to make him a skilled one. Let him learn something about the place he’s living in. We’ve hidden him away enough as it is. Kan!”
He looks up.
“You are free to leave the Royal Barn,” she informs and T’Challa abruptly looks a few moments away from killing her.
“You can leave,” T’Challa dismisses after having stared at Shuri for a long time. “I expect you in class at dawn in the Lake tribe. Make sure to have finished your assignments in the stable before then.”
Kan nods gratefully and leaves. He confirms that his hearing might be better than they know as he hears every detail of the argument break out as he leaves. Apparently T’Challa is sure that Kan is a spy or a “sleeping assassin” just waiting for his move, and that they shouldn’t have given him even more knowledge. Shuri, on the other hand, is convinced that he’s the Panther God’s tool and that they should mobilize him properly.
Kan hopes that he is neither, but as long as he gets to stay, he’s not sure that he cares about their speculation.
----
Lessons of technology are prohibited, but the history lessons tell of its general development. Of how Wakanda’s technology has been inspired by the rest of the world’s, but has been otherwise created from the bottom by the Wakandans. He’s not quite sure if he cares about all the technology yet, despite how the stable kids often mourns its lack in the Barn. He gets by. Besides the history lessons are what he finds most interesting. After each lesson he understands more about the place he lives in and the people he lives with, even if details of the tribes are also censured.
Meanwhile T’Challa passes the ceremony of the Heart-shaped Herb and comes back as the new Black Panther. Shuri is proud despite having tried to become the queen herself and the country gets past its mourning of the last Black Panther and into celebration of the new one. By the time the beginning of T’Challa’s rule is done being celebrated, Kan has finished his classes and gone back to working full time. He has found other things he enjoys now that he’s allowed out; reading at the library, hiking in the forestland, walks on the savanna, and looking down at the blinking lights that is the Golden City from the heights of the rock mountains surrounding the country like a wall. He has even started taking swims in the lake at night, since the sun is usually too sharp with the water when he has time during the day. It’s good. He likes his life.
----
After two years of T’Challa’s reign, a jet is flown in and for the first time since Kan got here, other foreigners than Kan are welcomed by the chieftain. Kan doesn’t know what it’s about, doesn’t really care much for it either, but guards are sent to the stable, which means he probably is going to soon. He has gotten a more relaxed relationship with the Panther Guard these days. They get to wash and eat with them during their travels, and in return they bring him groceries from tribes he isn’t allowed to visit yet. Him and Lan share meals and tea the most.
“Clean up,” they say.
Kan baths, and at the guards’ instructions, ties up his hair as well. They lead him to the flower tribe. It’s called that because it faces the driest part of Wakanda, where the bloom is the most intense after rainfall. It’s also in the most outer part of the Golden City, and he is arranged there to live, because the Barn is apparently too close to the palace. It’s weird being that close to other people all of the time, and he feels more than ever how distrustful they are of him. The guards have made it clear that no one should try to push him around, but the tenseness between they and him isn’t even violent, just awkward. But, it’s not too long before an old man pulls him aside and teaches him how to pick caraway properly. His dialect is hard to understand, but it’s interesting to hear him talk nonetheless.
“You are not the first kan person our deceased king took in,” the man, Utan, tells him. “White Wolf. Hunter was his real name, filth more like it. Led secret law enforcement, called Dogs of War, very brutal, very abusive. His dogs are still running around for him from time to time, even though our king, Panther God’s eyes be on him, threw him out last year. But kan person left bad impression. Bitterness, that man, deep bitterness. Why old king and now new king keeps you hidden.”
“But why has he brought me here now?” Kan asks.
The man points to the sky, where the jet had flown by earlier. “Foreigners. He’s testing them.”
It’s good to be in the city as soon as he gets used to it. Kan gets to talk to people that aren’t children or guards. For the first time in years, more sophisticated life pulses around him. It’s almost scary because it activates his own emotional life and he feels exhausted by the end of the day, despite not doing as much work as he usually does. When his stay at the tribe is prolonged, he signs up to help the people who arrange the official celebrations and parties. It is usually the elder people who arranges for the food and musicians, and the day after the celebration it’s the children that help cleaning up. He spends his workdays being sent from house to house to gather food and exchange information. When itøs time for a second tribe to come and celebrate with the flower one, he is usually kept out of sight. Kan is oddly okay with him being treated as a dirty secret. Because it’s not shame, it’s just an odd wariness, a trait that characterizes the Wakandan people so well.
At one party an older woman strides through the dancing floor and pulls him out in the open to dance with her. Kan is scared and watches for people’s reaction, but several of them cheer and soon he stops feeling like a pimple on smooth skin and starts melting in. Pink drinks are being passed around, but he doesn’t feel affected by that, only by the euphoria of the dancing mass, the music, the nearness of others. Kan watches them mix the red alcohol and the white sweetener, and soon the drinks passed to him are almost solely red. Soon he feels dizzy and foggy and sluggishly the older woman pulls him aside. They walk around the dry desert, still laughing and joking, until Kan has burned off the alcohol. Then the woman leads him to her house and into her room.
Everything starts burning as she undresses him, and her sweat makes him feel hot. She pulls off her own clothes and bites his skin, makes him prickly everywhere. He feels himself get hard, but the arousal is even rawer and more powerful than simply that: he’s a pulsing ball of lust and desire and she rides him until he comes and then she keeps going and keeps going.
He wakes the following morning to an empty bed. The house residents grin at him. His head hurts and he goes.
----
It repeats itself. The parties are thrumming and hypnotizing and he doesn’t need to seek anyone out. Someone is always willing to try him out. He’s an experiment, a kan man, and he doesn’t mind. The sex makes him feel more awake and aware in his body than ever, and he loves throbbing with the life it gives him. And the more partners he gains, the less weird it gets. People stop talking about it and Kan feels as normal as someone of different origin and no history can feel.
Soon, men seek him out as well. The intimacy, the sensibility they bare is different from the women who had a tendency of using him until he ran out, and somehow the men still are more proud. When the question of penetration comes up, all of them refuse to bottom. Kan doesn’t really enjoy bottoming at first, the pleasure too bordering on pain, but then he meets Swi.
Vinskulu is a 2,15 m tall man, which means a head taller than Kan (and Kan is quite tall, probably one of the tallest in the tribe). Vinskulu is a broad-chested man on top of that with monolids that becomes slick when he loses himself in his fucking, and the thickness of his dick almost makes Kan say no, even though he knows he theoretically would be able to take it with enough prep. Vinskulu sweet-talks him into it anyway, and they spend almost half an hour with the man’s fingers in Kan’s ass. Kan’s sure that Vinskulu, unlike many of Kan’s partners, have tried this before, because he does something with his fingers that makes Kan arch his back and claw at the linen. When Vinskulu finally pushes in, Kan feels it everywhere, his whole body feeling electric and every thrust is a burst of heat going up his back and through his dick, until he comes on the sheets without being touched.
All is good and well, and then the dreams – the nightmares begin. He dreams of a woman with skin the same as his, with pouty, dark red lips and fierce eyes. Richly pigmented hair that flows like waves down her shoulders, smooth and yet curly, shiny. She uses a lot of time reprimanding him in the dreams, sometimes crying, and he keeps getting this desperate want to go to her, to find her. And the pain is deep, because he doesn’t understand who she is, but he knows that he will never see her again. Those nightmares upset him, but not as much as nightmares of the man falling. There’s a man falling, always falling into an abyss of white and blue, the sounds of screaming metal and wind loud, but not loud enough to deafen the falling man’s scream. He’s always slipping right out of Kan’s hand, his face twisted in terror as he falls into the void, a void made out of bluish, raw cotton, black rock and a blue river looking like one of Kan’s own veins in all the white.
He wakes from the nightmares sweating. Throwing up. He loses appetite. His head hurts all the time. He can’t attend the celebrations anymore. A doctor comes to see him after this has gone on for weeks, and he says Kan isn’t drinking enough water. Kan does drink water, he doesn’t – doesn’t understand anything. He’s confused all the time, and sometimes he doesn’t even remember what he is doing here, why he is here. He has never wondered of this before. After taking samples and looking at Kan’s blood, the doctor concludes that he’s suffering from some kind of deficiency. After long conversations, they conclude that the only change the move has given him is the change of water. Kan prepares to ask the guards to let him go back to the stable, but neighbors bring him containers of water from the lake without being asked to. He starts to get better. The water makes the dreams and nightmares disappear. He stops feeling confused and restless, and instead feels at ease again and for that, he is so grateful to the tribe he lives with.
Finally the chieftain’s visitors leave. Kan knows he’ll miss the flower tribe, but he is relieved to get back to the stable and the lake, realizing his dependency on the water. He has barely arrived and said hello to the horses, when T’Challa enters the stable in his Black Panther armor. It hides his face, and seems to suck in all the sunlight. Kan wonders if T’Challa feels hot or if the armor keeps his body temperature cooled.
Kan turns towards him and the stable boys and girls fleet the place. Kan considers bailing too; maybe the chieftain is here for the horses. They’re his property after all, despite how he has always preferred electronic transportation methods instead.
But T’Challa closes the door and says: “Sit.”
Carefully Kan sits.
“How much do you remember?” T’Challa directly asks.
“I don’t remember anything, your Highness,” Kan replies.
T’Challa sighs and Kan tries not to squirm.
“I need you to teach me how to lay with a man,” T’Challa says.
For about a minute Kan is trying to comprehend what just happened, and wonders if he understands the Wakandan language as well as he thought he did.
“Excuse me?” he finally stutters.
“I’d feel better if you had a bigger sense of self,” T’Challa clarifies. “But this will have to do for now.”
Kan clears his throat. And sinks.
“You can say no,” T’Challa reminds him. “My authority holds no ownership of your body in that manner.”
Kan frowns. “There are plenty of more worthy partners, your Highness.“
T’Challa nods. “I was merely given the impression that you enjoyed being passed around,” he replies and Kan flinches. Something about T’Challa’s eyes soften, and his eyes get distant as he looks away. “It’s funny how complicated a relationship people of the west have with sexuality. Even not remembering, your body still feels shame.”
Kan looks down and reminds himself that he can say no. It’s not like he’s afraid of sleeping with T’Challa. The man is attractive and probably a fast learning. Kan’s just afraid of the weight, the knowledge of having slept with his king. What that will make him.
“One of my guests,” T’Challa says, while nonchalantly leaning into a stall, reaching his hand towards a horse that completely ignores him, “made me realize what power seduction really has and the role of sexual attraction. But being royal…” He waves his hand like he can’t be bothered. “I’m afraid the distance between the people and the king is too big. My Dora Milaje are all women, and besides… sleeping with one of them would make my words, about their purely ceremonial value, transparent.”
Kan tilts his head. “You’re… a virgin?” he asks. Because maybe then. Kan doesn’t feel very safe in knowing that someone else, someone careless, might be T’Challa’s first. He has surely had his own fair share of boring, bordering on uncomfortable intercourses with men. Kan’d rather do it himself then.
“I lived in Europe and North America for several years,” T’Challa reminds him, not unkindly. “But I must admit, I’ve never sought out a man. A man has never sought out me.”
Kan looks at his feet. “I’ve only ever been with Wakandans, your Highness. There’s nothing about Western sexuality that I can teach you.”
T’Challa leans forwards, his eyes glinting with interest. “And how was it with the Wakandans? What surprised you and what did you find pleasurable?”
Kan exhales and forces himself to look up again, reminding himself that he’s just helping the king. “Perhaps… the question of gender. The women are very dominant. And the men are very needy of – of touch and caress. Intimacy. And at flower tribe they didn’t show hints of desire throughout the working day. Whoever the partner was that sought me out at the celebrations were always a surprise, because flirting isn’t really a thing in broad daylight. And. And the alcohol, I guess. It’s odd to me how we always need to be intoxicated for something to take place.” He pauses and then hurries to say: “But no one ever pulled me aside while I was still drunk. Maybe when I was slightly tipsy, but I’m still in control when I. Am. That.”
T’Challa looks at him thoughtfully, his finger tapping the wood of the stall. Kan tries not to look at the play, and keep his eyes on those golden, feral eyes that were brown the last time Kan saw him. “When I was in Europe, I was surprised to learn that the women often take a passive role and men the more active one.”
Kan gets T’Challa’s point: His body and some part of his mind still remembers the old customs. “I trust your judgment, Sir.” He stops. Why is he referring to his king as a soldier would to his higher ranking officer? “But I think…” He stops himself and flushes. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.
“You think?” T’Challa asks, slightly encouraging.
“There will be understanding if you can’t compensate in that area,” Kan slowly says. “There are soldiers and police that are better suited, my King.”
“It’s not about what the people think,” T’Challa makes it clear. “It’s about my level of expertise, the quality of my competences. It’s about my skillset. I need to be reliant and capable in every imaginable and possible area. It’s my duty as a king, my duty to the country and the people.”
Kan thinks of this and hesitantly nods. Even if he privately almost opposes this sense of ownership the country has to its king, the lack of… independency, he supposes that it is T’Challa’s own choice and wish. And he can respect that. “You’re an excellent speaker of various languages,” he says after a while. “I’m sure a short trip to either Europe or the States won’t worry anyone.”
T’Challa waves his hand. “It’s not the same,” he says. “I need guidance, explicit explanations and directions. I can’t – even anonymously – trust outsiders with that. But that isn’t your problem. Dismissed.”
Kan escapes and he tries very hard not to think about how what T’Challa said, means that Kan is not considered an outsider in his eyes.
----
As Kan goes to the lake to take a swim, he thinks about the interaction. He thinks about the way his king slowly tapped his finger, the way his eyes glow. Kan hasn’t seen him fight, but he bets the man is flexible and probably sensitive with all those heightened senses.
He thinks about T’Challa’s body and the scent of a man.
After an hour of swimming, Kan makes up his mind. He washes, and makes sure he neither smells of the stable or of sweat. For the first time he goes to the palace by free will and only when he is faced with the chains of guards and soldiers on the platform road leading to the palace, does he realize that he might not be welcome. But the guards nod him through.
Three skyscrapers compose the palace. They look like trees, cylinder-shaped with dome-shaped, bulging crowns of glass, their tops cut open for trees to grow out like green hair. The broadest skyscraper even has several waterfalls flowing out of its middle floors. They’re all colored white and gold, and large stripes expand down their sides, the stones shaped in geometric patterns. The main skyscraper, where Kan knows T’Challa does his royal business, has the most rectangular of shape and the two twin towers attached both decrease in height. As Kan gets closer, he notices that the triangular sculptures holding the buildings are chimneys, releasing golden smoke into the night air.
A servant is waiting for him at the fountain in the foyer. She leads him to levels of the palace he has never visited before, where the bronze, tree and gold are exchanged with glassy black and brass gold.
Finally she leaves him in front of a door. Kan knocks and after a slight pause, he hears T’Challa call out for him. Kan pushes the door open.
T’Challa is lying on his bed, naked and bare to the cool evening temperature getting through the open windows. The lighting in the room is very dimmed, only made up small candles here and there. Kan has heard that the Black Panthers see in darkness; perhaps this is T’Challa wanting the upper hand if Kan turns out to really be a spy.
T’Challa’s eyes are reflecting the light right back. He sits up as he surveys Kan, his body slightly scarred, and just as muscled as Kan’s.
T’Challa nods at him, removing the blanket from his body, bearing shiny, muscular thighs, hairy shins and a half-hard cock. His balls are small and tight, his cock thick and long. The lasting tint of doubt disappears as Kan feels himself get aroused by the sight.
Kan bites his lip, and takes off his shirt, shrugs off his pants and his underwear. T’Challa looks at him, scrutinizing, before laying back in a submissive gesture. Kan interprets it as acceptance and crawls over the side of the bed, and doesn’t quite lie on top of him; just starts out simply tilting his head over T’Challa’s stomach and pressing his face into his king’s abdomen, breathing in the smell of musk that is sharper and stronger with T’Challa than Kan has so far experienced it.
Kan nuzzles the thin trail of hair underneath his face, kisses the soft skin on his hipbones and sucks on it, closes his mouth around the bone and nips. He breathes on his king’s cockhead, before slowly moving up, gradually covering the body with his own. He kisses T’Challa’s abs, licks them shiny and laps the end of his ribcage, his chest bone, fleetingly bites T’Challa’s nipple before pressing his face into the man’s neck and trailing it with his tongue. T’Challa quivers and Kan takes his sweet time finding the sensitive spots located beneath his collarbones, in the hollow between collarbone and shoulder, behind his ears, his ear lobes and temple and the softest parts of his neck around his Adams apple. Every time his king shivers, and Kan confirms his idea that T’Challa is sensitive.
Kan sits up and tries his best not to rub up against him. “You want to be dominant or passive?” he asks.
T’Challa considers this and finally replies: “Passive.”
Kan nods and leans down again, slowly rubbing their hips together, trapping T’Challa’s hardening cock in-between his hipbone and stomach, the inside of Kan’s thighs rubbing around T’Challa’s left leg. He leans his head down to suck in T’Challa’s nipple and when his king doesn’t react immediately, his nipples not even hardening, Kan closes his teeth around it. This makes his king jolt, his hands closing around Kan’s ears and sliding down to his neck, as Kan continues playing between the border of pain and pleasure, ending up intensely licking and flicking the nipple with his tongue. The play makes his king rub his hips up against Kan’s, almost slow and unnoticeable movements and Kan reaches up to his mouth, wets his fingers and uses them to pinch the other nipple as he bites hard on the one he has in his mouth. T’Challa is starting to squirm, make small panting noises and Kan moves on to the other nipple, keeping the former one sensitive by chafing it with his fingertips. When T’Challa is gasping and clenching Kan’s hair in his fists, Kan goes on to peck and lick and kisses the skin around the nipples, cover it with love bites that don’t show, to make the area tight and sensitive.
When he feels the glide of T’Challa’s pre-cum in between their bodies, he finally dares to put his arms around T’Challa’s head and take his mouth. For minutes the kiss is only desperate, a relieving meeting point that makes Kan dizzy, until T’Challa tries to take control over the kiss. Kan remembers his purpose and puts his hand on T’Challa’s cheek, tilts it to get a better angle to invade T’Challa’s mouth. Every time T’Challa tries to meet him, Kan changes his way of kissing until T’Challa is forced to come along. T’Challa keeps meeting him with equal strength, but Kan uses T’Challa’s liking of pain against him and bites at his lips with his corner teeth until T’Challa lets go, gasping, and Kan very firmly takes T’Challa’s face in his palms, keeps it place and reclaims his mouth, while rubbing his thumb harshly into T’Challa’s neck.
When T’Challa comes up for air again, Kan digs his hand in between the bed and the king’s back and presses his hips up against Kan’s, takes control of when T’Challa is allowed to grind up against him, controls the pressure and the amount of pleasure T’Challa is allowed to feel. Kan’s mouth almost automatically revisits his king’s sensitive spots on his neck and for the first time since they began, his king moans. The sound makes the blood rush into Kan’s cock and he assaults the soreness of T’Challa’s nipples and chest again. A louder groan escapes the man, and Kan becomes aware that T’Challa has already noticed what making noises does to Kan.
So Kan slips down his body and takes T’Challa’s cock into his mouth. The moan that escapes him is surprised and then needy when Kan grips his knees, spreading them out while digging in his fingers.
T’Challa is a big guy and Kan sticks out his tongue to cover his lower row of teeth and opens his mouth extra wide to get him inside. T’Challa’s thighs are shaking and sweating now, and Kan takes as much as he can until he gets used to the feeling, and then promptly downs T’Challa’s cock in his throat. He forces its hard hotness down and focuses on swallowing around it instead of choking. T’Challa’s legs won’t be still now and Kan closes his mouth extra tight around the root of his cock and sucks so hard his cheeks hollow. T’Challa cries out, his breathing unsteady and chest pooling small drops of sweat. Kan watches his face, learns that T’Challa almost blacks out when he flicks his tongue in his slit, when he scrapes the girth of his cock with his bottom teeth, learns that the popping sound when Kan lets go of him doesn’t work so well, but that a tight fist with intense sucking around the head will make him come.
The taste is strong but surprisingly alright. Kan strokes T’Challa until his last few drops, makes sure T’Challa feels it when Kan swallows at the same time. He keeps sucking until there is nothing left and then starts licking the oversensitive flesh. T’Challa’s cock never goes soft, and Kan keeps his hand around it, feeling it twitch against him, as he focuses on licking the sweat that has pooled in the rims of T’Challa’s abs and midsection.
“Lube?” Kan mutters, his voice hoarse from the deep throating and T’Challa nods towards the other side of the bed. Kan searches the blanket and finds the lube chap. Wetting his fingers with it, he goes back to the large figure and gently taps the bruised knees. T’Challa obediently spreads them, and Kan strokes his cock a couple of times, can’t resists sucking on it again just to see T’Challa’s low, drawn-out moan before sliding his mouth lower and sucking on his balls. A surprised gasp comes out of T’Challa as Kan moves down to his perineum, rubs it with his wet fingers, and an almost frightened groan comes out of T’Challa as Kan lowers his mouth and licks against his rim. T’Challa’s legs jolt up, pull back and hit his own waist to give Kan more space. Kan uses it to shake his head and thrust his tongue against the rim until it finally breaches. As he does it, he reaches up to stroke T’Challa and the man shouts, his balls tightening, his thighs sweating. God, the way the man becomes wet everywhere makes Kan hot.
As Kan pushes his finger in with his tongue, T’Challa comes on his stomach. Kan continues when his partner locks a firm hand into his hair, and keeps focus on slowly fucking T’Challa with his tongue and finger, watching the way T’Challa’s eyes are becoming dazed and more incoherent, his body more honest and Kan feels – feels powerful, intoxicated but in a whole other way than with alcohol. There is something about serving, providing and giving pleasure that frankly makes him euphoric. He gets a second finger inside of T’Challa and T’Challa’s softened cock starts paying attention again, his brows frowning and mouth spilling sounds of confusion and pleasure out. Soon Kan replaces his tongue with a third finger and pulls T’Challa’s cock into his mouth, tasting the drying cum on its head, licking it clean and lightly sucking it back to hardness. T’Challa’s shoulders and knees are pulling towards each other, his whole figure curling as Kan thoroughly preps him.
When T’Challa is fully hard and his hole properly loose, Kan sits up and reaches for the condoms he sighted beside the lube. He pulls on the condom and looks down on his king, who’s no longer panting. His eyes meet Kan’s, aware and sharp. After a second he spreads his legs further in invitation. Kan reaches forwards and thoughtfully looks at T’Challa’s figure, until the man can no longer hide his impatience. He is starting to sweat again. Kan slowly reaches forwards and puts his hands on his partner’s pectorals, pressing gently and rubbing at the nipples, circling them with his thumbs, before sliding them down, massaging the semen and sweat fully into the pubic hair and skin, putting his hands on T’Challa’s inner thighs and stroking them reassuringly. Soon he lets them wander down to T’Challa’s ass cheeks, clenching them in his hands. T’Challa groans, his toes curling. Kan leans forwards and pecks him lightly on the cheek, not knowing how T’Challa feels about tasting himself.
T’Challa immediately grabs his hair and pulls him down, invading Kan’s mouth with his tongue, seeking out and tasting Kan’s mouth for himself. Kan lets him, grinding his cock against T’Challa’s balls, before decidedly taking back control by grabbing T’Challa’s legs and arranging them on his shoulders. He grips his cock, meets T’Challa’s eyes one last time and nudges in.
T’Challa’s mouth falls open, his hole clenching around Kan. Kan rubs at T’Challa’s knees, frowning himself as he struggles to not come with the weight of pleasure he had been too focused to notice before. But T’Challa opens for him and pulls him in, and Kan lays himself over his body, fucks T’Challa’s mouth with his tongue while holding his head and letting his own hips move into a quicker and deeper pace, T’Challa’s arms closing around his back and his legs clenching around Kan’s waist.
Kan feels T’Challa meet his thrusts, so he keeps their bodies near, the thrusts close and deep as his thrusts make his king’s whole body slide with the covers. Kan keeps them close, plays on the intimacy, but it’s when he angles his hips and pulls up T’Challa’s ass to thrust into his prostrate that T’Challa starts making noise again, almost shouting as Kan pulls his hips further back so his king can feel the full force of Kan’s cock slamming into him.
He sits back and pounds T’Challa’s muscular, tight ass, rams into him while considering how many times T’Challa is able to come. He doesn’t dare ask because he doesn’t want to sound needy – he does, however, reach down and spread T’Challa’s cheeks apart to watch his own pink cock disappear into that hot, dark flesh, and T’Challa comes again, this time almost no semen coming with the orgasm. Kan keeps going, wondering if he should start pushing his king directly into another orgasm or if this is all T’Challa’s got. Kan leans in and grinds his hips in circles, and he feels a spurt of pre-cum. Okay, hopefully T’Challa could go for at least one more.
Kan pulls out and turns his king around, which briefly makes T’Challa yelp (which is not funny at all) and pushes into him again. T’Challa grabs a pillow and clenches it, the side of his face resting on the bed with lines of looseness and openness on his open-mouthed face, his moans coming out louder and faster.
Kan groans, slowing and then pauses as he tries to back away from orgasm. He pulls out and focuses his sight. T’Challa’s behind carries marks and bruises of Kan’s hands. The king growls into the pillow as Kan watches how his hole flutters without Kan’s hot cock inside. Kan gets the chap again, rubs it on his fingers and spreads its slickness onto T’Challa’s rim. The coldness makes T’Challa bark something, but Kan just focuses on rubbing it into the skin, sliding in his fingers. T’Challa lets out a low sigh, bordering on a purr.
“Fuck me,” the man then says. “Please.”
Again, Kan wonders if T’Challa is saying that out of earnestness or if it’s because he’s testing Kan’s reaction. Either way Kan needs to give him what he wants, so he slides in again, groaning at the feeling. He grabs a cheek and kneads it, not moving at first. T’Challa groans and starts pushing back on him. But Kan can feel that T’Challa is slow about his orgasm this time.
“You’re so good,” Kan growls into his ear as he lowers himself down on T’Challa’s back. He takes a hold of T’Challa’s hips and starts again in a slower pace. “You’re so beautiful.”
When Kan lowers his mouth to kiss his neck, his back and his shoulders, T’Challa almost flinches with every soft touch. Kan reaches around for his cock and strokes it a couple of times, but it’s not giving.
Time after that flows slowly. Kan carefully fucks T’Challa for what must almost be 30 minutes, and the king’s body temperature only rises and rises, until sweat is dripping down his back and his cock is leaving wet spots on the bed. At last, Kan roughly pulls T’Challa up on his knees. T’Challa sways; his body shaking and jerking with every little touch Kan gives him, as if there are attacks. Kan gets up on his knees too, rests his ass on his feet and lowers T’Challa down on his lap, so the man is resting his back against Kan’s chest.
T’Challa whines, and Kan encourages him to move for himself, lets T’Challa fuck down on him in a relaxed, sensing pace and grinds into Kan’s lap for that intruding feeling of cock deep inside of him. When the whimpers are becoming high-pitched and needy, Kan grabs T’Challa around the waist and fucks up into him, draping T’Challa’s body over his so his head is resting on Kan’s shoulder and Kan is hitting that spot with every thrust.
The last orgasm of T’Challa is long and maddening. T’Challa is whining more than moaning as a few drops of seed drip down from his slit. The orgasm is drawn out, igniting and Kan reaches up to spreads T’Challa’s semen with his thumb. T’Challa hisses, his whole body twitching, which makes Kan hold him still and keep stroking him until, for the first time, T’Challa’s body becomes loose and unresponsive.
T’Challa’s stays on his cock though, panting and breathing irregularly, his whole body shaking and shining with sweat. Kan is waiting for the opportunity to slip out and lay the king down so he can bring himself off, but as he pulls out his cock, T’Challa tabs the fine linen with a finger like he had tapped the wood stall.
“Finish with me,” he says, the command clear.
Kan doubts for a second and then leans forwards, rubbing his cock in between T’Challa’s cheeks.
“Inside,” T’Challa orders and with relief, Kan slips in again. It’s odd and a totally different feeling to chase orgasm after all this time and he finds it almost hard to come, even if T’Challa is hot and loose on his dick.
It’s only when he accidently hits T’Challa’s spot and T’Challa’s back arch with an oversensitive cry that Kan empties himself, the whole nether area of his body becoming the only thing he can feel, the intensity of the orgasm whitening everything out for a second.
When Kan wakes, he is draped on T’Challa’s back. Their hands are knotted together, and T’Challa is sleeping. Kan closes his eyes again and succumbs.
----
Kan wakes up just before dawn. Underneath him, T’Challa’s asleep, but lightly, likely accustomed to the same cycle as well, and Kan gently untangles. The room looks bigger when it’s illuminated, and Kan finds his way to the bathroom, where he quickly cleans himself. He wets a cloth with warm water and lurks into the bedroom again.
T’Challa is lying on his back now, eyes open and considering. Kan kneels over him, puts a reassuring hand on his already healed knees and cleans up his king’s stomach and chest. Kan hesitates at the V of T’Challa’s body, but the king opens his legs and allows Kan to clean him in between his cheeks and his cock.
“You’re a natural,” Kan says, his voice hoarse as he gently kisses T’Challa on his inner thigh. “You’ll do great.”
T’Challa breathes slowly, his eyes softening. “Thank you. Come back to my chambers, if you wish to, same time tomorrow.”
Kan nods and gets up, gathers his clothes, because he sees it as the dismissal it is.
Notes:
The Vinskulu sex scene might be very inspired by this pic
Chapter 2
Summary:
Kan sights the deflection. “My king,” he sighs.
“You never cared before,” T’Challa says stubbornly.
“Because before nobody cared about me,” Kan answers.
Kan meets the Avengers.
Chapter Text
Word must have gotten out, because the guards are obviously talking behind his back and the kids at the stable mummer and giggle. It’s not as bad as Kan imagined; he somehow believed there would be anger about an outsider having touched their king, but the people seem more at ease than ever. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like he has tainted the king.
He forgets his worries in favor of re-arranging the horses, so the foals can start interacting with each other instead of clinging to their mothers. At evening time, he goes to take his regular swim, and baths after. That night T’Challa takes the lead so smoothly that Kan doesn’t even notice how far they’re in before his legs are spread open and T’Challa is pressing into him. At first the chieftain moves in a rolling rhythm, which makes Kan constantly go ahn ahn ah, and then his king press Kan’s knees down on the kan man’s chest, T’Challa’s cock digging in further than Kan has ever tried before. It’s almost too much in a weird way; Vinskulu had definitely been bigger, but Kan guesses that T’Challa’s technique is just better, because Kan’s body turns more and more sensitive with every thrust. At some point T’Challa bends over him and they make out and kiss deeply, T’Challa’s cock deep and unmoving in his ass. T’Challa drags it out, makes Kan whine in need of coming. Then T’Challa shifts the angle, so his cock is laying still on Kan’s prostate instead and Kan comes like that.
Afterwards Kan is laying loose and limp on the bed, while T’Challa takes off the condom and wipes the drops of come that drips from his cockhead. Kan almost salivates, wanting to crawl over and clean T’Challa’s cock with his tongue. Before he can act on this, T’Challa reaches over, whips a finger through Kan’s mess on his stomach and licks the finger clean. Kan loses his breath at the sight, and T’Challa gets a wondrous expression on his face. He quietly cleans Kan with a tissue and climbs onto Kan’s chest. T’Challa is a little smaller than Kan, and definitely lighter, but their bodies feel matched and perfect.
He falls asleep and at dawn, T’Challa is gone.
----
It continues like that. About three times a week T’Challa calls for him, each time with something different to try. There are periods where he’s not in the country and where Kan admittedly misses his company and what they have. Kan has always thought that what he likes the most is actively pleasing his partners, but with T’Challa he finds the roles reversed. These nights are mostly spent with Kan’s legs spread out for the king, his body free for the taking, and his vision always ends up tunneling so he can only sees his king. All of his thoughts and feelings are one by one pulled out and thrown out of the bed. Sometimes it feels like Kan is forgetting himself all over again.
He finds that if T’Challa and he have been doing something especially – well, especially mind blowing, he gets high with something euphoric and chaotic, where he cannot see or hear or focus on anything except it. It’s a new drug he can’t get enough of, and he finds that somehow T’Challa is affected like this as well. Not that he loses his sense of self like Kan does, but more like he can only focus on Kan. At first Kan thought it was because T’Challa took the teaching of his new skillset very seriously, but the face his king makes as he comes, the way his body becomes hot and his eyes intense when Kan writhes: it’s almost like T’Challa falls into a black hole as well. It’s impossible to feel unsafe, because it feels like T’Challa is aware of every drop of sweat, every pump of Kan’s heart.
It’s not always perfect. One evening T’Challa makes him sit in a sauna for ten minutes and then runs ice cold stones all over Kan’s body once he’s in the bed and Kan’s head just blanks out. He knows that T’Challa is immediately aware that something stopped responding, he is aware that T’Challa calls out for him, but he can’t quite muster any movement or words. He listens to T’Challa scramble the stones off his body and the bed, and then feels a thick duvet being put on top of him, T’Challa cuddling his body and talking reassuringly to him in a low voice.
Kan also notices that he doesn’t deal well, when he is left alone after they’ve had sex. He doesn’t say that to T’Challa, but the king picks up on it anyway. Sometimes T’Challa stays in bed with him, but mostly T’Challa doesn’t have much time to spare with Steve, so he takes to carrying Kan into his office and placing him on the couch with a duvet. Kan lies with his head on T’Challa’s thigh and dozes. Regularly T’Challa talks to Kan, until Kan gets coherent again and is ready to get up and leave.
One time Kan is spread on his fours on the floor in the king’s private bedroom, T’Challa licking his hole while fisting his cock and Kan’s mind is blown by now, his stretched legs shaking as sweat rolls down his chest and then someone is banging on the door.
Kan flinches with surprise and feels his hole clench down on T’Challa tongue.
T’Challa looks mildly irritated, but he pulls out his tongue and calls out.
A guard yells: “White Wolf have been sighted among the gates, my King.”
T’Challa freezes mildly, says he will be right there and pulls out his dick, quickly splaying lube over Kan’s hole and pushing into him at once. Kan cries out, having nothing else but the king’s tongue as preparation and is almost brutally flattened on the floor as T’Challa rams into him.
There’s the sound of something flying and then T’Challa’s hand smacks down on Kan’s ass cheek and Kan comes hotly, and mildly guilty, on the carpet. T’Challa finishes up with the same hand clenching down around Kan’s thigh and … it hits Kan that the king, in his hurry, has forgotten to put on a condom, so Kan can feel the spurt of come fill him inside. After only a moment, T’Challa clinically pulls out and before Kan can feel the seed roll down to his balls, T’Challa quickly cleans him up and carries him to the bed. Kan starts to get anxious, as the king makes moves to leave him. He looks away so the king can’t see his tenseness.
There are the sounds of T’Challa getting dressed, and then Kan can feel himself be lifted up and carried to the office. He shakes his head a bit, because he knows that T’Challa shouldn’t do this for Kan, but ends up just nuzzling into T’Challa’s uniform. T’Challa dumps him on his couch, throws a duvet over him, opens some windows and takes a seat by his desk.
It’s not long before the White Wolf slips in. Kan is too high to care when the man visibly startles by the sight of him. Kan turns away his head and closes his eyes.
T’Challa speaks to White Wolf as if Kan isn’t there and after a while Wolf stops looking bothered. They talk about a possible Narobian infiltration and all of the intel the Wolf has gathered so far. Kan listens in half-interest and at some point gets hot underneath the duvet and shrugs some of it off. He almost kicks himself; he can’t smell it himself, but he bets that he stinks of sex and sweat. When White Wolf’s arms get Goosebumps and his neck reddens, he can confirm this.
When Wolf is done, he throws an obvious glance at Kan and says: “Nice little addition you got there.”
T’Challa suddenly looks impatient. “I’m sure the Adored Ones will still welcome you. Thanks for your information, brother.”
T’Challa doesn’t speak of it again, but Kan still feels bad and embarrassed about after days. He tries to push it under the rug.
----
Around a month later, T’Challa’s allies arrive and Kan doesn’t need the guards to tell him that the little freedom he has gotten the past few months is no longer valid. Kan, very softly, is starting to resent the allies’ visits.
----
Five days into the allies stay, the fence is broken open and a horse runs away. Kan finds out about this a few ten minutes too late, but still he gives chase before the horse gets lost in the wild and eaten by another animal. It heads towards the highways though and Kan doubts its chances in the busy traffic. He can feel his shoes fall off as he tries to run faster, closes in and grabs its muzzle. It drags his feet over the road until it finally slows down and halts, throwing its head around, trying to take a few steps into freedom again. Kan firms his grip and makes it clear who’s leading. He doesn’t dare look up at the palace as he leads the horse back; still he feels eyes on him.
At evening time he’s not so worried anymore. He’s just a horse keeper. T’Chaka and now, T’Challa’s, concern is probably unwarranted.
He feels so convinced of this mentality that he goes out for his swim despite the probation. He even brings a nightlight he puts on the rocks and he sinks and paddles around. He is thinking about asking the guards for permission to visit the flower tribe, when he feels rustling among the bushes. He freezes and looks towards the sound, scanning the surroundings. No one should be near the Royal Stable at this time. He listens again but everything is quiet. An animal perhaps? He better go back to the stables and get things locked down. He’s had enough of wild foxes frightening the horses.
There’s a step and then a woman is standing in front of him.
Except. She looks weird.
Her skin is kan, almost illuminating so, even through the tight filter of trees, and her hair is copper and blood.
It hits Kan that this is exactly what his king didn’t want to happen.
He quickly dives underneath the water and trusts the darkness in it the hide him. He gets as close to the stable as he can and then silently dips up into the open. Looking around tells him that everything is still. He can’t hear her either. He gets up and walks hastily towards the stable doors.
“Wait!” he hears her call behind him, but he has already closed the doors and locked it.
----
Kan isn’t able to escape the consequences. At noon guards are knocking on his door. They ask him to wash and give him a pristine uniform only the closest servants are allowed to wear. He tries not shaking as he pulls on the gold and white clothing, and ties his hair back in a glistening ribbon. He didn’t shave the evening before, since he needed water to do it and he didn’t dare go out, or this morning either; when he moves to do this, Lan tells him that he better not.
He closes his fists into each other and mentally prepares himself on finally having to leave the country. He had it coming, disobeying direct orders. He tries not to think. Tries not to think. Tries.
He’s lead to T’Challa’s bedroom. Maybe the king wanted to do him one last time. He is sitting on his bedside, pulling on a boot and wearing his Black Panther uniform, only without the mask.
“Leave and close the door,” he commands.
The door closes with the guards.
“Come here,” he calls, and even though it lacks the playful tone of their shared nights, it holds gentleness. “Sit down here.”
Kan does as he’s told. Stiffly he lets his hands rest on his knees.
“How are your feet?” T’Challa asks and Kan startles.
He shrugs. “They’re healing, my king.”
“Take off of your sandals.”
Kan stares out into the air for a second, before he bends down and claps open his sandals. T’Challa sighs and roughly lifts Kan’s feet up on his legs, inspecting the red flaring scabs that had been raw skin yesterday.
“How long have you been able to run like that?” T’Challa asks after a second, reaching into a shelf and pulling out an ointment.
“My king –“ Kan starts to protest, horrified, but T’Challa’s hands tighten on his ankles. Kan stills. T’Challa starts spreading ointment out on the scabs, and Kan tries his best to not hiss.
“I don’t know,” Kan summons. “I’ve never experienced not running like that.”
T’Challa nods. “You’re lucky your route was within the royal area, and could only be seen from the palace. If you’d been in public, people could’ve seen you. You know how we feel about mutates, Kan.”
“I know, my king,” Kan affirms, ashamed.
“I just wish that sometimes you’d think about how people perceive you.”
Kan sees it as the reproof it is, and doesn’t reply.
“Do you understand, Kan?”
“Yes, my king,” Kan mumbles.
T’Challa breathes in deeply a couple of times, and gets up. “We will be meeting my allies in the dining hall.”
Kan nods, his hands shaking again and he follows behind T’Challa until they reach the dining hall that fortunately is empty. Kan has difficulties breathing evenly, but tries to do it as quietly as possible, and instead looks at the bone-white walls with their honey veins and their amber geometric patterns. It’s all very beautiful, and Kan wonders if all of the palace’s dining halls look like this, or if T’Challa picked this one to impress his guests.
T’Challa turns around and puts his gloved hand on Kan’s neck, pulling him closer. “Breath,” he shushes reassuringly. “It’s going to be fine. No one is going to force you to leave.”
Kan holds his breath for a minute, and lets it out, nodding. He can be collected and cool, he can be strong if that’s what T’Challa wants him to be.
The door is opened and Kan pulls back, backing away several steps so he can stand with the other servants.
The allies glide into the hall, and the Black Panther greets them with a low invitation towards the table that is covered with food.
Kan quickly looks up, and the redheaded woman is looking directly at him. Behind him walks a man with sand-colored hair, and behind him walks a very, very tall and broad man, with long golden hair and a hammer dangling from his wrist. He’s walking beside a chattering brunet, with something in hi chest that is glowing through his t-shirt. All of them look terribly thirsty and overheated.
Kan has never seen this many people with the same skin as him at once, and he tries his hardest not to stare - and then glare when the servants grin at him and signs Family, eh?
The allies and their king talk. About things Kan refuses to try and make out. Battles, wars, enemies. It’s about something that’s none of his business.
It’s not that Kan isn’t aware that his king is doing his best to keep enemies out of Wakanda. That the reason his work never stops is because danger never stops. It’s just easy to forget, he guesses.
A servant reaches out and squeezes his wrist.
“Kan,” T’Challa calls out.
Kan sinks, squeezes the servant’s hand back and comes to him. “Yes, my king?”
“Is the horse from yesterday in your care and well?” T’Challa asks. “Answer in English.”
Kan dares look up at the guests for a second, but ends up looking at T’Challa. “He’s covering well, my king,” he answers as instructed.
“That’s all,” T’Challa says in English. “Dismissed.”
Kan nods gratefully and leaves the hall. He doesn’t know what his king was trying to do, but in the evening no one comes to seek him out, besides a guard that calls him to his king’s office.
He asks Kan to bend over the desk. The tree is light and slightly orange, smells like honey and sandalwood. Kan closes his eyes against the coolness of it, feeling his breath hitch. He knows that punishment is coming, and is only surprised by the primitivism of it. Usually T’Challa is more elegant than just bending Kan over his desk; he clears his evening, he brings the tools he wants to use, and makes sure that his servants are far enough away to give some illusion of privacy. Also, if Kan follows T’Challa’s thinking correctly, it’s reckless of the royalty to do this while the allies are still in the palace.
“Are you mad?” Kan asks, hoarsely.
T’Challa doesn’t reply at first. He puts his ungloved hands on Kan’s shoulder blades and the soft touch makes Kan flinch.
“No,” T’Challa answers slowly. “I guess I foresaw this would happen.”
Kan nods slowly. T’Challa closes a hand around his neck.
“Why am I a secret?” Kan dares ask again.
“You’re not a secret,” T’Challa says.
“But a liability,” Kan answers. “I don’t understand. Kan people have been here before.”
“Who told you that?” T’Challa asks.
Kan sights the deflection. “My king,” he sighs.
“You never cared before,” T’Challa says stubbornly.
“Because before nobody cared about me,” Kan answers.
T’Challa pulls back his hands and sighs. “Are you going to keep talking?”
Kan thinks of this. He could be quiet, let T’Challa touch him or keep inquiring the king about things, the king is not willing to answer. Kan doesn’t know T’Challa very well, but he has an idea of the threat level Wakanda is under from his king’s frequent absence. T’Challa is smart. He’s not going to give Kan any information.
Kan’s not sure if he’s okay with T’Challa keeping him out.
“Okay,” he says to T’Challa, because he might as well enjoy the ride meanwhile.
T’Challa only preps him with spit, and then nudges inside. The pain is piercing and everything Kan loves and makes tears well up in his eyes. He squirms, starts sitting up a bit, and ends up being pushed down hard. His hands fists together and he opens his mouth, a quiet cry working its way out of him. T’Challa grabs him around his shoulders and Kan suddenly feels a mighty need to cause as much chafing as possible.
But T’Challa thrusts out his hips, making white stars pop into Kan’s vision, and the desk barely tilts with their weight. Kan swallows the sounds coming out of him, but pain has a funny way of clearing your mind. All the wariness and concern, which have built up in his chest loosens, and he hears himself let out a drawn-out dry sob. T’Challa rolls his hips, his cock brushing against Kan’s prostate. Kan’s toes curl, because he’s not quite aroused yet to be fucked at this angle and fully enjoy it, but T’Challa starts a rhythm of short and quick thrusts. It’s overwhelming and Kan bites his lip until it swells, the pain and overwhelming sensations blanking out his mind, and soon the sounds are coming out anyway. As soon as he becomes aware of that he growls, tensing up and T’Challa grabs his biceps, holding them against the desk and thrusts harder, the desk creaking with every tilt now.
Kan doesn’t really know how long it takes. But at some point he feels almost white-hot and glassy and he’s aware that he has come, and that T’Challa is still fucking him, now with his arms closed around Kan’s figure. Kan hardens again, but he feels oddly empty, and the second time he comes it’s just a wash of boiling water and nothing else.
He doesn’t know if T’Challa came or not, or if he’s even wearing a condom, but Kan trusts him and so doesn’t move. T’Challa slowly pulls back, letting go of Kan’s arms, which feel sore.
“Turn around,” he orders, breathing out slowly and Kan twitches, slowly peeling himself off the desk. T’Challa is still hard, his cock curled towards his stomach, but he seems calmer than ever. Without taking much notice of the glistening cum on Kan’s stomach, he slowly undresses. Kan watches him, his own breathing slow. He feels disconnected from his body and from this place and situation and time.
T’Challa pulls Kan’s legs up around his waist and guides Kan’s hands around his own knees.
“Hold them,” T’Challa commands and Kan breathes out slowly and holds his knees so they are up and open for the king.
“Kan, are you aware?” T’Challa asks, which Kan thinks is an odd question.
“Yeah,” Kan answers, slowly blinking.
T’Challa nods and rubs his hands on Kan’s inner thighs. “Are you scared?”
“No,” Kan says, after having thought about it. He closes his eyes. “So are you gonna keep talking, or…?”
He can’t see T’Challa’s face, but he hears a slight chuckle.
“You should smile more,” Kan frowns. “People like seeing you smile.”
“Makes me look nice?”
“Makes you look real.”
“And is that them or just you?”
“Whatever you need the answer to be,” Kan says, opening his eyes at the same time he pulls T’Challa in and kisses him. His hand is sliding down towards T’Challa’s erection, when T’Challa firmly stands up again and glares at him until Kan obligingly breathes and holds his knees. T’Challa reaches into a shelf, and pulls out a chap of lube.
Kan shoves at him and T’Challa chuckles, rubbing the skin on Kan’s ankle.
T’Challa lubes them both up and the slide he makes inside is less impactful and still double as agonizing, the pleasure feeling sweet and soft like water.
His orgasm comes hot and fast this time and as soon as he’s done spending himself on his stomach, he listens for T’Challa to follow him. When T’Challa just keeps fucking him in his own pace, Kan opens his eyes and looks disgruntled at him. “Come already.”
“I didn’t know you could go for so many times,” T’Challa says, slightly curious. “I haven’t met any other.”
“People with vaginas are usually able to,” Kan says and purposefully kludges down on him. T’Challa groans, tilts his head back.
When T’Challa is done roughly banging him into the desk, Kan spreads out and closes his eyes, feeling sweat dry on his skin.
He comes to again when he feels his stomach being cleaned up, and he softly opens his eyes to see T’Challa fully dressed in front of him. T’Challa leans in as he blinks awake and kisses Kan’s forehead. It’s soft and it’s sweet and exactly what Kan needs. Something inside, which he didn’t even noticed had been tense throughout this, turns warm and slippery.
And Kan understands that T’Challa is kind – perhaps kinder than what is good for him.
“What would you have wanted?” Kan asks, as he pulls on his pants. “For the horse to die?”
“It’s just a horse,” T’Challa answers. “We don’t have any use of them.” He looks considering at Kan. “You take your job very seriously, which I admire.”
Kan turns his profile and stares at his king. “Your father loved that barn, as useless as you might feel it is,” he replies. “It might just be decoration now, but it’s a proud part of the royal family’s history as warriors.” He pulls on his shirt. “You shouldn’t downplay the importance of life. They’re sensing, feeling beings just like you and I.”
“And diplomacy?” T’Challa asks. “What role do you think that has?”
“Diplomacy is only a façade, my king,” Kan frowns. “As proud as we are, and as much honor goes in your position and family and country, facades should only be treated as what they are.”
He nears his king and wraps an arm around him. “Thank you for tonight, your majesty. It really helped.”
T’Challa nods a little, looking down. His lashes are curled and shiny against his cheekbones.
Kan lets a hand rest on his cheek for a second, before letting go and leaving.
Chapter 3
Summary:
“My name is Ororo Munroe,” she smiles at him. “I’m T’Challa’s fiancée.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Barely has Kan tread into the stable, before he feels a sharp slash on his forehead. He flies around and his head is immediately bashed into the wall. With a groan of pain, his body seems to move on its own, as it prevents a second attack to his head. He feels his hand lash out and shrug the weapon out of the attackers hand, and with a single movement, he whips the staff-like thing around. There’s the sound of a woman crying out, and Kan blinks the blood out of this eyes to see an Adored One going in for another attack. He grabs her wrists before she can properly strike, but then there are warning shots and Kan throws her off him. Three other Adored Ones are aiming at him with guns, and the one who had attacked him limps over to her peers.
None of them say anything for a long while, but then the Adored Ones retreat without a word. Kan listens to their steps disappear from the Royal Barn’s grounds, and then silently slips down the wall.
He should’ve known this would be coming.
He makes a manual, which delegates the work he usually does to the stable kids. It will be slower without him there, but it’ll still be going. He then allows himself to pack about three days of food, which is a lot considering how much he consumes. He then tells the oldest stable boy, Kenry, that he’s leaving. The boy looks more than panicked and assures Kan that the king won’t be mad at him for so long.
Kan knows this – he’s even sure that the king isn’t really mad at him at all. The king has been rather overbearing, but Kan’s presence so close to the palace is obviously a problem, now that the allies’ visits are a regular thing. Him being a thorn to the Adored Ones’ side doesn’t help.
It’d be easier for everyone if he put himself away for a while. Probably in the mountains, hidden between the trees. Kan’s not sure what he will live of, but he knows that a lot of his groceries come from up there. Hopefully he will manage.
----
Without rest the trip takes him exactly three days, and he has still managed to put some of the most protein-baring food aside, since he came across several trees of nuts, fruits and beans. He follows the stream that extends from the lake outside the Barn, so he doesn’t lose his main source of water, until he finds a clearing. He unpacks his stuff in a flat-crowned tree, after having gathered something like an almost steady nest in between the branches. He hears gorillas in the distance, which almost doesn’t concern him, despite how he isn’t even sure if they need to be provoked into attacking. But he knows that where there are gorillas, there aren’t large cats, and frankly that’s what he fears the most.
----
The vegetation is not as fruitful as he thought it’d be. There are only so much fruit and nuts will nourish him, so he tries to experiment a bit. At worse some of the plants make him cramp and ache for days, at best they make him almost feel full. It gets better when he runs into travellers, up there to gather fruit they can sell down in the villages. It’s dangerous for them to climb too high up there, and it takes them more time and energy, so Kan trades his labor in favor of matches, flour and even some meat.
He makes fires the nights where the gorillas come to close, and he finds some more nourishing beans and nuts. He washes in the evening, boils the stream water and fills his water can. He’s more sunburned than ever and the bugs are terrible, but the evenings are cool enough and the bugs get less annoying when Kan figures out which plants to burn to keep them away.
It’s a quiet existence and Kan finds himself thinking back often. Thinking of T’Challa and the flower tribe he stayed with and the stable. He dreams about T’Challa’s tender eyes, and his odd person of both charity and practicality. How he manipulates with Kan sometimes, his servants and sister too. Thinks of T’Challa’s sense of honor.
For the first time Kan wishes he knew why and how he ended up in Wakanda, who threw him in a toxic river while still being alive. He wants to know for sure, if he has a family that misses him. If he has a home, or if it’s all really gone now.
But none of those questions are strong enough for him to leave his predicament.
----
Three months after Kan found a place in the mountains to settle, he wakes in the middle of the night by odd noises beneath him. First, he thinks it’s gorillas that are demanding more territory, but the movements are too awkward and unfamiliar. He sits up, concentrates on not making a sound and listens to the sounds moving past him and beyond him. Next thing he knows the gorillas are roaring in the distance. He quickly climbs some trees and looks from the crown of them down.
A flock of humans are moving through the forest, quietly as possible making way through bushes and trees.
He doesn’t understand what they say, and the longer time he follows, the more he becomes aware that this isn’t just a very foreign dialect; this is a language he doesn’t understand. At dawn the flock of people rests and Kan looks through their bags. They are carrying hand weapons; gasses and something Kan is very sure are bombs.
He contemplates what he should do, remembering the White Wolf’s warning. At last he decides that he can’t risk not saying anything. He needs to let his king know.
He needs to get ahead of them, and there he is lucky. It’s obvious that they don’t know the terrain as well as he does, and he sets up a few traps to slow them down. His enhanced physicality insures that it only takes two days for him to get to the Royal Barn. He hasn’t eaten or slept at all and he is quite dirty, so he understands that the guards immediately go into defensive positions as he runs towards them.
He throws up his hands and shows their emptiness. “I need to speak with the king,” he demands. “Foreign troops are closing in on the capitol from the domain of the white gorillas – they’re carrying heavy armory and I suspect more are coming after them,” Kan says. “Please, at least, bring through my warning.”
“Kan?” one of them asks. He recognizes her as one of the Panther Guards who did the regular patrol around the Barn, but he can’t quite place her name. She’s wrinkling her nose. “You’re dirty.”
“I’ve been running for two days straight,” Kan breaks out in awe, because this is not the time for commenting on his personal hygiene. It only makes her snort with laughter. Kan becomes ashamed of that outburst, but he smiles in return. He has missed this; these people.
“I will bring forward the message,” she says. “Come back when you’ve bathed.”
Kan rolls his eyes, grabs the guard and rubs his dirty face into hers, the guard crying out and basking with her arms.
He gives the guard some of the weapons he stole as proof and runs back to the Barn. Anasa is back and glares at him full-heartedly, but doesn’t say anything as Kan washes, finds some of his old, none-tattered clothes and walks back to the palace. He feels giddy and oddly restless, as if his body is ready to do something he doesn’t quite know what is yet. He has no idea of what, but he thinks he’ll feel great as soon as he starts doing it.
Kan’s led to the private chambers and is surprised to see that the king isn’t up yet, even if it’s hours past dawn.
A hole of longing and something almost feeling like regret, creates itself in Kan’s stomach as he sights T’Challa’s figure on his bedside, rubbing his eyes free of dirt. He’s wearing only a loincloth, pants on the floor. A woman is lying in the bed. Her hair has the color of goat milk, and her eyes are startingly blue.
She smiles unabashedly at him, despite her unclothed state. “Kan. I’ve heard so much about you.”
She speaks English.
“I’m afraid it isn’t mutual,” Kan hesitantly replies, throwing his king a quick look. “Whom might you be?”
“My name is Ororo Munroe,” she smiles at him. “I’m T’Challa’s fiancée.”
Kan’s brows jump. “How did a grumpy fellow like him get the attention of someone as beautiful as you?”
He’s very serious but she laughs at him anyway. T’Challa smiles at his lap. It looks good on him. He looks happy.
“Kan, I’ve been told you detected a possible threat in the mountains?” T’Challa asks, nodding towards the weapons Kan sent through the guards. He keeps his words in English and only now does Kan hear the slight accent they have.
“Yes, Sir,” Kan affirms in the same tongue. “It was a troop of about 200 people, all armored and dressed in camouflage. I unfortunately didn’t recognize their language. I took measures to slow their trip further so I’d get here in time.”
“Measures as in…?”
Kan is suddenly filled with uncertainty. “I sent a hoard of gorillas after them and covered their bags with sugar and water.”
Storm makes a face.
“Where did you get sugar from?” T’Challa asks.
“Travellers?” Kan bids, not sure how it matters.
“And what did you do in return?”
Kan is getting more and more doubtful of how that matters. “I gathered some of their products for them. Some of the products they are unable to obtain themselves, as the gorillas live too close for it to be safe.”
“Of course,” T’Challa sighs and rubs his forehead. “You lived among gorillas.”
Kan frowns. “Of course not. They’re very aggressive animals, your Highness. I lived in a clearing close by.”
T’Challa shakes his head and sighs again. “Okay. Anything you’d like to add?”
“No, Sir.”
He straightens and stares at Kan dead-on. “What do you mean I’m grumpy?”
Kan lifts his brows, blinks a couple of times, and then stares eloquently at Storm, who chuckles.
“And he has a lying issue,” Kan tells her. “Normally I wouldn’t tell, but as his fiancée you should probably know if you don’t already.”
“Get out of here,” T’Challa exclaims in surprise. “Since when did you become so mouthy?”
He figures it’s a rhetoric question and leaves with a small wave. As he’s about to put himself to sleep in the stable that same night, he collapses with cramps, and coughs until his throat and lungs are sore. The cramps become small periods of seizures. When he finally stills, he feels oddly paralyzed in his body. As he stares at his stiff fingers, trying hard to keep breathing evenly, he remembers that he hasn’t drunken any silvery water since he started his trip back and he is already suffering from deficiency. Perhaps it’s from all the running. But he can’t quite find it in him to care, his body too tired. When he wakes up his head is pounding, and there are voices in the stable.
Someone – Kenry – passes him a huge bottle of water. He takes a sip and it tastes too clean, so he refuses another gulp. Much later, the proper metal-tasting water is forced down his throat and he drinks gratefully.
In the middle of the afternoon, he blinks awake, hungrier than ever. That’s probably the only reason he gets up and makes his way to the stock of meat and beans kept in the shed. He boils a pot of both, dozing as it happens. He does notice the steps taken behind him, but he doesn’t think of it. A bottle is being pushed into his hand and he opens his eyes, staring into a couple of green ones.
He groans.
The woman smiles. “My name’s Natasha. Don’t run.”
“I don’t understand you,” Kan hums back in Wakandan.
“What about now?” Natasha asks in French.
“What?” Kan answers.
She asks again, this time in a language he doesn’t understand.
“I only speak Wakandan,” Kan stubbornly maintains. “Go away, you people only give me trouble.”
“Kan, stop pretending to the woman,” T’Challa yells in English from somewhere outside. “You’re leading us to the troop either way.”
Kan suppresses another groan. “Thank you for the water, m’am,” he grits out. Her smile widens.
----
The troop is circling the Golden City, wanting to come in from the northern side, so most of the trip is a chase, and used on ignoring the travellers. Liking it or not, Kan learns their names. Natasha is the woman who probably inspired T’Challa’s need of the skill of seduction, since she – well she doesn’t try seducing him. Rather, she tries befriending him, and he doesn’t like that, especially when he finds out that she’s a spy. She probably thinks she can use him as a leak because of his status as outsider. Or maybe her intentions are really pure. Either way her tries are in vain. Another man, Clint, is mostly just fooling around, shooting stuff with his arrows, complaining about food, regularly cracking a joke about someone (Kan).
But he can’t doubt their usefulness. Both of them are quick on their feet, easily keeping up with Kan and T’Challa, while Storm flies above the trees, looking out for the foreign troop.
First time he saw Ororo’s eyes white out and her form lift up from the ground, he had looked at T’Challa in bewilderment. His king had dared him to say anything with a harsh look. But Kan likes Storm, and it’s nice not being the only mutate who isn’t a god’s choice for once. Besides, it’s obvious how much in harmony Ororo is with the nature around her. She swims through the skies like a sparrow, fluid and quick. The kan agents and T’Challa, none of them complain about the travelling conditions, but it’s only Storm who seems to outright love living in the wild. In the evenings she finds the darkness and the earth as sleep bed cozy.
And still, even though how in tune she is with nature is what draws him to her, it’s also what makes him wary somehow. He can’t explain it. She’s silent and firm, kind and nurturing. In the evenings they all sleep close, T’Challa and Storm huddled together, but when T’Challa gets up to keep watch, she shimmies over to his side, saying something about him being warm. When it’s her turn to keep watch, T’Challa does the same.
Perhaps it’s exactly because she melts so well in with nature that he’s nervous. He’s a man. They’re all men. And many things can be said about man and about nature, but one thing is for sure: They were never very good friends.
One evening, while T’Challa is out chasing for some sound, Storm leans in. Her hand is cupped around her mouth and she whispers: “That face he does when he comes.”
Which immediately makes Kan look at her, search her expression, but she smiles companionably at him. He leans in and whispers: “His chest and neck is so sensitive.”
Which makes her eyes sparkle and mouth smile brightly at him. “How about the amount of noise you use when you suck him?”
Which in return makes Kan perk with interest, even as he probably won’t get to use this information for anything.
But T’Challa is coming out of the trees now, staring at them with narrowed eyes and Clint speaks up: “They’re exchanging dirty secrets. I’d call treason. Death penalty for sure.”
Kan flinches because what they’re doing is incredibly rude, but Storm only tugs him further into her with a hand around his waist. “We’re having so much fun,” she smiles at Kan. No, she smirks. Her thumb is rubbing circles on his skin. He clears his throat, feeling his face burn.
“Woah,” Clint says lowly. “Oh. Okay. You three? That’s kinky.”
T’Challa looks unbothered, both him and Storm, but Kan flinches.
“So you’re really a concubine?” Natasha asks. “And you’re alright with that, Storm?”
“Enough,” T’Challa says. “It’s none of your business. Kan, go fill your bottle.”
His bottle is only half-empty, but he takes it and goes. Be pretends to use the can, and instead fills his bottle from the stream.
When he comes back, Clint and Natasha have adopted serious expressions, and none of them talk about it again.
-----
When they finally hear the troop, Kan is not quite sure what’s going to happen. T’Challa orders him to stay behind as he is the only non-fighter and for half a day, he’s hiding up in a tree. In the distance he can see black clouds, hear gunshots. He freezes with every shot, bristling every time he hears lightning. His hands are shaking, he needs to be doing something; but he also doesn’t want to get in the way. He wants to obey his king.
The clouds suddenly clear but an hour after that the signal isn’t heard. His heart hammers and he gets scared. What if something has happened to Storm? He likes her. She’s T’Challa’s fiancé. T’Challa is his king. King of Wakanda. Kan loves Wakanda. Wakanda is Kan’s home.
Kan must do something.
He doesn’t know what, but he’s sure he’s going to figure something out as soon as he gets there.
When he arrives, most of the trees are gone; the grass is burned and scorched with blood. It appears the battle has split into two sides of mostly long range shooting.
Kan knows this, because as he looks around standing in the mad-made clearing, about twenty men ambush him. He gasps in shock, but his body reacts without him thinking about it. The man on his back is driven into a tree; the ropes around his wrists tear with his mere strength and are used on choking the one trying to tie him up. He avoids a spear and breaks it in half, slapping three people aside with it and blocks another spear and then stabs the closest man with it. He watches as the man falls back, staring at the blood on the spear in terror. Kan stares at the way the man goes from being a living organism to another decomposable corpse in nature.
After that, his mind disappears, and his body works automatically. A hit to the sternum, a fist in there throat, snap their wrists, kick in a knee.
At some point his body realizes there is nothing left to hit, and he looks down on the bodies, breathing heavily. Then he picks up the ropes, binds the ones of them that are lesser injured and steals a gun, before crossing the clearing.
“My king!” he calls, making sure to be loud about it, afraid that some of the allies or T’Challa himself will attack by accident.
He hears movement in the bushes in front of him, but he can already smell that the people aren’t who he wants them to be.
Clint climbs down a tree. His quiver is empty and he only has a hunting knife in his hand. His face is bloody and dirty. “Dayum. How did you get through that barricade?”
“What barricade?” Kan asks, following Clint who waves him after him. Clint and Kan reach an uprooted tree, its trunk in the air and the stem thrashed from explosions. The empty space where its roots used to be is now a fox earth. Inside Storm is lying in the sand with a head injury, Natasha crouching over her with a gun.
“Where’s my king?” Kan asks, keeping the panic out of his voice.
“Keeping back S’Jaka,” Clint informs. “Some 6”8 dude, giant knives.”
“Get past the barricade, I’ve cleared the way,” Kan commands. “Get her to medical attention. The nearest village is four miles from here, northwest. Go.”
“You’re lying, they sent you,” Natasha snaps.
“Well enough, where is this S’Jaka?” Kan asks.
Clint nods towards the trees. Kan goes and finds T’Challa and this S’Jaka engaged in battle.
Kan is tired and he is thirsty which means he is starting to get twitchy. And honestly it looks like T’Challa is having too good of a time; not that the man seems joyous with the current situation, but he appears so into his mind-reader-warrior-headspace-thing that he has probably forgotten that they’re on the clock. Actually, T’Challa also kind of got like that when he ate Kan out.
Kan banishes the thought, and as T’Challa throws a complicated move, he jumps forwards and clubs S’Jaka over the head with his gun. S’Jaka sways and Kan hits him in the temple with the gun again and stomps his feet down on the big warrior’s chest until something breaks and S’Jaka heaves.
“What the Hell is your problem?” Kan asks his king. “Why are you fooling around, your fiancé has a head injury. Get up, come on.”
He pulls T’Challa to his feet, carefully listening for wetness in the king’s heavy breathing.
“This is because you don’t drink enough water,” Kan scolds because he doesn’t know what else to do. “And too much time out of the country. All that cold is not good for you.”
“Kan,” T’Challa groans. “Not now.”
“I’ve had your dick in my throat, I can talk shit at you when you deserve it,” Kan says, meeting the two assassins.
“You caught something,” T’Challa says, pointing at him. “The gorillas gave you rabies or something. You’re going to the hospital too.”
----
The doctors clear Kan, and T’Challa rewards Kan’s rabies-free self with punishment for going against orders and running away from the Royal Barn, despite how T’Challa had asked him to stay there. The punishment is him being constraining to the stable and not allowed to go to any celebrations or visit any tribes. The old horse keeper, Anasa, huffs, briefly launches an attack on Kan with his cane and leaves.
Kan lies in his bed and thinks about the silvery water he needs. Of how restless and mouthy he gets: not downright cranky, just snappish. Had he really come off as someone with rabies?
He rolls over and dreams about Storm and T’Challa and the woman with fire in her eyes and kan skin. He dreams of lying in a bed, but he’s in another body, a smaller one and someone big and more built is curled around him. He doesn’t understand.
The isolation in the Barn soon proofs maddening. Kan spends nights walking from wall to wall and even the horses are getting annoyed at his never settling figure. Five nights in and Kan is thinking very hard about disobeying orders and running back to the mountains, only staying because of the burden it’d be to Anasa, and to the stable, which has suffered some damage from the uncontrolled stable teenagers.
Day six he gets permission to at least do his nightly swims and he sinks his head under the water until he gets dizzy, and makes rounds, faster and faster, until it’s dawn and it’s time to get to work.
Seventh day, as Kan stares at the sky, wondering how he can just put his mind on mute, he hears steps and someone gliding into the water.
Desperate for a caress, a desiring touch, he swims towards the sound, not really caring who it is. As he gets closer, he sees it’s one of the allies in the water. He looks very much like Kan himself, blue eyes and long golden hair, darker than Kan’s own sun-bleached hair, and the man’s eyes are little more hooded, but the smile is broad and warm. Kan recognizes him from that day he played a servant in the palace for the allies.
“Hello,” the man greets and his accent makes something flare up Kan, makes him think about the kan woman with the fire eyes and silk flowing dark hair. “Don’t be afraid. Let us interact.”
Kan is not interested in talking. He swims nearer, and the man looks slightly stunned when Kan comes close enough for him to feel the ally’s breath.
“What do I call you?” Kan asks.
“Thor,” the man answers, slightly relaxing with Kan’s intentions.
Thor is tall, taller than Kan. Even kind of broader. Kan eyes him, his strong neck, his hairless sculpted chest. He wonders if Thor is wearing something underneath the black water, or if Thor is bathing naked.
“Thor,” Kan hums, leaning further in. He stops an inch away from Thor, measuring his reaction. When Thor doesn’t react, Kan softly plants a kiss on the stranger’s lips, getting a thrill of the way he has to look up.
Despite the obvious power his body contains, Thor’s touch is so light that it might as well not be there. Somehow that makes the sensation of skin against skin even more noticeable, and Kan can finally appreciate the intimacy of where their skin meets, the way his body dissolves into Thor’s.
He curls his arms around Thor’s neck and Thor picks him up, straightening his figure so Kan can wrap his legs around the stranger’s waist, gently placing their crotches against each other. He fumbles a hand around down there, and to his astonishment, Thor’s cock is even longer than Vinskulu albeit a little thinner. With a feeling of vexatious regret he realizes that he doesn’t have the patience to find some lube for them, but he considers convincing Thor to penetrate him anyway, because Kan knows (T’Challa has shown him) how good that pain can be.
But Thor curves his body and swallows Kan’s within his own, and Kan forgets what he was thinking about, overwhelmed by the feeling of all of that skin radiating such immediate, constant heat. Thor picks up on Kan’s shaky breathing, and pulls their bodies even closer. The giant has quickly picked up on Kan’s shivering responses towards being embraced like this, and he kisses Kan’s hair, lets Kan put his face into the hollow of his neck, inhale the scent of sweat and something foreign and minty, feel the steady rhythm of Thor’s pulse underneath the kan skin, sense the blood coursing through those thick veins.
Thor thrusts his hips, which starts a hot glide from Kan’s balls all the way up to his cock head, and Kan grunts in a yearning ache his body expresses through pleasure. Thor does it again, clenching Kan in his arms harder for every grind, and Kan’s knees knot on the small of Thor’s back, his thighs clenching tightly around the giant’s hips and he grinds his hips desperately in return, their bodies shaking as they clash, trying to break through the interface in search for a deeper intimacy.
Without Thor’s body – anybody’s body – Kan is nothing.
Kan is taken by surprise when a hand is suddenly in his hair, quickly turning into a fist as it grips Kan’s hair and he groans, moans with his face forced up towards the sky. It takes only a couple of thrusts after that before he feels himself come in between them, his mind blackening into a hot, wet hole. Thor keeps gently grinding against him, mouthing at Kan’s neck, his breath heavy, before he swiftly whips them around and lays Kan out on the rocks, melting into Kan’s body. Kan gasps with oversensitivity and reaches underneath the water to fumble for Thor’s cock. He ends up forcing his hand in between their stomachs, and Thor growls, the sound deep and almost animalistic, as he shortly grinds his balls into Kan’s skin, while Kan jerks him off.
Kan can feel him go off even underwater, the length twitching and swelling as it spurts, and Kan almost drools by the thought of the thick white substance, once again regretting that he didn’t get that thing inside him.
Thor groans, this time in tired satisfaction and glues himself onto Kan, even if Kan is bent in an awkward position over the rocks, his legs now loosely holding onto Thor. Kan expects the man to leave after a while, but instead he kisses Kan’s neck and puts a big hand on Kan’s eyes. Kan breathes out slowly.
Notes:
no love triangle drama here, sorry. But hey, Thor/Steve /o/
Chapter Text
The day after, Kan curses himself. Kenry had overheard Kan and Thor and now he’s hesitantly confessing that he doesn’t understand what sex is and that no one has bothered to explain it to him.
Kan knows that Kenry is here because he killed his mother’s batterer. Normally murder would be punished with a heavy prison sentence, but because Kenry’s case had been sympathetic, the boy is just bound to 10 years community service in the Barn. It’s not a bad fate; when Kenry finishes school, he can get a day job that actually pays him money. But until then Kenry’s alone, and Kan feels really unsure on not educating Kenry properly on such a substantial part of ones life. Well, if you liked sex.
“Listen,” Kan says, taking a deep breath. “Sometimes two people – or more, but usually two – want to have sex. Ever tried jerking off? Sex is kinda like that.”
“But why not just jerk off then?” Kenry asks.
“Uhm,” Kan says. “Sometimes the couple loves each other very much. Other times they just feel desire for each other. Sex can feel less lonely, more challenging, connecting and intense than masturbation. The reason why vary, but the reason isn't important – the most important thing is that you’re alright with it happening and that you’re alright with your own reason for participating and just as importantly: your partner’s reason. If you don’t feel sure or you don’t want to have sex, you should always say no. There’s no shame in that. And if you sense uncertainty from your partner, you shouldn’t proceed. If they say no, it's a matter of course not to proceed. Consent is the most important thing when it comes to sex.”
“But you don’t,” Kenry speaks up. “Say no.”
Kan purses his lips. “I don’t say no, because I always want to, Kenry. There’s a difference.”
“Really.”
“Yes.”
“How does it feel to have sex with a kan man?”
“I’m not sure I noticed the biggest difference.”
“Do you want to have sex with me?”
“No.”
-----
The first time Kenry comes home with a crooked grin and a hickey on his neck, reminding Kan so much of someone he doesn’t quite remember, it’s the middle of the night and guards are banging on his door. One of them throws him a phone. He has seen plenty of them back at the Flower tribe, but it’s the first time it has been handed to him. He looks at device in wonder, but fortunately it speaks by itself.
“Hello?” he says.
“Kan, please come, we need all hands,” Ororo gets to the point right away. “That stupid bastard – “
“ Hey – “
“ – has no common sense, we’re being overpowered and he refuses to – we’re in New York. When can you be here?“
Okay, Kan wants to help (with whatever she thinks he can help with), but he’s in Wakanda and she’s in North America, and despite the classes of geography, Kan still doesn’t even know where the Hell Wakanda is or how the Hell he’ll get to North America.
“Just,” Storm heaves and there’s a sound of a loud growl that doesn’t sound very much like an animal but not much human either. “Logan! There are air motorcycles in the Northeast building, choose the Latin alphabet, type in Midtown Manhattan, New York City, trust me, you’ll find us once you get there – Shadowcat don’t! You have my permission to leave the country and also permission to find am uniform and a weapon.”
Kan has no idea what he is getting into, but the guards do. Soon he is forced into a black, armored uniform and they throw a cloak around his shoulders.
“Don’t show your face,” Lan tells him as they tug the hood down over his face. He can’t see how his face matters, but he trusts them. The Panther Guards sets the destination for him on the motorcycle. Kan would really like to know how it works if something happens with it, but before he can ask its wind shield is going up and he is racing.
His heart throbs, as the motorcycle breaks free from the platform. The speed is insane, and Kan feels the shift all over his body even behind the windshield. Quicker than he has ever experienced the central palace and the Golden City disappears behind him. He’s flying over grass fields, which become wastelands, desert and small villages made of tiny, primitive cottages. Then he is soaring over the sea and the motorcycle drives even faster and he sees his own figure leave the continent on the little map on the motorcycle’s dashboard. If this is how fast it is to travel, Kan is starting get how T’Challa can spend so much time abroad without neglecting his duties as a king.
For hours it’s only sea, but soon a skyline of tall buildings emerge. The buildings are unfamiliar and odd in design and Kan would have studied them further if it weren’t because of the vibrant explosions going off on the ground and on the buildings. Not for the first time Kan wonders what his life has become, but he turns on the motorcycle shield’s light reflection setting as the guards told him to and scouts the area until he gets the full picture of the battlefield.
The attackers appear to be the people in yellow and green uniforms. They’re attacking public spaces, which are sluggishly being evacuated. It’s a slow, dangerous progress as the bombs appear to be placed to lock them into the most vulnerable locations. Several people in yellow and blue uniforms with trademark X’s are trying to take as many of attackers out as possible – the means are pretty incredible to watch. They’re all mutates in ways that are even more powerful than Kan has heard about Wakanda’s own mutates and they use their abilities instead of fighting skills.
There are also people without the X-uniforms, who are still fighting through superhuman means. There is Clint and Natasha, doing their thing, and the man with the gold and red armor, and Thor is doing something crazy with the weather, maybe he and Storm are related or – the same kind of mutate or something. What seems to be law enforcement is trying desperately to control the situation, but they are pretty clueless. They’re obviously still very brave, since they’re doing all that they can and are not too scared of the attackers. Maybe this kind of attack has happened before.
The fliers are few – there’s Thor who’s holding a storm, two of the flying armors, a red skinned man with a yellow cape, Storm who is all over the place but kind of unfocused in her attack, a blonde woman with super strength and domino mask and a fist that really wants something, and a man with metal wings.
Kan starts in the area with the civilians. He lowers the motorcycle, draws out his hutu sickle sword and uses his element of surprise to attack five of the major bombers. It’s more to announce his side to the police force than anything, and he stops in front of them and swiftly barks out orders. He has no idea why but they do what he says: Re-directs the civilians to the back alley, and he drifts his motorcycle as he takes on the rest of the bombers.
As he clears the area, the red and golden robot man freezes during an all-around-patrol, turns and asks: “Who the Hell are you?” But the metal-winged man is yelling in the sky, swirling as shots are flying down on him and Kan sets off. He pulls out the sword and drives over the pavement, taking out several of the new-come attackers before taking off.
The shield is down and the speed combined with pressure makes it impossible to breath. The adrenaline is intoxicating and Kan’s heart feels so unbelievably still as he uses all his focus on reaching the falling man.
He gets a hold of one of the man’s wings. There’s a loud tearing sound from the wing as the weight forces joints apart and a pop from his shoulder as it dislocates. Before he can lose sensation in it he swings his arm around and throws the falling man on the back seat. The wings are lighter than they look, and Kan brings up the shield partially so the man won’t slip off. Then Kan drives directly into the bombers on the roof that had shot the winged man down.
Out of nowhere, a huge red bird dives down at his head in threatening but not quite attacking manner. It confuses him for ten long seconds as everything looks like flapping red wings and then it jumps down on the unconscious man’s shoulder.
The fight after that is a haze of focused fighting and periods where he surveils the situation and looks for a new target. At some point the unconscious man comes to, and demands to be put on the ground, since his wings are too damaged to stay in the air. Down there his bird flies around and bugs everyone else, while the no-longer-winged man hits and shoots people to his best ability.
It takes hours for the fighting field to no longer be a fighting field, but that’s alright since the civilians were cleared early on. There’s some pretty heavy property damage, and someone blew up Kan’s motorcycle at some point, but most of the fighters are standing. Kan, who has been on his feet for three hours and a half, finally finds his king and his fiancé.
Or well, they find him. A growly man with metal claws, who has also bathed in blood that has since congealed, is cornering Kan. From all the bullet holes and tears in the X-man’s uniform, Kan suspects that most of the blood is the man’s own. Besides the growly man stands the red and golden armor, with a face Kan recognizes. They’re both questioning him, moving in closer, but Lan told him not to reveal his face, so Kan has just been taking several steps back and kludges the hood over his face.
And then he hears a yell, and Storm is running towards him. She’s drained and tired, but shows no injuries and looks as beautiful as ever. She yells at the growling man, Logan, before she throws her arms around Kan’s shoulders, making his hood fall down on his shoulders. Finally, as he inhales her scent of earth and honey, he relaxes.
She pulls back and grins at him. Her lips are cracked. Unforgivable. He reaches out and dries away the bloodstains on her lower lip with his thumb. She glows up at him. Logan growls. Again. Wonder if that man ever speaks.
T’Challa is full on glaring. At Kan. At Logan. At Ororo. Just glares at everything around him. Kan is in trouble. But still T’Challa moves forwards and inspects Kan’s arms and torso and head, his clawed fingers gentle and slow as they inspect Kan’s scalp for head injuries. Kan tries not to smile as he leans into the touch.
But then, as one, both the X-men and the rest of the fighters move in one direction, as if hearing something and then start running. As Kan inspects their disappearing figures, he guesses someone must have said something on their coms.
“You stay here with SHIELD!” T’Challa snaps at him.
Disgruntled, Kan rolls his eyes and re-covers his face with the hood. As the battlefield empty of superheroes, black-dressed agents take their place and starts arresting and cuffing the mostly unconscious attackers. Kan is wondering how mad T’Challa really is at him, when two people break through a building window and land on the concrete. There should be a crunch, but there isn’t. Instead Kan sees them get up, and engage in immediate battle.
The SHIELD agents are trying to push him back, but he stays close, wanting to pick out their identities: they’re both wearing black (great). One of them has a metal arm, his face covered with goggles and a jaw-fitting mask, while the other, interesting enough, has a red skull as a face. Skull, as in the skin is peeled off, and there’s only some discolored muscle left. Must’ve been an unpleasing progress.
It’s when the one in the mask is thrown directly into a car engine (all the metal gives underneath his weight) that Kan takes action and attacks from the right, swinging the blade right into the back of Red Skull’s neck.
The man barely groans, just turns around, grips the sword’s handle and breaks it in half faster than Kan can perceive.
Not really having other weapons available, Kan settles with beating in Red Skull’s face and tries to avoid the fists that come flying in return. Most of Red Skull’s hits go in clean though, robbing Kan his breath, but pain became one of Kan’s most confidential friends at some point and it only drives him into tackling Red Skull into the ground and kneeing his ribcage until he feels the ribs break. It’s soft and wet inside, and it momentarily makes the Red Skull scream, and Kan closes his hands around Red Skull’s temples and smashes the back of his head directly into the concrete as hard as he can.
Blood stains the street and Kan gets himself off the Skull-faced man to pull the masked man out from the engine. He’s unconscious and bleeding from the back of his head. His skull is fractured. Kan’s hands shake as he tries to figure out what to do, but before he can make a decision, there’re sounds of gunshots and he turns around to see the Red Skull making way through the SHIELD-agents with brutal efficiency.
Kan picks up the bladed end of the broken sword, and takes off after him before he can hurt any more people. The red skulled man is slower than he was before, perhaps finally bleeding out even though Kan doubts it. As Kan throws the broken sword like a spear, Red Skull turns around and throws something at him that makes Kan’s throat burn. With a scream Kan grips the place where his neck should’ve been covered with armor, but all he feels is burned soft tissue and hot blood. He looks up, and sees that the broken sword has embedded into the redfaced man’s spine and that he is twitching on the ground.
Kan turns around and runs back to the man. For some reason the SHIELD-agents haven’t dared to assist the man, despite him clearly needing medical help.
Kan clicks open the mask and shrugs off the goggles, unraveling a handsome face with pouty lips. He’s not breathing and his pupils are unresponsive. He remembers his first aid classes, and tilts the head back, unhooks the man’s jaw, takes a deep breath and inhales into the man’s mouth, watching the man’s chest rise as his lungs are filled with air. The lips taste like gasoline and after having given the right counts of artificial respiration, he goes on to give the man cardiac massage.
Finally the man coughs up gasoline. Kan sighs in relief as the man starts labored breathing on his own. Gently Kan removes a long, dark strand of hair away from the no-longer-masked-man’s face.
Panic finally closing in on him he searches the unconscious man’s pockets for a phone. He ends up shrugging an earpiece out of the man’s ear, and connecting it to his own.
A woman is speaking, “God damn it, Sasha, speak – “
“It’s Kan,” Kan awkwardly interrupts. “I have your friend. I think he’s going to make it if someone would give him medical aid already. Also, there is a man with a red face, but I’m not entirely sure he’s going to live. Where’s my king?”
There’s a second of silence, before the woman tonelessly asks: “Location?”
“I don’t know,” Kan answers.
“How can you sound that Brooklyn and not know where you are in Midtown Manhattan?” the woman snaps.
Kan doesn’t know what that meant, but he asks an agent “Where am I?” and he replies “Times Square” which Kan repeats to the woman.
“Who’s command are you under?” the woman asks.
“Black Panther,” Kan answers hesitantly. “I was sent as reinforcement.”
“Stay where you are.”
True enough it doesn’t take long before Black Widow, Hawkeye and some other people who are probably important are back at the scene. Natasha Romanoff is glaring down at him. Kan looks up at her, the man still on his lap, his bleeding thankfully having stopped by itself.
“Is he yours?” Kan asks after a second. His head is pounding. He blinks but his vision keeps trying to black out.
Romanoff opens her mouth to answer, all previous kindness gone from her features as she surveys the man, who is already blinking awake. Kan awkwardly takes the man under the armpits to hans him over. Romanoff gives him a sullen look.
“You’re safe,” she says in Russian as she kneels down in front of the man. “Sasha, calm down. We’re going to get you into the medical ward, okay? Please don’t kill anyone.”
She, Clint and some other guy lift Sasha off Kan’s lap, who is now all bloodied and dirty. He doesn’t know what to do as they carry him away, but T’Challa asked him to stay. So that’s what he does.
It doesn’t take long.
“What are you doing here?” T’Challa asks him in Wakandan as he pulls Kan up on his feet.
“I was called for, Sir,” Kan answers.
“By who?” T’Challa snaps, but seems to visibly let it rest, and surveys the burned skin on Kan’s neck. “I never gave you permission to leave the country, did I?”
“It was idiotic,” Kan mummers. “So many soldiers against a group of 30 mutates – “
T’Challa takes a deep breath. “Not now.”
“Yes now!” Kan finally snaps. “Remove your big fat head from your tiny asshole, your Highness. I wasn’t the best today, but I made a difference. Why does that anger you?”
T’Challa glares at him.
“Also,” Kan coughs and then makes a face as blood soaks the inside of his mouth. “I crashed your motorcycle. I’m sorry about it.”
“It’s fine.”
Kan nods. “Alright,” he breathes and then promptly passes out.
----
“So, like. What is an American doing in Wakanda?”
Kan wrinkles his nose by the question and turns his head around.
“Oh, come on!” Tony grins and goes to the other side of the medical bed to keep watching Kan’s face. What an asshole to take advantage of a person’s injuries to keep annoying them. “I just wanna know. T’Challa? Old friend. I thought you said Wakandans don’t like outsiders.”
“He’s different,” T’Challa says, slightly defensive.
Ororo scoffs.
“My father took him in,” T’Challa points out, glaring at her. “Not me.”
“He clearly had a weakness for whities,” Tony grins, sitting down by Kan’s feet. “I mean, that’s TWO of us in a Wakandan lifetime?”
“Quit it,” Kan growls.
“You can really fight though,” Tony goes on. “Hey, is what Logan is saying true? Are you two fucking?”
“So what if they are?” Storm snaps.
Now the whole Quinjet is just silent.
“Ororo,” T’Challa begins, softly.
“It’s not like that,” Kan says, trying to get up.
The Quinjet’s door is opened, and the winged man comes in. Only, he’s clean and dressed in civilians. He looks nice and earthbound like this. He stares at Kan, before looking around at the passengers. “Why the Hell are you fighting when the patient is trying to recover? Tony, fuck off already. Kan, please lie down.”
“Hey Sam! Only if you promise – “ Tony starts.
“Too late,” Sam stops him, holding up a finger. “Black Panther promised me a new set of wings, I’m on his payroll from now on.”
“Traitor – “
----
The second time Kan wakes up, the Quinjet is finally flying and there’s company in his bed. Ororo has slipped in between his sheets and is cuddling into him, running her thin fingers through his hair. He looks into her eyes as she twirls the blond locks around her nails. T’Challa is reading in a seat beside the bed. Kan can’t see Sam or Tony anywhere.
She shushes gently at him. “Sleep. Everything’s alright.”
He trusts her.
----
The third time Kan awakes, he already feels much better. His neck is bandaged but doesn’t hurt at all, and his shoulder is no longer dislocated. He can’t hear or see T’Challa or Ororo anywhere. Frowning he sits up and massages his temples. Sam is sitting by his bedside now.
“Where’s the king?” Kan asks him.
“You don’t look too good, man, try lying down again,” Sam assures him.
“I am a man, yes, but it’s rude of you to presume,” Kan frowns. “Have you been checked?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Sam smiles, but Kan still reaches out and searches Sam’s head for bumps.
Kan figures that T’Challa and Ororo must be in the cockpit, so he accepts the water being handed to him. It tastes too sweet, the metallic taste missing. He wonders when they’ll be in Wakanda; he hopes it’ll be before he starts displaying symptoms of deficiency. He doesn’t want T’Challa to know about it, doesn’t want to let T’Challa see him weakened. Kan can feel that he already is. The amount of time, blood loss and energy spent fighting, probably the cause.
He gets off the bed and wanders the enclosed space of the Quinjet for a bit, before he falls asleep against Sam’s shoulder. Sam is calm underneath him and Kan would honestly be lying if he said that something about the color of Sam’s skin doesn’t sooth him.
He wakes up as the jet rustles. Sam is sleeping with an electronic device forgotten on his lap, his neck tilting in an uncomfortable angle as he rests on Kan’s side.
Feeling bad about using Sam as his headrest, Kan lifts Sam unto his medical bed. Sam groggily blinks awake and stares around the Quinjet. Kan sits down beside him and massages Sam’s tense neck muscles.
“’S okay,” Sam sighs even as he leans into it. “Man, you really need to learn the American definition of personal space.”
Kan blinks and pulls back. “I’m sorry.”
“Nonono, wait – it doesn’t bother me. Even my priest knows how lonely I am by now. Can you believe that? But it might bother other people, especially among the Avengers. That’s what I meant.”
“Avengers? The people with the X?”
“No, those were the X-men, you know, Storm’s people? But she’s an Avenger too. The X-men are solely made out of mutants, while the Avengers are kind of mixed.”
“So you’re an Avenger?” Kan asks. “Your wings. The bird?”
“Birds in general,” Sam smiles. “I’m air support. Nothing like Stark or Danvers, but you know. Doing my best. Danvers. You know, Danvers? The blonde lady who likes to punch things.”
Kan considers this. “But you not being a heavy hitter makes you an even better aerialist than them. Danvers and Shark are heavy aerial fighters, and it shows in the accuracy of their attacks. You have a lot more stealth and precision. Besides. How often do you actually need heavy hitters? I can’t imagine too often.”
Sam opens his mouth and closes it. Then he smirks. “Thanks, man. It’s just an expression! Man is used like ‘my friend’, and you know. ‘My man’,” he quickly adds.
“I’m your friend?” Kan asks, starting to smile.
“Yeah, you’re my buddy,” Sam grins. “You a friend of T’Challa’s, you a friend of mine. He has helped me and Redwing out several times.”
“Really?” Kan asks, lightening up, his chest feeling warm with delight. T’Challa is so good to people. T’Challa likes Sam and Kan likes Sam too. Sam is nice and smiles a lot and doesn’t seem to just want to be good – he is good. Or that’s how it feels, at least. And Sam has a little gap in between his front teeth. His skin tone is a little more golden than the brick ebony the Wakandans usually have, his temples are a little high, his jawline sharp and cheekbones defined. He looks like art. “You’re really lonely?”
Sam looks mildly surprised. “Oh, don’t worry about that – “
Kan crawls into Sam’s lap, making sure to ease his weight by tilting it onto the soles of his feet. “Just a hug. Don’t worry.”
Sam looks doubtful. “I guess…”
Kan closes his arms around Sam and pulls him in. Sam smells like fuel and soot, despite having showered, and he’s stiff and clapping Kan on the back, and Kan feels unsure about releasing him, because he wants to give a hug that will make Sam feel better for a while, not just one for show. Normally people find his warmth and size comforting.
Kan reaches up and strokes a thumb down Sam’s temple. Sam exhales shakily and gradually loosens. Kan focuses on Sam’s damp breath on his neck and the soft buzz the Quinjet engine makes. When Sam is finally relaxed against him, Kan reaches out and starts massaging the knots in his neck and nuzzles at Sam’s hair.
Sam is blinking his eyes shut. “You’re good at that.”
Kan smiles a little and continues his efforts. When Sam is fluid on the bed sheets, Kan tilts his head down, makes sure to create distance between them before he asks: “Can I kiss you?”
Sam stiffens. And sighs. “I knew it. Why are everyone trying to get into my pants this week?”
Kan blinks and smiles. “Because you’re beautiful. And according to you, lonely.”
The winged man waves his fingers at him. “You’re so earnest. Okay, just a little one.”
Kan grins.
“Watch the beard,” Sam says.
Kan leans in, kisses his nose and pulls back. “Can I have another?”
“You’re so corny,” Sam sighs.
“Can the corny man have another kiss?” Kan asks.
Sam groans exaggeratedly, but his legs are starting to part to give Kan room to lean in. “Give it to me then, a real smooch.”
Kan looks at him in consideration and then lets his gaze laze down Sam’s body. He doesn’t hide his curiosity or his want, but wanting isn’t the only thing he wants to do; he wants to know what turns Sam on. What will turn this man on? Are there other customs in America? Do they make love differently? Is it rude to kiss after a blowjob? Is licking his hole disgusting? Kan only has a vague feeling of these, but his vague feelings are what got him into his king’s bed, so perhaps he’ll know when it comes to it.
Kan puts a hand on Sam’s knee, looking at his hand cupping the kneecap and then looks up to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam is taking a deep breath, like he’s bracing himself. Kan makes a decision.
“Just kissing,” Kan promises. “I need you to say no if you feel like it becomes too much.”
“I know how to say no,” Sam says, slightly defensive, but Kan suspects that Sam might need the reminder. Kan makes sure to keep eye contact until Sam nods slightly and puts his hands on Kan’s neck.
So the blond leans in and locks their lips together, not moving for a second just to sense Sam’s reaction. Sam gently kisses him, and encouragingly Kan opens up their lips and licks at Sam’s lower lip. It tastes like ash and sleep and Kan sighs, exploring Sam’s mouth, before slowly sucking Sam’s tongue into mouth. Sam becomes more apprehensive at this, so Kan reduces the kiss to less tongue and more lip play, which Sam turns out to like so much that he groans. Kan’s lips are on the thinner side but it doesn’t mean the thickness of Sam’s aren’t enough. A low hum starts in Kan’s head, the beginning of a deficiency headache, and Kan unintentionally makes the kiss rougher, daring to dig his corner teeth into Sam’s lip. Sam’s legs are spreading even more around Kan, and Kan isn’t sure that Sam himself notices, before Kan hooks a hand around his knee and leans in even closer.
“Can I….” Kan whispers after having let go of Sam’s lips to let the other man breath. “Can I touch you?”
Sam sinks.
Kan leans further into him, kissing Sam’s temple and whispering, “Please?” into his ear.
Sam holds his breath for a second, and Kan sits still in waiting.
“Okay,” Sam lets out. Kan reaches down and carefully zips up Sam’s pants, and the other man squirms. Sam’s cock is half-hard, yet dripping. Ready to be touched. Kan digs his hand into Sam’s pants and closes his hand around Sam’s cock. Sam groans softly and Kan pushes him down into the bed, starting a small rhythm of even, long strokes as he re-connects their lips. Until now he has been acting on autopilot, but he suddenly remembers how much Wakandan men loves caress and he wonders if it’ll work on Sam.
He lets go of Sam’s lips and kisses his cheeks, softly licks at Sam’s earlobe, nips at Sam’s jawline and goes down lower to kiss and suck at Sam’s neck, while his hand closes around the back of Sam’s neck. Sam’s legs are getting shakier and his breathing heavier and as Kan sits up and sucks Sam’s tongue into his mouth, Sam comes. Kan feels the hot liquid hit his skin and he strokes a reassuring thumb around Sam’s slit, before pulling his hand out and licking some seed away, before taking a wet tissue by the bedside and wiping the rest of it away.
Sam, who has been breathing into the pillow, is reaching out for Kan’s crotch when the door to the cockpit is opened.
T’Challa is standing there. “Kan, it hasn’t even been two hours,” he says in an almost scolding tone. “Can’t you restrain yourself?”
Kan sighs, kisses Sam’s nose again and gets up from the bed. Sam rolls around on his side, and lifts the blanket over him.
“You said you wanted me to get a bigger sense of self,” Kan mutters in Wakandan. “Sam is really nice and pretty. He was my own choice.”
“It has nothing to do with him being black?” T’Challa asks.
“Black?” Kan frowns. “He’s not black. He is dark brown.”
T’Challa sighs. “It’s funny how you know the English language perfectly, but when it comes to things like this – oh. Oh, my bad. I guess you aren’t too familiar with the term black. Probably called us negroes in your time.”
“Negroes?” Kan repeats and he can see Sam’s head snap up from the blankets. T’Challa waves at him. “Negro means black. What difference does it make?”
T’Challa takes him to the cockpit, Ororo sleeping in the second pilot chair, and silently starts changing out Kan’s bandages. “It’s a dirty word,” he finally says.
“Do people…” Kan starts, his hand lingering on T’Challa’s on his neck. “Do people call you that? When you’re in the States?”
T’Challa blinks up at him. Kan meets his king’s eyes, even if he knows that it’s not preferred.
“During my time as a schoolteacher, yes,” T’Challa answers and Kan involuntarily giggles. T’Challa squints.
“Just, I’m sorry, but you? A school teacher?” he can’t help but ask. T’Challa frowns at him and Kan reaches out, smoothing the lines on his king’s brows out with his fingers.
“I was a brilliant school teacher to your knowledge,” the king finally smiles. And Kan is happy about that. About T’Challa smiling.
----
Somewhere in Avengers Tower
“The man on the bridge,” a man that has only started becoming someone and not something says to his Russian peer. “Who was he?”
The Black Widow looks up from her knives, curling her toes around his ankle. “One of Black Panther’s people. Keeps to himself.”
The Winter Soldier makes a face. He has a feeling, but he doesn’t trust that. Feelings are incompatible with knowledge and logic. But. “I knew him.”
Chapter 5
Notes:
Thank you for the lovely comments I've been receiving, you're the best and I'm going to reply to everyone :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Where are they even going? They have been flying for forever and it feels like he is going mad. He can’t get any food down, the Quinjet is cold, Kan hasn’t had any contact with the sun for – for too long. He tries to settle and be quiet, but –
He rubs his brow. The headache has started to become a migraine and the electric light bothers his eyes. T’Challa quirks a brow at him and Kan takes the hint and lies down on the medical bed, pulling the blanket up to his nose. Sam throws him a worried look and Kan covers his head with his arms, trying not to think about the damn engine always running. He needs water.
“Looking pale there, Kan,” Sam says in an all friendly voice, shooting T’Challa a rebellious glance. “You’ve been sleeping a lot. Why don’t you try eating something? Get your blood sugar up.”
“No thank you, Sam,” Kan declines. “I think I’ll just sleep it off.”
He closes his eyes and tries to doze a bit.
----
T’Challa helps him back to the Barn. He really doesn’t have to, Kan can walk fine by himself. But earlier, when the Quinjet had landed in the Central Palace’s platform, T’Challa had run a hand through Kan’s hair and twenty strands of hair had given underneath the pull and that had somehow upset the king.
As they get to Kan’s bedroom, T’Challa settles him down on the mattress, and leaves the room, making a call somewhere. It’s dark back home; the night is glowing and cool, but not the choking way like the jet had been. Kan takes a deep breath and tries not to blink too hard or too many times, otherwise it will intensify the headache. He is gathering strength to get up and find that darn water, when his door is opened. He looks up and Kenry is standing by the door, his face peeking in.
“You should be at home.” Kan squints at him, remembering that Kenry’s tribe’s holiday is getting near. “Do your aunt and mother know where you are?”
Kenry shushes and nods. He walks inside and puts a hand on Kan’s forehead for long second. Kan realizes how incredibly hot Kenry’s body temperature is. The teen then quietly leaves, and comes back with a bottle of water. It shines silvery in the moonlight and Kan gratefully drinks. Kenry tastes the last couple of drops in the bottle when Kan finishes and makes a sour face.
“So gross,” he comments.
“Go to bed,” Kan instructs. “You’re leaving tomorrow, I’m not getting another angry letter because you’re late.”
When Kenry has left, Kan sighs and presses his face into his pillow.
T’Challa knocks only a few seconds after Kenry’s footsteps have disappeared down the hall. Kan calls out. T’Challa opens the door and immediately sights the empty bottle. He picks it up, examines and smells it.
Kan, already feeling energized, puts down the bottle and asks: “You’re going to make Sam’s wings?”
“You do know vibranium is poisonous, right?” T’Challa asks instead. “How long have you been drinking this?”
“The animals drink it,” Kan says instead, slightly self-justifying.
“The animals walk around in their own poo and have acclimated to the environment through thousands of years,” T’Challa says, which makes Kan smile a bit because he just heard his king say poo. “I’m serious, Kan. Why and for how long have you been drinking this?”
“I don’t know,” Kan shrugs. “Since I started working here? I don’t know why. I guess I felt bad for using Anasa’s resources. I do boil it before I drink it though.”
“And why do you keep drinking it when there’s clean water in the tap?” T’Challa asks and Kan shrugs because he doesn’t want T’Challa to know about the side effects.
T’Challa observes him for a long second, Kan stubbornly staring at the ceiling. He hears his king sigh. “The twitchiness back in the mountains, and the anemia on the jet. Were they of iron deficiency? Is your body reliant on this water? Why didn’t you tell me?"
This time T’Challa stubbornly waits for him to answer.
“’Cause it’d be weird,” Kan finally says. “And I’m already weird enough as it is. Even the Avengers knew that I don’t belong. And now I’m bound to poisonous water. I don’t want people to talk more about me than they already are.”
“That’s not – “
“You said you wished that I’d think about how other people perceive me,” Kan interrupts and turns his body around. “You don’t understand that that’s all I ever think about. And I’m not doing that for me. I’m doing that for you.”
T’Challa is about to answer, but stops himself. Instead he walks over, and lets a gloved hand glide down Kan’s side. Kan shivers, and want to reach out for the king, but before he can, the king has left.
----
Next day four tanks of clean water are sent to him and the guards empty Kan’s deposit of boiled lake water. Kan watches them passively, already feeling better after a night and morning of constant hydration. He’s not looking forward to getting the side effects again.
“The king says you’re only to drink this water,” one of them makes it clear. Kan glares. “No matter where you are, you are to bring a bottle. Eyes will be on you.”
When they leave, Kan destroys a tank before he remembers to control himself.
----
It’s admittedly easier to not drink the water when he has been ordered to. The headaches aren’t good, but Kan can clench his teeth through it. His composure still hasn’t broken even after six days; he only starts planning a bit. What he might do if he breaks. But he’s sure he won’t.
Two weeks later and he isn’t so sure anymore. His hands are shaking when they do hard labor and he feels cold even in the sun. Three weeks later and Kan can no longer feel when his skin has had enough sun and he gets sunburned several times. Four weeks in and Kenry has taken over most of his duties, only coming to Kan when the young boy needs advice or direction. At some point Kenry stops asking for direction and only comes with an bottle pressed insistingly against Kan’s lips, the clean water tasting wrong in Kan’s mouth.
He sees the man falling all the time now. He’s so sick of not being able to flush the stupid toilet, without seeing the man crash into his death.
And Kan … now he’s also getting images of a woman with glossy blue eyes, a stressed face that was once beautiful but just tired now. She's frail and thin, her hair so blond it's almost white. She calls him "Sunshine boy" and "My son", but her face always withers away before he can catch the details of it.
Kan can’t do anything but dwell in the knowledge that he failed all of them. He doesn’t know how or why he failed them, but he knows he did, so he makes up dream scenarios, where he has six children with the kan woman and gets to stay at home all day and take care of them while she works. And she kisses him with that red lipstick, leaving rose-like marks on his skin, which he tries to rub off. Together they run the Royal Barn and T’Challa drops by with his kids. Kan teaches the kids how to clean the stable. T’Challa will hate it. And the falling man gets retired and a kind person to spend his life with, and their children will be friends and Kan will take his friend’s children to the celebrations and the falling man will resent him.
They’re good daydreams, and even if it doesn’t sooth out the nightmares, it’s a nice place to go to.
Close to four weeks without vibranium water and Kan has forgotten how his regular heartbeat sounds. Storm sneaks into the stable and cuddles with him, whispers: “It’s just until it’s out of your system, sssh.”
He believes her and he knows T’Challa only wants the best for him.
But the day when she can’t get him up from bed, she calls T’Challa. T’Challa comes and takes his pulse, and Kan almost succeeds in not leering at him as he does it, when T’Challa sighs loudly.
----
After that T’Challa takes his words back, and lets Kan drink the water. He even goes around the stable for some days to make sure that Kan is recovering, and is also making the children piss themselves with awe, before retreating to whatever he does when he isn’t pestering Kan.
‘Pestering’. Kan understands how moody he has become. He feels even more embarrassed about it as he can’t help but snap when he sees either Storm or T’Challa drop by the next couple of weeks to survey his recovery. He tries to apologize to T’Challa, but the man waves him away without any reprimand.
They make Kenry drag him to a celebration, and the flower tribe isn’t interesting in coaxing him back into it gently – as soon as they see him (that trip to the states has totally made him forget how it is to be the black sheep, or you know, white sheep,) three blood red drinks are passed to him and he gulps them down, already feeling the heat of anticipation and excitement. The bodies dancing around him are warm, warmer than he remembers, and the drinks are coming and coming, until he finally forgets himself.
As his dancing has descended into jerks of his knees and a swaying of his body, he feels a hand around his chest and a body smoothing up against his. He turns his head and puts his hand on the cheek of the stranger, turning both of their heads until they’re breathing on each other. He doesn’t know this man, but he smells funny and yet familiar. The man grinds his crotch into Kan’s thigh, and Kan sighs, leans into the movement and he needs this. If not in the hard way T’Challa would discipline him with, then this.
“Hey, it was my turn today,” a woman says a few meters away, and thrusts through the crowd to put her hands over the man’s. Kan blinks. What?
“Remember your place, traveller,” the woman keeps going.
“We can share,” the traveller offers.
“Excuse me,” Kan says, not because he really minds the exchange of words but he feels like he should have something to say about it.
“Yes?” they both ask him as they turn their faces towards him.
Kan blushes. “Nothing. Go on.”
The traveller and woman argue it out as they wait for Kan to get sober and Kan is standing awkwardly still between them while the rest of the tribe keep dancing and at the end, they agree on going to the traveller’s tent. Kan has no idea what’s going on or what they actually settled for, but the man hands him a huge glass of water before they leave the celebration.
That night the traveller puts something weird on Kan’s hole before fucking him and the woman wraps her legs around Kan’s head. Her clit is bigger than he is used so it’s like licking a lollipop and when he pushes in his fingers he feels something in there, but the multitasking of feeling himself being fucked and making sure that the woman enjoys it is stimulating and he soon forgets about the burning lube the man has used. When the woman sighs and rolls away, gathering her clothes to leave, Kan very purposely pushes back into the man until the traveller goes off.
The man sighs and rolls onto his stomach. Kan playfully pinches his ass and kisses it.
He wakes 30 minutes later, his forgotten cock throbbing with want, when Vinskulu calls out to him.
“Hey Vinskulu,” Kan answers, slowly getting up. The traveller isn’t there and the celebration is still drumming in the background. There is still time. “Come in here. You’re on duty?”
“No,” Vinskulu says and bows his head as he goes into the tent. They’re two big men, so despite this tent being able to hold four people, they’re pretty wedged. “I was just checking up on. You shouldn’t trust travellers so much, Kan.”
“Yeah, he just got himself off and left,” Kan nods though he isn’t really mad. “Hey, how about keeping me company instead?”
Vinskulu grins at him, his teeth white in the darkness. “I don’t know. We might wreck this puny tent.”
Despite his protests Vinskulu still finds a condom in the traveller’s bag, and Kan hums as he pulls off Vinskulu’s shift and unbuttons his pants. Kan makes up for the poor conditions by opening up himself as he sucks Vinskulu’s cock. The man groans and Kan can feel the rumble of his deep voice all the way down and through his cock. Like last time it takes awhile to stretch him, but that only means that he gets time to get dizzy on the feeling of Vinskulu’s thick length stretching Kan’s lips until they almost tear. And it turns out Vinskulu doesn’t usually crave a proper blowjob from his partners, since his cock is so huge that people easily choke on it, which means that finally Kan can use all his practice for good.
When four fingers glide in easily, he gets Vinskulu down on his back and straddles him, just to let gravity do half the work. Vinskulu hums and groans and curses and praises Kan. At some point Kan gets so overwhelmed by the smooth rolling of his own hips that he gets stuck, and Vinskulu instructs Kan to balance on his knees as the huge man takes control and fucks up into him.
“Vinskulu?” someone calls outside, which takes Vinskulu by such surprise that his hips unintentionally rams up into Kan, who cries out. “What are you doing?”
Vinskulu groans with impatience. “Clipping my toenails, what do you think?!”
“Are you sleeping with the traveller?” another voice asks. “I thought you didn’t trust travellers.”
“He’s sleeping with me,” Kan laughs, letting his accented tongue identify him. “Want to join?”
“Really?” one of them exclaims and the other one laughs. Kan shrugs and Vinskulu stares up at him with adoring eyes. Kan leans down and nuzzles at Vinskulu’s neck, breathing in the smell of the Panther Guard’s shaving cream. Vinskulu slides big hands down Kan’s back, and then rounds the side to grip Kan’s cock. Kan shivers and continues to roll his hips in a steady rhythm until the gentle pressure gets to much and Kan comes with a loud groan. Vinskulu’s breathing stutters and then Kan feels his partner’s cock swell even further.
Vinskulu exhales and Kan shimmies his hips up until Vinskulu’s cock pops out. Kan rolls around on his stomach, dazed and sensitive and then someone coughs outside.
“Can we still join?”
Kan offered as a joke, but as he watches Vinskulu put on his clothes, he figures that it wouldn’t hurt.
“How old are you?” he asks.
“20,” the one at the opening says. The other replies: “ 23.”
“Do you have condoms?” Kan asks as Vinskulu leaves the tent. “Are you sober?”
“We’re the musicians, we’re on break, and yes we have,” one of them tells him. He knows that the musicians aren’t drunk at this point of the evening, so he invites both of them inside.
----
Next day as they’re soaking their feet in the lake water, T’Challa glares at him. It’s been silent for over 15 minutes, which means since T’Challa got here, and you know what, it’s not fair that T’Challa shames him for going out when he was the one who ordered him to “get a bigger sense of self”.
“I know you’re afraid of some kan STD,” Kan says. “But I have made sure to always use protection. Besides, I'm clean. I've been tested and still regularly get tested.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not afraid of that,” T’Challa mumbles, but it doesn’t sound very convincing. “I only want the best for you. I’m just afraid of the colorism issues that will arise if you get someone pregnant.”
“Which reminds me, when is your wedding?” Kan says, trying to change the subject. So what if T’Challa doesn’t like how Kan’s sex life is, it isn’t T’Challa’s butthole they’re talking about.
“When you get self-restraint,” T’Challa replies casually. “Da, don’t touch me, you’re gross with dirt and you smell of horse poo.”
“What the Hell is up with you and germs anyway?” Kan asks, remembering all the times the guards had empathized on how he had to shower before coming to the palace. “Your immune system won’t let you get sick anyway.”
“I’m dirty enough when I’m on missions, I should get away with the luxury of cleanliness in between them,” T’Challa replies. For too long, Kan considers scooping up some mud and throwing it at the king, just to see the expression on the king’s face before the king decides to murder him.
“But I love you,” Kan grins instead, looping an arm around T’Challa’s shoulders and rubbing their skin together. T’Challa yelps (hehe) and Kan can see the grease transcended onto T’Challa’s skin through their skin contact, before T’Challa shoves at him.
Then T’Challa pauses.
“Get yourself tested,” he finally says with a wrinkled nose. “Your musk smells weird.”
“Oh, you’re inspecting the smell of my musk now? You miss me that much,” Kan teases but is secretly alarmed. He had picked up the smell himself this morning. He had made sure that his partners last night all wore protection, so what could it be? That burning stuff the traveller used as lube? “Go kiss your fiancé and say hello for me. And stop checking me out, I can see you.”
T’Challa rolls his eyes. “Ororo checks you out even more than I do.” His gaze turns serious. “She has inquired about you. She says she doesn’t mind if we made room for you too.”
Kan stills. “What. You want me to be your official concubine?”
“People think you are anyway,” T’Challa points out. “I’ve tried taking the Avengers’ minds off it, but the Black Widow has spread the word. And everyone always believes her word.”
“So much of a spy,” Kan mumbles.
The golden eyes turn thoughtful, and then T’Challa reaches out and makes Kan look at him. “She’s an excellent spy. I never wanted you to be a secret, Kan, and people don’t actually mind the place you have by my side.”
“And what about your council?” Kan asks and gets up, suddenly anxious. “How do they feel about it?”
He doesn’t want anything to be official. He doesn’t want to tread the palace like a concubine, though his former position as not-so-secret-lover hadn’t been any better. He had already been scared about what being the king’s lover would make him, and the fear is growing right now. Because honestly? Despite the fear? Kan wants to say yes.
“The rules about concubines aren’t very strict,” T’Challa says. “And since you can’t bring me children, the worst that can happen is precluded anyway.”
Kan throws a rock into the water. The rings following the rock’s clash with the surface reflect the light. “I’m kan and a man and probably a mutate. It wouldn’t look good, my king. I’m on good terms with the Lake Tribe, the Flower Tribe, but there are sixteen more tribes than that and they might not be happy with it.”
“I think your freedom of speech when talking to me have gone to your head,” T’Challa calmly replies. “I don’t think you understand the total power I have as chieftain. It’s not that easy to oppose me.”
“It will be if you don’t watch that attitude,” Kan huffs. “Making me your concubine would… You know I want to, right? I want to. I love you and I love Ororo. But I’m not sure you’re aware of what you’re getting into.”
“On the other side, I don’t think you understand the benefits,” T’Challa says. “This way people will leave you alone. You’re under my complete protection, both financially and lawfully. Your right to be here will no longer be questioned. Isn’t that what you want?”
“And who exactly do you actually want to protect me from?” Kan asks. “Your people? Your council? The Avengers? The world outside this country?”
“Maybe,” T’Challa yells, finally losing his cool.
“Is this because you don’t want me to sleep with so many people?” Kan yells back. “Do you just want to claim me, hide me away in your palace? Because I’m not doing that, my king.”
The Barn, the kids there, the sleeping around, the job – they’re Kan’s whole life. He’s so incredibly young. T’Challa would never understand how four years can make up a whole person.
“I’ll protect you,” T’Challa withstands, soft and reassuring this time. “We’ll keep it down-low if that’s what you need, alright? This arrangement will make it easier for both of us. People will no longer question your importance, and you’ll be able to walk freely around the palace, be with me when Ororo and I are facing the council, get to decide the bedroom interior. Don’t think I haven’t seen you glare down my curtains, you despise them.”
Kan stares at him in spite, and then sits down. “I want Ororo to come talk to me about this herself,” he sighs and leans into T’Challa. He is infatuated with this man and Ororo mystifies him. This could work. “I swear, if you pressure her – “
“You mean a lot to her, though it might not feel like it,” T’Challa says and kisses Kan’s forehead.
-----
After they’ve sat together for a while, going over the details (Kan can stay in his ‘darn barn’, but Wakandan citizens aren’t allowed to touch him anymore, that’s just the concubine law, deal with it), Kan kneels down and scoops up mud in both of his hands.
T’Challa’s expression is priceless.
“You little – “ T’Challa starts and immediately throws away from another ball. He gets up and drifts his foot, hitting Kan’s legs and stomach with a wave of mud water, taking the advantage to push forward and tumble Kan down in the mud. While Kan’s down there he rolls around, getting his whole figure wet in a second and thereafter throws himself at T’Challa, who tries to run away, but is cut off by Kan’s quick hands. The king falls down on his back with Kan on top of him with an oof. Kan rubs his dirty chest into T’Challa’s until the king gets them rolled around. Which is okay in Kan’s book, because either way T’Challa is going to be so dirty by the end of this.
----
Kan beats T’Challa to the shower stalls and has just turned on the water, when T’Challa pushes him aside and gets underneath the spray first. Kan watches him, trying not to smile and say something about cats and water, but gets distracted by the way the water peels the mud off T’Challa’s body and bares naked skin.
“Come on,” Kan whines and pushes his front into T’Challa’s behind, his crotch neatly fitting between T’Challa’s ass cheeks. “I wanna get clean too.”
T’Challa shows no signs of making room, and Kan ends up getting underneath the ray of water with brute force. T’Challa tries to push him out of the way and Kan avoids it, grabs T’Challa’s arm and pulls him underneath the spray with him.
“There,” Kan says and grabs a washcloth. “I will clean your back and you will mine. Deal?”
T’Challa rolls his eyes and grabs for another. “You people pleaser,” he grunts, but dutifully starts scrubbing at Kan’s shoulder blades. Kan reciprocates. Their fronts are now touching each other.
“Did you miss me?” T’Challa asks. The question comes out casually.
“Yes,” Kan says, unable to lie. “More than anything. But I was happy for you. Am happy for you.”
T’Challa turns around and Kan turns his backside to him. “Do you mean that?” T’Challa asks.
“Yes,” Kan says. “But our relationship wasn’t clear-cut. I wasn’t mad, because I never belonged to you and you never belonged to me.”
T’Challa nods and tilts Kan’s body so the water can wash away the foam. “You make it sound simple.”
Kan turns around and meets T’Challa’s golden eyes. “That’s because it is. You’ve been hanging out too much with westerners, my king.” He puts his hands on T’Challa’s biceps and his king closes his arms around Kan’s neck. “There’s no reason to make it complicated.”
-----
T’Challa’s wedding is huge and pompous. Golden lights are littered all over the sky, the roads are barren from cars and filled with booths of food, drinks and souvenirs, and they’ve been burning dream root, cucumis and dried flowers all day, so the air is dry and smells of smoke and spice. Not that many are opposed to the king marrying a mutant as there could have been – a school for metahumans is even opening up in Golden City. Kan is grateful towards how well T’Challa has been doing these years, because surely the uproar would have been more prominent if the people didn’t trust their king. Westerners are here – both Avengers and X-men – and Kan has locked the stable so no drunks will come and bother the horses, before going out to the Golden City himself. Before he goes, Lan catches him in the shower.
“Wear this,” they instruct and hands Kan a silky, white Yoruba with turquoise lining and golden embroidery, some matching white pants and a golden band to wrap his hair with. Lan helps him get in it and then sends him out to the masses.
“And Kan?” they call. Kan turns around to face them. “Try not to talk to the guests too much. It’s for the best, especially now that you and the king have become official. Okay?”
Kan tilts his head. “Is that your order and the king’s?”
Lan smiles at him. “Mine.”
Kan nods. “Will try. Want to go dancing?”
Lan refuses but after some minutes of persuasion Kan convinces them to. He pulls them out into the masses and swings them in circles around him until they relax and laugh as he kisses their forehead and cheeks.
Unfortunately Lan is called away already an hour into the celebration, but they give him a sweet squeeze before leaving. Kan waves and goes to a cooking booth to offer them help, when hands close around his waist.
He turns and is faced with Sam’s grinning face.
“You made it!” Kan laughs in delight, hugging the man. “I’m so happy. How are you, my man?”
“Great,” Sam shouts. “Wakandan parties are crazy. People are very drunk.”
“That means you’re too sober,” Kan lets him know. “Come here, let me get you a drink.”
He finds the closest table with refreshments, and shoves a cup into Sam’s hands. He has only poured an inch of alcohol in the cup, not wanting Sam to get too drunk too fast. He drinks plenty himself and they dance until Sam is loose and giddy with the music.
“Come, you haven’t said hello to the others!” Sam says and Kan is starting to protest, thinking of Lan’s plea, but he’s too drunk to think of the proper way to say it and then they’re standing in a little private cabin. The Black Widow is sitting curled together with Hawkeye, another redheaded woman is sitting with Tony, and there are a couple of other people Kan doesn’t recognize.
“Thor!” he exclaims as he sights the gentle giant and the man, who is wearing as big a grin as Kan is, turns and holds out his arms. Kan squeezes Sam’s hand before going to hug the blond.
“How are you?” Kan asks, keeping his hands on Thor’s waist as he pulls back and smiles at Thor.
“I am good, my friend,” Thor says, his blue eyes twinkling. “And you look more joyous than I remember you.”
“You caught me at a dark hour,” Kan admits. “Why are you all just sitting here? Come dance.”
At his words, the people throw nervous looks at the pulsing crowd.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Kan insures and then stops moving, squeezing his eyes together. “I see a little bird in that tree.”
Sure enough, the man with the metal arm is sitting in the opened attic, glaring down at all of them. Kan hopes that the man won’t hurt himself.
“He’s not good with crowds,” Sam explains.
“Oh,” Kan says.
“Kan!” a voice calls out behind him and Kan turns around to see Lan in the crowd.
They’re wearing a red and orange sari and has a crown of flowers around their head.
Kan gets out of Thor’s arms. “Lan!” he calls back and walks outside, smiling as he closes his arms around them. “You look astounding. Come dance with me.”
Lan nods, glaring daggers at the westerners for unknown reasons, and Kan pulls them into the crowds, wrapping his arms around their figure as the drums become louder. They are grinding their hips into Kan’s, and Kan lets his hands wander underneath their chest piece. He knows it won’t get anywhere, that Lan isn’t like that, but the intimacy of the groping is nice.
Eventually they untangle themself and waves him goodbye and Kan goes through the crowd to check on Sam.
Most of them are half-sleeping.
“Sam,” Kan says, sneaking his arms around the man from behind. “Already tired?”
Sam sighs and turns around. “Dude. From one westerner to another – be honest. When do these parties end?”
Kan blinks and internally smirks. “They don’t end. Well, not until the musicians can’t play anymore, but they’re trained to withstand as long as possible and since this is the king’s wedding, those outside are probably the best at it. And I think they’ve been put on some weird stuff.”
“You gotta be kidding me!” Barton yells.
“It’d go a lot faster, if you’d take a drink or two, go outside,” Kan says. “Talk with someone?”
“No one speaks English,” Tony says.
Kan lifts his brows, staring at them. He knows for a fact that about fifty scholars are in the crowd and each of them teaches a class. “Of course,” he plays along. “Let me get you those drinks, hm? What percent do you want, Tony?”
“None for me,” Stark says.
Kan takes the rest of their orders, and brings them after half an hour since he met some friends on the way who wanted to say hi. The Avengers visibly relax after having drunken the rich alcohol, but Tony is starting to sweat and Tony’s woman still looks tense.
“Maybe you should turn in for the night?” Kan proposes, sitting in front of the couple.
“Woah, personal space, dude,” Stark jokes, but it comes out flat.
Kan puts a hand on Stark’s ankle, and swirls his thumb on the skin, which is clammy and sweaty. Well, all of them are very clammy and sweaty, really. “Do you feel unwell?”
“He doesn’t drink,” the woman smiles. “It’s hard.”
“Oh,” Kan says. “I never caught your name, m’am?”
“Call me Pepper,” she smiles and he takes a close look at her. She’s of tenuous built, her body thin and flat, her face arranged in delicate features. She’s pink-skinned with freckles on her nose and cheeks, with prominent cheekbones, round blue eyes and a small mouth. She’s wearing a beige dress with silver rhinestones around the neck.
“Pleased to meet you,” Kan says, slowly smiling. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Kan,” Pepper smiles professionally, even as her cheeks turn red. “You do as well.”
“Want to dance?” Kan asks.
“Hey!” Stark interrupts.
Kan sighs. “Okay then.” He gets up, pulls Stark onto his feet and drags the man into the crowd to dance. As soon as they get there, Kan gets that Tony might not be up for it. “What – why are you swaying? Do the people around you look like they’re swaying?”
Stark glares at him but starts to imitate the second beat jumps and the circling around each other every tenth one.
“I’m too old for this,” he comments and Kan laughs, bringing their bodies closer together, so he can move Stark’s body with his. Stark squeaks and Kan rips himself loose and runs his hands down Stark’s body to check for injuries. “Are you alright? Did someone hit you?”
“No, man,” Stark says heatedly.
“We're friends?” Kan smiles and Stark sighs. “Come on, I can see you’ve had enough. I’m sorry I dragged it out.”
He assists Stark through the crowd, and back beside his woman. Pepper is watching them nervously. Kan kneels down to Stark’s sweating figure. “Want me to bring you some water?”
“Go,” Stark waves him off and Kan goes to get some water bottles and a plate full of fruit. As he kneels to put the plate in between the guests, he looks up and catches Pepper looking at him, her black pupils dilated. He looks fleetingly at Tony who unabashedly is looking back at them, his eyes just as dark.
Kan looks down, his neck reddening and as he gets up again, Pepper reaches out a small hand and he silently pulls her to her feet and leads her out to the dancing. Her cheeks are sweaty and her eyes glassy, but they’re clear and passionate as he wraps his body around hers like he did with Lan’s and guides her body into the rhythm.
She’s better at it than Tony. She smoothly follows the lead of his body and soon they are pulsing like one, her flaring hair bouncing every time they jump. He curls a hand around her neck and looks into her eyes. Her body feels stronger when it’s breathing against him.
“Take us home,” she directs in his ear, and he fleetingly looks back at Tony who is watching them silently.
He smiles, considers if this is their way out of the celebration and concludes that he doesn’t care.
He waves at the opened attic and at Sam and Thor before leading the couple away from the dancing and towards his sleeping quarters.
“Pepper, have you drunk a lot?” he asks as he unlocks the door.
“No,” she smiles at him and he nods, opening the door and leading them inside.
As they’re look around in his tiny room, he locks the door and leans back into the door.
“How do you want to do this?” he asks. “You two are together, yes?”
Pepper’s eyes go soft and Tony smiles crookedly. Kan looks at their sweaty bodies and wonders how many times the man can come, before Pepper nudges them towards each other, and slowly starts taking off her jewelry.
Kan stands still, searching for any tint of want in Tony’s eyes, but the elder man takes the initiative, steps forward and pulls Kan into a kiss. Kan closes his eyes and tries to get used to the beard and thinness of Tony’s lips, which is soon forgotten by the sheer technique of them. Tony’s arms lock around him and Kan walks them backwards to throw Tony on his back on the bed. Tony is smaller than Kan, but strong for his frame and his arms are just as active on Kan’s body as Kan’s are on him. For long moments the kiss is a fierce battle of dominance, until eventually Tony moans and wraps his leg around Kan’s thigh, tremendously relaxing against him.
Pepper throws something on the bed, and Kan blindly reaches out, recognizing lube but in a bottle? Odd. He wets his fingers anyway and rubs them around Tony’s hole, testing its tightness before deciding to relax the man into it with a blowjob. He glides down the man’s body – firm but with loose skin, from drain or perhaps fatigue – to unbutton his pants and shove them down together with his underwear. Tony’s cock is half-hard, and starts to harden as Kan swallows him down. Tony groans, wrapping his hands into the pillows and Kan teases him, careful to not let the man come through long licks and soft swallowing. He can hear Pepper undress behind him and going to the bathroom, closing the door and Kan hesitantly looks up to follow her with his eyes, but Tony immediately groans and leads Kan’s head back down again. Kan gently prods a finger at his opening and Tony moans, his thighs freezing and then twisting to wrap around Kan’s neck.
“Pe… Pep,” Tony moans, and then a little louder. “PEP!”
“Excuse me!” Kan breaks out as the jolt briefly chokes him. “She’s back in a sec, relax.”
Tony impatiently throws himself down on the mattress, and as Kan pushes in another finger, the bathroom door opens and he can hear Pepper’s small feet go to the bed. Flexibly, she gets up on the mattress and neatly brings her cunt to her man’s mouth. Tony closes his lips on it like he’s been starving this whole time, and Kan continues to try and open the man up as carefully as possible, since it has obviously been a while.
By the point Pepper is riding Tony face hard, Kan lifts Tony’s thighs around his hips and starts pushing in. Tony groans, his hole hot and tight. Kan moans and pauses, gives the man time to adjust and Kan time to get off the edge of orgasm. It’s been some time – Hell, a long time – since he topped a man and he has forgotten the tight pleasure of it, the way it makes him rut.
He starts a slow rhythm, timing his thrusts with when Pepper’s moans are especially high and when she finally comes, holding the bedframe with white knuckles, Kan slams into Tony, stroking his cock until the man comes hot on his stomach. Kan dwells in the sight, before he follows.
It’s alright. Neither of them were Wakandan citizens.
----
He leaves the couple sleeping in his bed as he gets up at dawn, but he does go to see them off before they leave.
When he gets there, T’Challa is there with Ororo. Tony waves at Kan, sweating, while Pepper is very obviously getting sunburned behind him. Tony smiles at his hosts. “So Kan’s like the Wakandan slut around here, I guess?”
Kan hasn’t heard the word before, but as many other words he understands its meaning anyway and he knows that the word is accurate and that it’s said in a friendly manner, but he flinches because something inside of him starts burning, and before he can respond, T’Challa lashes out: “Just because you feel shame, Stark, doesn’t mean you have to force it on him.”
“It’s alright,” Kan buffs it out and tries to smile. “You didn’t mean it negatively.”
Tony grins bitterly. “That’d mean hating myself, wouldn’t it?”
Kan looks away.
Notes:
Hope that answered at least some of your questions, PharaouhsCourt :D
Chapter 6
Notes:
wah, i practically had to re-write all of this, so sorry for any mistakes :I I could still very much need a beta if anyone is interested ^^
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Six months pass in content solidarity.
----
Kan doesn’t know how it happens. All he knows is that Storm leaves Wakanda in rage, and that the Avengers are in Wakanda all the time now.
And that one day, a huge tsunami falls over Wakanda and wrecks everything in its path.
----
It’s three days after the disaster that Kan gets the news; Shuri has just passed away. She had been doing a security check at the vibranium ore by the time the wave had come in. The room she had been in was filled with vibranium, and when it filled with water she had briefly choked. Shuri got out before drowning, but the vibranium had set in her lungs. It had taken some time to figure out why she continued being sick after the tsunami, since the vibranium had been particles, too small for the machines to pick up, and by that time they had, it had been too late for a transplant.
Kan had so far been busy. At the Barn Kenry had been injured the worst, and had just had his right foot and hand amputated. While the boy is in a chemical, painless sleep, the doctors already making plans for prosthesis measures, Kan goes to the Golden City.
Or what’s left of it. The Avengers are helping rebuild it, and they’ve gotten very far. It’s not going be the same though. Not going to be the same Golden City Kan grew up in, loved. Perhaps nothing is ever going to be the same again.
“I’m sorry,” Kan whispers. He reaches out and then touches T’Challa when the king doesn’t move away from it. “I’m sorry.”
T’Challa just keeps staring into the air, his golden eyes muted into a strong yellow. His curled lashes are wet, but there are no tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Kan repeats, pulling T’Challa into his arms. “You did what you could.”
T’Challa inhales long and shakily and Kan hugs him even tighter. Finally T’Challa cries.
----
Storm comes to them every day and every day T’Challa makes his guards send her away. Maybe it’s better that way; for the king not to become even more agitated. This way T’Challa can focus on rebuilding the city and give his undivided attention towards it. Kan also stays in the Golden City. Most of the tribes are independently rebuilding their towns and cities, and so far, the most difficult place that has been to rebuild is the Golden City.
He usually works within hearing distance of the king. T’Challa easily gets twitchy these days; he doesn’t say anything, really. But one of the people from the council had told Kan that the king got anxious when Kan wasn’t around, which is understandable. Kan can’t claim to be of the king’s inner circle, but he knows there are very few people whom the king has allowed to get as close as Kan is.
And frankly, Kan gets just as anxious when he’s away from the king. He hates letting T’Challa out of his sight.
It’s a week before Kan learns that the wave wasn’t a nature catastrophe. Apparently, there had been a conflict between the X-men and Avengers about a force, called the Phoenix that could potentially bring Utopia or doom on Earth. The Avengers had thought the later, due to previous events. The X-men disagreed. Some X-man had gone rogue, and caused the tsunami to happen purely because the Avengers had stayed in Wakanda at that time.
One day, T’Challa lets Storm see him. He’s wearing the mask though. Storm is ashy and looks worried sick.
“Is today the day you’ll speak to me?” she asks as she lands, not even glancing at Kan.
“You have to stop coming here,” T’Challa immediately shuts her down. His voice is firm, clear. Bares none of the minutes where T’Challa had been pouring his grief on the earth.
“They’re my people too, T’Challa,” Storm says. “I want to help them rebuild. The same as you.”
Oh no. She couldn’t possibly think… “They’re not your people anymore,” T’Challa cynically rejects her and Kan flinches, staring at his hands. “Since the attack, all X-men have been officially been branded enemies of Wakanda.”
Storm stares at him. “You know I would’ve fought beside you,” she says at last, “if I had known this was coming. I’ve only stayed with the X-men to try and stop something like this from ever happening again.”
“You’re now free to stay with the X-men for as long as you like, Ororo,” T’Challa casually lets her know. “Our marriage was annulled by the high priest of the Panther clan. You are not my wife anymore.”
“The high priest of the panther clan? But … you are the high priest.”
“Please do not come here again.”
----
Kan’s there with the Avengers and X-men, when T’Challa meets up with Namor.
The Avengers had apparently been right; the Phoenix had possessed Namor in the end, and though it hadn’t entirely brainwashed him, it had been the negative influence of it that had caused him attacking Wakanda. Either way, Kan has heard the council talk; they’re seeking revenge. They want blood.
The council has allowed him to read all there is about Atlantis, the Avengers and the X-men.
And Kan, despite his anger and grief, can’t see how revenge will resolute anything. Especially since Namor hadn’t actually been acting out of his free will. Sure, revenge will be sweet, but how long will it be before Atlantis will return the favor? How long before Wakanda will retaliate? And they’re just going to keep destroying each other until there would only be ashes left. Kan doesn’t know much about Atlantis and not really that much about Wakanda either, but he knows that if there were one country that could match Wakanda, it’d be Atlantis.
Kan is there when Namor proposes the peace treaty. It’s generous, carrying obvious signs of the Atlantean king’s guilt, but T’Challa refuses them. He won’t let the person who has destroyed the country, injured and killed citizens, into Wakanda. T’Challa withholds that Wakanda is supposed to be safe for the Wakandans, and it’ll never be as long as Namor is allowed within the boarder.
Namor accepts this gracefully, and is silent for long minutes. “I want you to listen to me,” he says very seriously. “Wakanda cannot win a war with Atlantis.”
Kan doesn’t let his emotions show. Why does Namor believe that? Kan might not like the man, but he knows that Namor has experienced and won more warfare than T’Challa has.
T’Challa doesn’t seem very affected by the certain words. “I think you’re overestimating the strength of Atlantis or any… perceived weaknesses of Wakanda. Namor, you’re wrong.”
Namor sighs and leans back. “Ah, the fabled technological superiority of the Wakandan people. The great nation that has never fallen…” Namor doesn’t even look mocking. He just looks old. “And men call me arrogant. T’Challa, your problem is not resources, tactics or even your people’s army… it’s the people.”
Kan’s going to be sick. T’Challa silently waits for the mutant to continue.
He does: “You leaving your country for the benefit of saving the world, your hospitality towards the Avengers, which eventually let to this recent disaster and the enemies your sister created. How do you think we so easily dispatched your elite warriors? How do you think we knew they were coming?”
Kan holds his breath. So T’Challa had returned hostile force already.
Then Namor turns his head and regards Kan silently. “Your marriage with Ororo, her so obviously being a mutant, this western concubine of yours.”
“Don’t – “ T’Challa begins.
Kan lifts a hand and T’Challa quiets. “Say what you want about the pace of his decisions,” Kan replies. “At least he never thought so much of himself, that he thought he could control as powerful a force as the Phoenix. What stupidity possessed you, when you thought a man like you could?”
“Kan,” T’Challa says.
“And he never tried to kill an entire country either,” Kan continues. He’s not angry anymore. He feels ice cold. “You call yourself the first mutant, but not even X-men will be able to stand by your side after this. And while my king’s people have only started turning against him, yours have several times already. Your own servants will probably kill you in your sleep, before you even get to destroy Wakanda. And I think you already know that.”
Namor’s hand on the table clenches.
T’Challa reaches out and puts a hand on Kan’s shoulder. Kan closes his mouth and looks away.
“There needs to be a peace treaty,” Namor finally says. “And you’re obviously not going to hand me something that’s actually valuable. So how about you give me your concubine for one night. It’ll be a symbol of great trust.”
“Yes,” Kan says.
“No,” T’Challa says. “What kind of man are you, initiating human trafficking? I thought even you better than that.”
“Be quiet,” Kan snaps in Wakandan and stands up. “Yes,” he repeats.
“Kan!” Storm exclaims, getting up as well. “Think about this. Please.”
Kan turns to look at her. “I listened to a 9-year old choke to death on her own blood last week while I was trying to dig myself out in time to save her. You honestly think I care?”
“You won’t do anything he doesn’t want to, Namor,” T’Challa growls.
“I’m going to bite his fucking dick off,” Kan says in Wakandan.
“Of course,” Namor says. “I’m not an animal. It's settled.”
This is about humiliation and Kan is not too proud to endure it.
----
When he’s said goodbye to T’Challa, Namor leads him into a jet. Besides the cockpit, the jet also has a bathroom, a kitchenette, a roomette and three guest rooms. They’re sitting in the roomette on opposite wall seating padded benches and a table in between them. At Namor’s side sits two Atlanteans, a man and a woman, with breathing masks on. Beside them is a huge window. In silence they fly for a while, until they reach the South Atlantic Ocean. Immediately the jet lowers itself until it’s sliding down in the water. As the jet becomes a submarine and gradually starts diving, the light of the sun starts disappearing. Kan keeps an eye on the window when he catches movements in the water.
“It’s just my bodyguards,” Namor lets him know. It’s not exactly reassuring, but it said softly. Kan nods and soon he sees the guards take position on the curve on the ship, like remoras. They’re different shades of blue with primitive weaponry.
Since they got underneath the water, Namor’s posture changed. He looks more relaxed now, not as tense as he had seemed the past hour. Namor raises his hand and waves Kan over to his bench. Kan holds back his words. No matter what the files say, the Wakandan and Atlantean royal house are still very old-fashioned, and he’s not dumb. He knows what this gesture – T’Challa loaning him out – is intended for.
“Please take your clothes off,” Namor orders. The words come out gently, bare themselves for resistance.
Kan looks down, before slowly shrugging off his shirt and pushing down his pants. When he’s done he pushes the bundle of clothes aside with a foot and stands still, waiting for the next command. He can see the bodyguards watching them for the outside.
After what feels like an eternity, Namor manhandles him onto his lap. The move is intended to be pushy, Kan can tell, and he reciprocates by putting his full weight on Namor’s legs. He knows Namor can take much more than that, but it makes him feel satisfied anyway. Namor puts his hands on Kan’s waist, his thumbs on Kan’s hipbones. Kan sits idly still, waiting for the next move, but Namor seems content with just watching him. Kan looks down at him, trying to control his breathing and appear relaxed.
The Atlantean reaches up a hand and runs his fingers against Kan’s scalp. Kan jerks with the movement, not used to anybody but T’Challa touching his hair. Namor doesn’t respond to his flinch,
The movement is signaled, but still Kan startles when Namor lays him down on the bench, directing Kan’s legs to spread around him. Kan obediently opens his body up for him. He can feel Namor’s hard cock in those tight, tight pants; the man might as well be naked. He can feel every inch of Namor’s hard skin.
He can feel the woman’s body heat, her thigh only an inch away from the top of his head. He can hear her breath through the mask. He’s. He’s actually becoming nervous, even anxious now and he keeps trying to not look at the bodyguards outside the window or the two other Atlanteans, who all unabashedly watches them closely.
Namor follows his eyes, and then makes a hand gesture at the bodyguards and the two Atlanteans inside. They stare hard at Namor for a moment, before swerving away from the submarine’s window. The watchers leave the roomette and close the door behind them. Namor stares into the air for a minute, before he slowly turns his head and look down at Kan. With an abrupt movement he gets off Kan and crosses the roomette. Instead of getting lube, he gets a blanket and throws it out on top of him.
“Get some sleep,” Namor orders.
“But,” Kan begins.
“Don’t,” Namor says. “I have no interest in you or any intent in hurting you.”
Kan nods a little, finally breathing out his nervousness, and curls into a ball. At some point they crossed the twilight zone outside, so the light that have dimmed down to an orange-brown color, is the only think lightening the place up. As the only human, it’s probably only Kan’s problem. He closes his eyes and dozes for what feels like minutes, before he wakes with a jolt.
The submarine is stopping on a platform inside a dry tube, and Namor is talking to some bodyguards wearing breathing devices. He turns his head, looks at Kan, and nods him up on his feet. Kan covers his body with the blanket.
“Your clothes will be cleaned and returned to you,” he curtly informs. “Follow me.”
He stares at Namor’s naked back as they walk; the muscles are shiny and move smoothly like water with every of his movements. His green, scaly pants look painted on. Kan knows that in different circumstances, he perhaps wouldn’t have had a problem sleeping with Namor. He. And Namor. The Atlantean might not expect anything; it was obvious that the thing in the submarine had just been a performance to show his people that he had put hands on the Wakandan king’s “property”. But Kan signed up for this.
It’s consensual if it’s his decision, right?
The tube leads them directly to a beautiful, classical foyer and the door and hallway from there ends in a king suite. Namor rounds a desk and pulls out a long, soft futon. “I will sleep on this,” he informs as he takes one of the duvets and pillows from the bed and places them on the futon. Kan throws the blanket onto the floor. “We will return to the surface around noon tomorrow, when the sun is properly out and I’ll make sure that breakfast will be served before then. Are you hungr- “
Kan pushes Namor into the wall. It’s a gentle shove and he telegraphs his movements, so Namor doesn’t fight it but instead succeeds in somehow looking down at Kan despite not being taller than him.
“Don’t worry,” Kan mutters and leans in. Namor’s hair smells like a mix of seawater and some strong tonic. “I’m not trained to kill people like the rest of his harem.”
In a much harder shove, Namor rolls them around so Kan’s back is pressed against the wall instead and he lifts Kan’s legs up around his waist. Kan gasps, not having exactly tried that, and holds onto Namor’s pale, broad shoulders. In return Namor’s digs his fingers into Kan’s thighs and Kan knows he will bruise, because the grip hurts. With another hard tug he rams Kan’s body even closer to his. Kan’s skin is burning, every startled heartbeat igniting his senses.
Namor is so hard against him and the king presses his bulge against Kan’s ass.
“Fuck, yes,” he moans, grinding down on Namor in return. “Give it to me.”
Namor shakily exhales and one of his hands grabs an ass cheek almost painfully. Kan moans again, nervousness soothed by the pain and it makes Namor do it even harder to the other ass cheek.
Namor lifts Kan onto the bed and drops Kan on his stomach. Kan looks behind him as Namor easily gets out of the pants. The Atlantean is so pale his skin is almost illuminating, but his penis and balls are flushed into a brilliant red fading into sweets pinks underneath his raven black pubes. Namor gets on the bed and walks on his knees, until he gets to Kan’s bowed figure. With one hand he pushes Kan’s flanks against his crotch. He surveys the bruises his own fingers left on Kan’s behind, and then lifts his hand and smacks Kan’s behind.
Kan moans, his body darting forwards in an unconscious fugitive movement. Namor pauses and Kan moans again, pushing his ass against Namor’s crotch in a pleading manner.
It doesn’t take long before Kan is all spread out on the sheets, his ass burning from the repeated spanking, which have been coming so harshly and quickly that it has kept up with Kan’s healing. He is crying out with every slap, his body hot and sensitive with the flaring feeling of pain. When he is shaking and sweaty on the sheets and can’t even imagine how red his ass is anymore, his cock has left a spot of pre-come on the sheets, and Namor kneels and puts his mouth on Kan’s hole while closing his hands around Kan’s bruised buttocks. Kan yells, his legs briefly kicking out. Namor quickly loses his grip on Kan’s ass to grab them, and then ruthlessly pushes in his tongue.
Kan has a long moment, a small eternity, where he feels disconnected to his body. For minutes it’s like he’s not there, blanked out and then Namor gets up and pushes in.
Kan yowls with the force trying to get in and kicks out of his leg. Even an Atlantean king’s tongue and some spit is not good enough. “What the Hell, pal, ever heard of lube at least?”
When he looks behind him, Namor’s brows are lifted in confusion.
“Or does your kind’s assholes self-lubricate?” Kan asks a little calmer. “Mine doesn’t. I need slick. Lube. Lotion. Oil. Anything?”
Namor sighs like Kan not being slick and ready is a nuisance (good), and nods towards the shelf. “Fine what you need.”
Crawling, Kan nears the shelf and finds some scentless moisture in a purple bottle. Before he has time to pull it out, Namor has pressed his front against Kan’s back, his hands glancing down Kan’s quivering thighs. He takes the bottle, sprays the moisture on Kan’s hole and his own cock and pushes in again.
Kan’s spine arch as he tries to accept the feeling, a little groan of pain coming out. It’s still tight, but it’s bearable this time. It makes Namor halt and lay his body over Kan’s, shushing gently at him and patiently waits for Kan
Oddly enough, after that, Namor fucks him gently, his hips thrusting in an almost non-moving rhythm. He doesn’t push Kan’s body further, or much at all, really, and it’s so odd after having his whole body so distressed by the intense spanking. But Namor just keeps him in a grayland where the pleasure is free and constant, but not craving, not demanding and certainly not enough. Warmth blossoms in Kan’s cock, warmth that’s almost too hot to bear, and his body starts feeling like it’s floating. His whole focus narrows down to the way Namor … kisses his whole body, caresses skin as if it has been neglected in the name of a quick, rough fuck, pays attention to Kan’s whole body. Kan’s body is fluid and everything is good for a while, everything is nice. He’s standing on the tipping point of an orgasm and it’s hard, almost excruciating, but at the same time so, so good.
When he is pretty sure it can’t get better, Namor’s hips starts picking up the pace and even if it’s not with much force at all – has nothing on T’Challa’s way of setting everything on fire – the pleasure quickly builds up and Kan comes so hard he blacks out.
When he comes to, Namor is cleaning his crotch and Kan can feel come leaking from his ass. A lot of it. Either Namor hasn’t gotten laid for awhile, Atlanteans comes in greater masses or the king came twice.
Kan reaches around to wipe up a drop rolling down his thigh. He puts it in his mouth, tasting it, and fights not to retch. It’s unbelievably salty. He’s not letting that guy come in his mouth any time soon.
Namor arranges Kan onto his back and chases after the taste in Kan’s mouth.
----
Next morning Namor puts Kan on his bar table after they’ve had breakfast and fucks him again. Some general walks in on them. Kan is humiliated and shoves Namor off him when they’re done. He can tell that Namor is pissed about the incident as well, but is too proud to apologize.
As promised Kan’s brought up to the surface at noon, a black subtle vehicle is waiting for them. Inside are Cyclops, Romanoff, Thor and T’Challa, an odd mix. They lower a ladder down to the submarine. Namor pushes him up to the roof of the submarine, and Kan is practically blinded by the sunlight, squinting at its brightness. It feels cool on the surface. The wind is heavy too, and his hair blows into his eyes. He ought to cut it. T’Challa walks out onto the ladder, and reaches out for Kan, pulling Kan onto the ladder as well.
“T’Challa?” Namor calls out for the Wakandan.
T’Challa glares down at him. They all know what’s coming; some sort of reassuring humiliating sentence.
“You trained him well,” Namor smiles. “I think I’m going to get one too.”
Ah, degradation. “He’s bitter because his semen tastes like rotten fish,” Kan mumbles. With those words he forces T’Challa inside the jet, and together they pull the ladder inside. They take seats as Romanoff takes off. T’Challa’s clawed fingers are resting on top of Kan’s.
“I want more files,” Kan demands quietly, keeping his eyes down and his shoulders hunched in the typical posture of humility, even if he feels anything but small right now.
“On what?” T’Challa asks not sounding surprised.
“SHIELD, the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, the X-men, files on the individuals, and all the battles and events,” Kan sums up. Which is not a lot. He could’ve asked for the SHIELD’s private achieve, which Kan knows T’Challa probably has access to.
“And why should I?” T’Challa asks.
“Because next time you’re going to let me fight for you.”
“I have far more – “
“Stop it!” Kan shouts, startling every person in the vehicle. He takes a breath and then a longer one. “Just stop,” he says much calmer. “Do you think I’m dumb? Don’t you think I know how people, the Avengers, you, look at me? Don’t you think I know what you’re thinking? I can fight. I’m actually really fucking good at it, and you need someone from your own home at your side,” he continues heatedly. “Why do you always do that, lie and – and manipulate the people you are supposed to love? Did the Russian spy inspire that skillset as well?”
“Watch your mouth,” T’Challa says, a little sharply. So it’s much more personal than Romanoff then.
Kan looks at the ceiling, trying to calm down, but all he can feel is Namor’s hands on him, and it’s ridiculous, it’s maddening, because he chose to do it, he could’ve gotten away from it just fine. But he had felt the responsibility of it, even if Namor had “bought” him in a pure mocking manner and with zero sexual intentions.
“Like it or not, you can’t keep me hidden forever,” Kan says. “And I’ll be damned if you try.”
----
That night, T’Challa dines with the Avengers. Kan is busy, first reading the files, then taking care of the injured kids, and then making up for their duties. When he has bathed, the Avengers have pulled into the back of the room and T’Challa is ignoring them by the windows. When Kan gets there, he kneels in front of the man and bundles his arms together on T’Challa’s lap. T’Challa reaches down and puts a hand on Kan’s neck.
Kan, surprised by his open affection, ducks his head, breath T’Challa in and feels his heart swell, as T’Challa twirls Kan’s hair around his fingers.
“What do you think?” T’Challa asks. His face is unreadable behind the mask, but Kan knows him well enough by now to read the tension and forced easiness in his movements.
Kan thinks for a bit. “Vision, the Winter Soldier, Scarlet Witch and Hawkeye seem to be some of the few people with a clear head. Hawkeye is too silent, despite his useful observations, the Scarlet Witch isn’t listened to because of her mentality, Vision is treated as an A.I. and the Winter Soldier is still not used to operating with a team.”
“Vision is an A.I.,” T’Challa points out.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he should be treated as a tool. His information and advice should be validated and taken seriously, because he is self-conscious and his words hold value. Instead they are merely taken as suggestions. The Avengers in general have many hotheads, and they have a hard time pulling together. Captain Marvel surprises me especially, as her gifts of leadership and coordination seems formidable, but instead she loses herself in crushing robots. But I am glad to see the Winter Soldier’s words are being respected.”
“But we, The Avengers, do fine?”
“Yes. But you could do better. Much better.”
“And what about me?”
Kan looks at him. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Just say it.”
Kan rubs his face. “You’re always three steps ahead. While everyone’s out fighting, you’re hiding weaponry and magical artifacts. And I guess that’s for the better in the long run. But nobody likes dishonest character.” He nods against Iron Man. “And it’s not like you’re the only one who knows how to play that game. But I don’t think it’s very good for the team. You should be able to trust each other.”
“Instead we’re gonna watch each other burn.”
“Yes.”
He can feel T’Challa looking at him.
“I’m just human, you know,” T’Challa says. “I feel. And you’re important. What you do for me matters.”
Kan looks up, and touches T’Challa’s cheek. “I know.”
Later, after the Avengers have gone to bed, Kan helps the servants clean the area while T’Challa is attending a meeting. His neck prickles with the feeling of eyes on him and he turns. “Winter Soldier. How are you?”
“I’m good,” the Winter Solider replies. There’s more feeling in his face than Kan remembers; usually it would almost work mechanically. Now it looks more human, tired perhaps, but present and without anxiety. “My name’s James.”
“James,” Kan says, smiling. “How can I help you?”
“Want to get a smoke?” James offers.
Kan considers. “Smoking is illegal here, just so you know. But I think T’Challa will be okay with it.” He leads them out on the balcony, and they walk behind a screen. James takes a seat by the edge, his legs hanging as he lights up the smoke.
He reaches one over for Kan, and Kan lights it up, hoping smoking is one of those things his body knows how to do. True enough, he automatically inhales, tastes the sweet tobacco, before blowing out the smoke.
“Does Black Widow know you’re here?” Kan asks when his cigarette is just a stub.
“She’s not my mother,” James says.
Kan doesn’t say that she seems to be the only one James has.
“Just talk to me,” James says.
“What do you want me to say?” Kan asks, because he wants to make James feel good. Or at least, better.
“Anything.” James leans back and curls his arms behind his head.
“One of the kids gave soya to one of the horses today,” Kan says after a moment. “Now it has taken a liking. The farts are lethal and the horse’s stall is the closest one to my bedroom.”
He talks about other pointless things, like how two of the horses had died during the tsunami, the curtains he bought for the new windows, the dance some of the children are putting together, a birthday coming up.
As James lights up the eighth smoke, Kan purposely stops talking because all that smoke must be bad for him. James reaches over the cigarette and makes Kan take some long drags.
“I like your voice,” James finally says.
Kan turns his head and looks at him.
“Reminds me of someone,” James goes on.
Kan nods. “You miss him?”
James glances at him. “I can’t remember his face anymore. They took that away too.”
Not knowing what to say, Kan’s eyes stay on him. ”You don’t have any pictures?”
James sniffs and pulls up his cigarette pack to light another. Kan puts a hand over his to stop it. “They never…” James mutters and something like the tormented try of a smile quirks around his lips. “Look right. Not like I remember him.”
----
For the first time in months, that night Kan dreams of the falling man again. The nightmare is odd, because it’s not as intense and horrifying as it usually is – barely the memory of the dream, just the imprint the dream left behind.
Notes:
dah, i hope i did avengers vs. x-men justice. I kinda collapsed several events into one, since I'm not interested in continuing to write about the Wakanda/Atlantis conflict. In canon it is much more complex and dragged out. Shuri (the queen at the time) is actually murdered because she demolished Atlantis and Wakanda has since been in ruins more often.
Disclaimer: The dialogue between Storm and T'Challa as they break up, is actually a direct quote from the comics.
And as mentioned in the fic, Namor and T'Challa don't necessarily abide the ceremonial exchange during the peace treaty. Otherwise enjoy!
Chapter 7
Summary:
Kan changes after the peace treaty.
It had always been inevitable. T’Challa knew that the man couldn’t stay his careless, optimistic self forever.
Notes:
this chapter is from T'Challa's point of view :D
Chapter Text
Kan changes after the peace treaty.
It had always been inevitable. T’Challa knew that the man couldn’t stay his careless, optimistic self forever.
----
5 years ago.
“Father,” T’Challa calls out to his dad as he collects samples of the nocturnal beach wildlife. It’s not actually his job, but he has volunteered to do it for some of the biologists at Wakanda University. It isn’t really safe wandering these caves, especially not at night. His father being his father had made a trip out of it and made it a point for T’Challa to learn something about their country on the way. “What is that?”
His father looks up and follows his son’s finger, which is pointing into the lake. He searches the water for movement or an animal presence, but not even his cat vision can distinguish what his son is pointing at. So he sets the scanners down and stands by his son’s side, looking from T’Challa’s point of view. The moonlight streams through holes in the caves’ ceiling, and makes the Twisted Vision Lake glow like misty silver. It’s beautiful and still, a deadly trap hidden as a glassy mirror. There is a reason for the Lake's name. Twisted Vision Lake is not a safe place for people, not even the Lake tribe who has lived here for millennia. Some of the biologists theorized that the confusion, dizziness, and at times hallucinations, here are caused by the strong gasses the lake emits, but so far there had been no direct scientific proof, so T’Chaka follows his son’s eyes despite his concerns.
There is nothing underneath the surface besides the lake bottom. The Lake is eerie, the few fish and amphibians able to survive here almost undetectable and during the day time the water is so clear that it’s hard to understand the depth of it. There are myths that the Panther God sometimes walks here; and that sometimes there are sights and sounds of people playing and swimming in the water. A few times there had even been reports of seeing and hearing people drown, despite each tribe reporting no missing people.
“There’s nothing, my son,” T’Chaka says, briefly feeling T’Challa’s forehead for a fever.
“Yes there is,” T’Challa insists, staring at the water, but there’s no fight in his voice. He knows that his father’s vision is superior and therefore the elder man won’t be convinced.
“Perhaps the gasses are getting to you,” T’Chaka says, but patiently scans the waters with his eyes again. When he doesn’t find anything, he pulls up some equipment. There are no heat signatures in the Lake besides the creatures that call the Lake home. “See?” he asks, handing over the results.
T’Challa examines them closely. “They can’t pick up organic matter when the vibranium is that dense,” he says, mildly defensive.
“Alright, you make sure yourself,” T’Chaka complies. “I’m going to the ship to check on Ramonda. Can you try and see if you can find any bird bones?”
-----
Maybe T’Challa is wrong for involving Kan with politics. The council is getting worried, because all of the sudden Kan no longer hides how perceptive and sharp he is. Though he mostly does it by whispering into T’Challa’s ear, Kan almost always has objections to what the council says. And then the council gets impatient with T’Challa. They think that he is only taking Kan’s objections into account because T'Challa only thinks with his crotch.
T’Challa is convinced that they just don’t like how intelligent Kan shows to be and are suspicious if Kan might be a sleeper agent. Or maybe T’Challa has been reading too many reports and biographies written by people who practically kissed the ground Kan walked on, either because he was a genius strategist, a true patriot, or they adored him back when he was just a cheerleader.
‘Was’. T’Challa catches himself thinking in past tense all the time. It doesn’t take a genius to work out why.
“What did you think?” T’Challa asks as they pass the Amber Pagoda together. The Woods of Solitude are across from them, but T’Challa always feels paranoid when they go in there. They probably should find shade though. Kan is already getting sunburned.
”It was fine,” Kan grunts, and shrugs his sandals off to go soak his feet in the river water. “But you might as well legalize autocracy while you’re at it.”
----
T’Challa really does intend to listen to his father. But as his father disappears into the other caves, something becomes even louder. There aren’t actually any sounds, but T’Challa feels noise in his head. He keeps staring down into the water. The cave is becoming smaller, and the air has become even more damp and thick. His body heats up, and sweat rolls down his temples as he feels the noises increase. He can’t disobey his father. It will anger him, and even worse, it will be dangerous. He’s the heir so he can’t get hurt. His father has just proven to him that there’s nothing in the water. T’Challa doesn’t want his father to be upset with him before he goes back to Oxford.
The noises are becoming bigger and more demanding, but not in a disturbing way. They’re almost assuring. Like T’Challa will be forgiven for this.
His palms are becoming wet and the silver shapes in the water seem to move and swirl until he becomes dizzy. He needs to call his father. This place has never affected T’Challa in this way before, so either T’Challa’s resistance is getting low or the fumes are even stronger than usual. In that case T’Challa should call for help. His father not being affected could be explained because of his Panther physiology, but…
“Father,” he yells. He can’t hear his father’s answer, but he knows his father can hear him. “Beware of the water.”
Almost in a trance he picks up the equipment box. There are different things down there; T’Challa finds a bandage in the first aid kit and wraps it around his mouth and lips, so no bugs or vibranium mists are going to be accidently inhaled. Then he puts on some goggles on his eyes.
“T’Challa, what are you doing?” his father is shouting from the distance, sounding like he is coming nearer.
T’Challa throws himself into the water.
-----
Kan doesn’t want to be touched anymore. T’Challa invites Kan to his private chambers, and the man always comes to him, but only because he doesn’t want to let the servants know that he isn't fulfilling his essential duties as a concubine anymore.
The first time it happened it had been fine. It had started around two weeks after the peace treaty. T’Challa was finally able to pull out of his grief, and the Golden City once again looked like a city. It wasn’t exactly the same – they had taken the opportunity to rebuild some things, do it smarter. It looks new. But T’Challa still wonders if his father would’ve thought all of this was worth it.
Kan had smiled at him as he entered the royal chamber, his sun brown skin scrubbed red. T’Challa should have already there noticed that something was odd. But he had been so glad to see Kan; the blond had been busy training and helping a youngling in the Barn and T’Challa had been seeing to rebuilding the city.
He hadn’t been so busy that he didn't notice how Kan had taken up a lot of exercise. The Adored Ones reported to have seen Kan hiking, running, and swimming from midnight till dawn and napping during the day. They conclude that especially the loss of sleep seemed to have drained him. At the same time, because of the reborn hate for the X-men and their kind, three mutants have been left at the stable, and Kan’s dealing with conflict in between the workers because of it.
So, they’re lying naked on their sides on the bed, Kan’s back pressed up against T’Challa. T’Challa is stroking his hair, playing with those silky locks. Normally T’Challa doesn’t really see the big deal about straight hair, but he must admit to have taken a liking to Kan’s mane. His hand goes further down, glancing Kan’s skin with his nails, watching the goose bumps rise in their wake.
But Kan doesn’t respond to any of the caresses. He usually bares himself, looks up at T’Challa in expecting anticipation, is usually eager to give and receive. Even if Kan’s body had bared itself to T’Challa, it would still have been completely unresponsive. After ten minutes of making out, and Kan reacting as well as a dead fish, T’Challa reaches over and turns on the lamplight. They speak quietly, and Kan says he just isn’t up for it, so they had turned off the light and gone to sleep.
But it repeats itself and it gets more and more obvious that Kan resents himself for not being able to pull through. He’s guilty even though he doesn’t owe that to T’Challa at all.
Today T’Challa has randomly dropped by the stable. While Kan is making tea for them, T’Challa visits the bathroom. He notices a pumice stone on the sink as he washes his hands. At first he doesn’t really notice anything but how dirty the pumice stone seems. Then he notices that the texture of the dirt, and he lifts the pumice stone up to his nose.
It’s not dirt. It’s Kan’s skin.
----
The vibranium particles settle like termites on his skin, but he has no time to register the feeling. He dives through the shifting forms of the vibranium mists, and as he swims the water pressure tighten his ears and head and he realizes how deep the lake really is. He swims and he swims and he swims, trying to get to what he saw on the bottom. Trying to. Trying.
He’s sinking into a choking void, the only scrap of life in a black hole, which only becomes deeper and deeper. The lake is a monster of darkness, swallowing him whole. The visions aren’t real, but somehow he sees them anyway and they look like death.
And then he finally hits the bottom. He sifts through the sand, not knowing what he’s looking for, but when he grabs something ice cold and cylinder-shaped he knows that’s what he needs. He throws it over his shoulder and sets off from the lake bottom. Something big is torn loose from the bottom floor and for long seconds T’Challa is sure it will come alive and eat him whole, but it’s lifeless.
He swims.
But the surface is too far up. He’s losing power in his body, and the darkness just continues, the mists confusing him, making it feel like he’s sinking in sand. What he’s dragging with him is too heavy.
----
“Did he hurt you?” T’Challa asks.
They’re at the tailor, Kan trying on different fabrics and armor for an uniform specially made for him. T’Challa has so far thoroughly scanned every area of Kan’s body with his eyes, but the skin’s surface stretches smooth and flawlessly. Kan is trying to make the helmet on the upper part of his face fit, but he stops and stares at T’Challa. And he doesn’t need to ask what T’Challa means.
“No,” Kan finally says. “I took a jump, fell down and hurt myself. Show me how to put this on.”
T’Challa gets up and pries the helmet loose from Kan’s face. It’s supposed to be the one Kan wears when he fights out of the country, and it has an inbuilt com he can use to talk with the Avengers.
T’Challa looks up to meet his lover’s gaze, and curls his hands around the back of Kan’s neck. “What can I do, Kan?”
Kan sinks and looks away. He looks so goddamned ashamed.
“I’m so sorry,” T’Challa says.
“It’s not your fault,“ Kan sighs. “I just need to become clean again.”
T’Challa stares at him for long seconds and then focuses on breathing as calmly as he can. He tries to figure out who’d most likely made Kan think like that. Normally people in Wakanda don’t shame others for their sex life. It’s just an abnormal thing to do.
So you’re like the only Wakandan slut around here?
----
When he breaks through the surface, he doesn’t quite believe it. One moment he is swimming through infinity, the next he actually breaks through. His shoulders are numb and the fingers that are holding onto his object are cramping. Only when T’Challa has swum to the beach and struggled for breath for long minutes does he notice that he’s not even on the same beach as before. His father isn’t there; neither is their equipment. The sky is open and the moon is full, almost as bright as day.
He looks to the beach at the figure he left in the sand, now studying it curiously.
It’s a man made out of vibranium, or well, it’s a corpse covered in so many layers of vibranium particles that it looks like he’s made out of vibranium. T’Challa crawls forwards, and wipes the man’s cheeks only to discover pale, icy skin underneath. What is a kan person doing in the bottom of this lake? T’Challa pulls back and surveys the corpse. The cloth of the suit is unsalvageable, the particles too engrained into the fabric for T’Challa to recognize what sort of uniform it is. He wipes at the ice-cold face until blue lips appear, brown lashes so coated into the metal that it looks like snowflakes are stuck there. The hair is a dark blond.
“T’Challa!”
T’Challa turns and sees his father.
----
They eventually meet Storm again. T’Challa falls behind, stands and pretends to listen to some small talk between Hank McCoy and Hank Pym. He hopes that perhaps Ororo will be able to reach out to him, as they had kept each other's confidences during the 6 months Ororo and him had been married. Storm never slept with Kan, since the Wakandan queen couldn’t risk getting pregnant with any other child but the king’s. T’Challa had argued that there are more ways to have sex than Kan penetrating her, but he gets that it’s the principle that matters, even though royal blood really shouldn't be that important when T'Challa's father was going to make Hunter the king.
Kan is facing Storm, his posture slumped and radiating hesitancy. Storm gives him a crooked smile, and reaches out and Kan slips over to her and they close their arms around each other without any words. It’s funny how the Avengers often unintentionally picture T’Challa as some sexist patriarch who’s collecting wives and concubines. A more realistic depiction of having both a wife and concubine would be of them giggling at him when they think he can’t hear them, exchanging sex stories about their nights with him (and in Kan’s case others), while being able to easily kill him should they ever want it.
----
At first T’Challa didn’t actually know whom he had found that night in the Twisted Vision Lake. His father had taken the frozen man off his hands, and when T’Challa had returned from the USA after his father had died and became king, the corpse had been a very much alive man living in their Barn. Only then does he find the uniform and shield in the darkest part of his father's treasury, both scrubbed clean of vibranium to reveal red, white and blue.
For a long time he considers what he needs to do with this knowledge and afterwards he discusses it with Shuri, even the Council. They are all positive that Kan being transported to Wakanda’s darkest and most poisonous lake, and surviving being submerged in its waters, is a sign from their goddess. That was how his father understood the situation, it appears. T’Challa wants to respect his deceased father’s wishes, but he can’t continue to delude an innocent man who died for his country. He tries to ask Kan where he wants to go, but Kan is abnormally uninterested in finding his roots. Actually, Kan is all-around a very happy and content man, when he realizes that T’Challa aren't going to send him away. And T’Challa finds that he really likes it when Kan is happy.
-----
Rumor has spread and more and more mutated children arrive to the stable, looking for protection and work. Kan neglects to make this clear to T’Challa and not wanting to fire the oldest stable children and let them look for community service another place, Kan goes to T’Challa's office. He has that look on his face, where his eyes are wide and hopeless, not begging or desperate, just helpless. He says he needs more space. Kan has never gotten a salary in the Barn, his living expenses covered by the royal family, and except for the presents some of the guards and T’Challa bring him, Kan doesn’t have any personal possessions.
So this is the perfect opportunity to give a proper gift. The next day the stables are very promptly rebuilt much larger and a few weeks later, T’Challa buys more horses for the children to take care of even though he doesn't need them. The amount of work finally balances with the amount of workers and the kids are starting to get used to each other.
T’Challa briefly scolds Kan when a two year old Bren comes over to the blond and in perfect English says, “Kan, I need to pee-pee.”
On T’Challa’s fourth year anniversary of ruling the country, Kan gets the children lined up and they sing an English version of the it’s-been-another-year song, Kan grinning like a lunatic meanwhile.
----
Kan runs off to the Domain of the White Gorillas. For days T’Challa contemplates following him, but at last decides that Kan isn’t an imposter and therefore shouldn’t be treated as a prisoner. The man can go where he pleases. T’Challa needs to stop thinking about him so much, and focus his attention on his responsibilities.
He’s distracted when he meets up with Storm again and it seems like a dream having come true; they’re reunited and finally get what they always wanted, wished for. But it doesn’t feel right without Kan by his side. He doesn’t know when, but at some point the man started meaning more to him than just a mystery.
Thing is, T’Challa couldn’t bring himself to abandon Kan, not in the amnesiac state he was in. So he figured that when Kan would start remembering, it wouldn’t be his problem anymore.
When T’Challa figures out that it’s the water that is causing Kan’s inability to heal his brain damage, the solution is almost too easy and definitely too difficult. His father would laugh if he saw the way T’Challa gave in; bending over because the withdrawal symptoms had been too difficult to watch. He starts a research team to make something that will make the detoxification progress easier, but then the tsunami comes and ruins the research. And then Kan wants to fight for the world and the world does indeed go down almost thirty-seven times. And Kan is still in a bad place after the peace treaty, still scrubbing his skin into rawness. So T’Challa keeps postponing it, hoping that Barnes or just about anyone will recognize Kan already, and then T’Challa can play oblivious, just watch the puzzle fall into place by itself. It doesn’t happen.
The Avengers ask time and time again where he got Kan; Kan is such a brilliant fighter, so good at leading missions he’s practically taking over as team leader. T’Challa just says that it’s someone his father picked up, and that Kan doesn’t like talking about it. He scowls as he says it, daring them to ask Kan.
T’Challa knows that time is running out.
Chapter 8
Summary:
“You’re still a slave to pleasure with pain, aren’t you,” T’Challa mutters into Kan’s neck.
Notes:
WARNING! Please note the belated change in tags: There is a rape reference in this chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
5 months after the treaty, they’re in the States and T’Challa says they’re going for a drive. Kan does find this a little weird – T’Challa usually prefers to walk – but he guesses that wandering Manhattan isn’t quite enough today. They get in the car. T’Challa’s driving. He’s silent. Kan knows he’s scheming, but there hasn't been any Avenger business up since they arrived. He has been waiting for T’Challa to stick a file into his hand, as always, but so far he hasn't said a word. If Kan doesn’t know better, he’d say they are there for a social visit but that isn’t like T’Challa.
They get to Brooklyn. Kan is getting nervous. Natasha once said that he sounds Brooklyn. What are they doing there? Has T’Challa finally decided to drop him? Kan holds his breath, trying not to break the car door handle he is gripping tightly.
They pull in front of an old, discreet apartment building. T’Challa turns off the car, but doesn’t show any sign of getting out. Kan sits still.
“Hurry up,” T’Challa says. “She's expecting you at noon.”
-----
"She" is a psychologist. Ada Cheung is ancient, about 80 years old or so, clearly too old to work, but for some reason T’Challa has still picked her to do business with. She asks if Kan knew where he was going and if T’Challa usually makes these decisions for him. She asks about the conflict between Wakanda and Atlantis and how Kan feels about his body. That particular discussion brings up Kan’s stress levels, but he forces himself to think about what she asks and answers as honestly at he can.
At last she stops talking all together. “Are you forcing yourself because your king would want you to?” she asks.
He nods.
“Your king has accepted my procedure and program fully,” she makes it clear. “And I don’t want to pull a teeth out for every answer.”
Kan sinks and nods.
----
Therapy continues for weeks while Kan gives T’Challa the silent treatment. He’s not exactly sure why he’s angry; it just seems fueled by dozens of small reasons. Reasons such as T’Challa not asking what Kan actually wanted, just signing him up for therapy; moving Kan like another chess piece on the board. There was the constant angst, fearing that T’Challa might disown him any second because Kan no longer sleeps with him; the shame of having slept with Namor even though he hadn’t been required to. Since when did sex become a skill to Kan? A product for other people to buy? This was never what he intended pleasure to mean.
Kan just doesn’t want T’Challa to look at him right now or talk to him or touch him, so he takes to hiding in public areas where he knows T’Challa won’t want to bring up personal business.
James helps. They take odd refuge in each other’s company, their friendship feeling as old and natural as their own bones. Since James became Captain America he has even made it a point of being approachable to the other team members in the public areas, so they spend a lot of time killing brain cells watching Jersey Shore and smoking on the balconies. Sam has a job besides the Avengers, but sometimes he comes to join them. Meanwhile the king has been catching up on work with his embassy that had fallen behind, but Kan knows that T’Challa has decided that they’re not leaving until Kan has made peace with his therapy.
“I’m trying to help,” T’Challa says one evening when Kan is out taking a smoke with James. He speaks in Wakandan and makes it clear to James that this conversation is private.
Kan glares at him, but T’Challa doesn’t move. November has started and the air is frigid.
Kan knows how much his king hates the cold.
“Sure,” Kan says.
“Just tell me what you would have wanted me to do.”
“Nothing,” Kan exclaims, digging an elbow into James’ ribs, but the guy rudely stays seated, watching them in interest. “I’m satisfied.”
“Obviously not,” T’Challa bursts out.
Kan gets up. “What’s up with your temper? Don’t you have other business to attend?”
“Excuse me?” T’Challa fumes.
“Why are you so angry with me, I’ve done nothing!” Kan shouts.
“You’re hurting!” T’Challa says. “I can see that you’re hurting, I can see that you’re not happy anymore and I wanted to help. Okay?”
“It’s not your business!” Kan roars. “It’s not your business or that dame’s, it’s – “ His voice cracks and he heaves for a second, before he retches. His eyes prickle.
Of course the cops are going to find out, Stevie, or worse, the mob! So what, you’re a –
He blinks as the image of the falling man appears. He’s not falling and Kan almost can’t recognize him when he isn’t facing death. He looks thinner, younger. His features are so unclear and unfamiliar.
- faggot.
“I’m a faggot,” he chokes in English.
James flinches like he has been hit and T’Challa blankly stares at him.
“Go to your room,” he says after a moment, very calmly.
----
They spend fifteen minutes in silence, Kan lying on the bed looking at the ceiling, still dizzy from the images and T’Challa sitting on the bedside.
“You can’t protect me forever,” Kan says. “You should stop wasting time.”
“Malice raped me.”
Kan freezes. Slowly he sits up, staring at his king. “Who’s Malice?”
“An ex-Adored One, originally named Nakia,” he says. “She has always been obsessed with me, and I had to take her down when she put other people’s lives in danger. She kidnapped me, drugged me. Did whatever she pleased.”
Kan breathes in shakily.
“My relationship with Monica fell apart. Besides Shuri, I didn’t have anyone I could talk to,” T’Challa continues. “I don’t want you to go through the same.”
Kan stares at him for long seconds. Feelings of Hell’s wrath reign in him for long seconds, and he hears himself breathing loudly, trying not to move. He doesn’t know who this Nakia or Malice is, but he knows he’d be able to kill her without remorse. He has grown into the customs of Wakanda, and doing that and to the king; it’s unforgivable. He inhales deeply, and controls the raging feelings inside of him, and puts them aside, because that’s not what is needed right now.
He walks on his knees to T’Challa’s back and closes his arms around him.
As T’Challa exhales, Kan realizes how long the king has held his breath.
“I’m sorry,” Kan mummers.
“I’m sorry too,” T’Challa says. “I should’ve asked you about therapy first.”
Kan doesn’t let go.
“Who called you a faggot?” T’Challa asks.
Kan shrugs. “Someone I know. Knew.”
“From where?” T’Challa frowns. “A traveller?”
Kan looks down. “No. From before I woke up.”
His king freezes.
“I remember my mother too,” Kan says. “And the woman I thought I was going to spend my life with. You know, family and love. The man who called me a fag was a bit of both.”
T’Challa turns to look at Kan and suddenly it is immensely clear that T’Challa looks afraid.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kan hurries to say.
“Do you remember their names?” T’Challa asks.
“No. Only bits and pieces. Emotions.”
“… your name?”
Kan looks at him and tries to understand where the fear comes from. For a second he foolishly thinks that T’Challa wouldn’t like seeing him go, but then he remembers how well T’Challa is at hiding his feelings, how T’Challa doesn’t even need the Black Panther mask for people to not know his face. It’s ... scary and revealing, because there are not a lot of things that scare T’Challa. T’Challa is a loving king. He worships his God, but furthermore his people. T’Challa is ahead of everyone, even the people he trusts and there’s not a single thing that isn’t in his control, when it comes to his position.
So. The fear factor can be because of three things. 1) It’s an act and a setup. 2) Kan remembering is dangerous. 3) Kan’s memories interfere with T’Challa’s plans.
“My name is Kan,” Kan smiles and shoves lightly at him. “They kept referring to me as Kan and I thought it was my name.”
T’Challa’s mouth slowly smiles.
For a second Kan’s head roams with questions, with the need for answers. He puts that aside as well, and instead presses a kiss into that sensitive spot on his king’s neck he knows drives T’Challa wild. T’Challa lifts his hand, and cups the back of Kan’s head, pressing Kan further into him. Kan’s hands flatten on his king’s chest and he leans in, kissing down T’Challa’s sensitive flesh and bites the spot behind T’Challa collarbones. T’Challa’s head falls back and Kan’s body automatically presses in to support his king’s weight.
“Can you…” Kan whispers. “Can you… take me? Like you used to?”
T’Challa turns his head and meets Kan’s eyes. “No, not right now, Kan.”
Perhaps asking to be held down and take the pain is a little too much underneath Avenger Tower’s surveillance, though Kan still wants it, wants to lose his mind so bad. He needs to forget himself right now, let go of the constant doubt and insecurity he always carries around, just for a couple of hours.
Instead T’Challa lays him down and holds him until he falls asleep.
----
The day after, T’Challa takes him to the Wakandan hotel by the embassy and asks him to do thorough reports and evaluations on each of the Avengers Kan has encountered. Kan tries to excuse himself from it, stating that he hasn’t worked with most of them more than a few times, but that just makes T’Challa give him a computer so he can read about and watch the latest, most prominent battles. Which only makes T'Challa realize that Kan still doesn’t know how to use one, and it takes about fifteen minutes before Kan knows how to use the browser and the reading program.
Kan watches them closely and it’s oddly calming, how he can go from an empathetic person to a harsh critic in seconds. He slips into a calculating persona that watches every fighter’s move, picking up their weaknesses and strengths as have they been trained.
He writes until three a.m., and as he closes the computer, T’Challa pads back into the room and hands Kan a plate of food, and a glass of the lake water. He drinks and eats and goes to brush his teeth. When he comes out, T’Challa has crawled into his bed. Kan stands by the door. Before he can ask why he needed to do those reports, T’Challa speaks first: “Do you know that the stable boys and girls were all former outlaws and criminals, before you got here?”
Kan shrugs. “Sure. Though not many of their offenses sound serious.”
“You trained them all to sing an English song to the king. And they did it perfectly.”
Kan frowns. “My king?”
“And now about a 73 mutates have arrived to the stable, and you’ve gotten them under control too.”
“I wouldn’t say that. They're still plenty of trouble.”
“You’re purposefully missing my point.”
“The Avengers aren’t troubled kids, your Majesty.”
“You said yourself that they needed guidance, and you’ve taken control over so many missions by now that you’ve proven that you can be the glue they need to pull together. I want to promote you. So far you’ve been an extension of my membership, but I think it’s time you had your own.”
All thoughts become still. “But I belong to you,” Kan says, kind of panicked.
“You can still belong to me and be an Avenger.”
Kan crosses his arms. “They’re not gonna accept it. I’ve had no formal training, no – “
“Of what you remember. We’ve all seen you fight. You took down Red Skull.”
“The Winter – I mean, Captain America wore him down first. Besides, they’re gonna need to check my background and I’m not sure I’m alright with that or if I’m even able to commit.”
“I thought you wanted to help people.”
Not fair. Kan sighs. “I do.”
“Kenry is your favorite, yes? All the travelling has lead up to this. He’s experienced enough to take some of your duties up permanently.”
Even with T’Challa’s reasoning, Kan can’t help but feel like T’Challa is steadily trying to get Kan acclimated here in the USA with these people. “You think I belong here.”
T’Challa closes his eyes and sighs. But he doesn’t answer.
“If this is what you want for me.” Kan says after having held his breath for a minute, trying to tamp down the anxiety. “I want to.”
His king sighs and rubs his eyes. “You’re not just a horse keeper, Kan. You never were. There are greater things in life for you.” T’Challa reaches out and puts a hand around Kan’s neck. “Haven’t you noticed? You haven’t aged a day in the years I’ve known you.”
Kan rubs the bed sheets. “It’s the healthy diet and regular exercise, does wonders – ow.”
T’Challa makes up for the pinch. He glides onto Kan’s body and kisses him slowly and unassumingly, until Kan picks up T’Challa’s hand and lets it rest on his crotch. T’Challa undresses him, touching Kan as if he’s made of thin glass. He kisses Kan’s body like a Wakandan would, and their space is silent, so full of intimacy, that it almost doesn’t feel wrong when T’Challa wraps his lips around Kan’s cock and thoroughly sucks him off, gripping Kan’s hips. Kan stares at the ceiling, feeling overwhelmed by the sensation of T’Challa's tongue and teeth and lips until he comes with sweat dripping down his thighs.
----
When the time comes for T’Challa to leave Kan in the States and return to Wakanda alone, Kan spends days walking around moping. Pepper offers him to “sleep over” with her and Tony on their floor, but he’d rather sit on the couch and sulk. Which is fine, because usually James is there and Kan can sigh at him and wriggle his toes underneath James’ backside.
James, who’s usually reading, fights back as much as he is able to without actually paying attention, but mostly it ends up with Kan sitting on top of him, waiting for when James will try to throw him off. Their moments are cute and funny and sometimes Kan might catch James staring intensely at him, but otherwise it’s fine.
“What is it that you’re always drinking?” James asks one day.
T’Challa regularly transports him tanks of the lake water, and to avoid questions, Kan pours it into colored flasks.
“Water?” Kan frowns.
“Hm,” the man grunts.
----
Kan finds that he really likes drawing. He does the usual portraits, but one day he finds Jan’s lip pencil in between the couch cushions and ends up drawing blood-red strawberries and diamonds all over James’ metal arm. Jan had said it was beautiful, and made him decorate her back before a party (which led to a very awkward silence with her boyfriend), and soon Tony transfers paper and pencils to his room.
The missions go okay. He can tell that they’re not used to being scrutinized, and that kind of pisses them off most of the time, but Kan succeeds in pulling the team more together. He also works to keep himself on their good side; while Hawkeye openly talks shit at him on their com, they spar together every evening. While he yells at Tony for not listening, he still checks in with him and makes sure to know what projects Tony is working on and what level of exhaustion the man is in. He becomes better friends with the Fantastic Four and once in a while cooperates with the X-men, but mostly just Scarlet Witch and Wolverine.
So far, none of the Avengers have seriously come on to him, and he kind of likes that.
Except, that one time where James was particularly sad, and had been staring at a DVD menu for hours. Kan had gotten on the floor to look for the remote, had ended up finding it underneath the sofa. James had looked down at him with wide eyes, said, “Oh. You look totally different from this angle,” and leaned in to kiss him.
Kan had let it happen, because James had smelled really nice and the way he kissed paralyzed Kan’s mind for a bit, made him confused because it felt so familiar. But then Tony had walked in on them and they had separated. The day after James had apologized. Kan still wonders who he had reminded James of.
----
It’s starts snowing and Kan misses T’Challa. He walks around in wool socks and sweaters. He doesn’t like the cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s because it’s proof that he’s no longer in Wakanda or if it’s because he just doesn’t like the sensation.
T’Challa does call him from time to time.
“Why is the quality so odd?” the king asks through the room phone.
“It’s not odd,” Kan says underneath his duvet. “How are you, my king. Over there. Where it's warm.”
T’Challa eventually gets him out of the duvets, and Kan pouts and whines for most of the conversation.
The day after his king drops by while Kan is eating cereal on the couch. “Do you need to walk around with that duvet all the time?” he asks, his eyes amused.
“Yes, or else I’ll get cold and die,” Kan answers.
“You’re so overdramatic,” T’Challa rolls his eyes.
“At least I’m not afraid of germs.”
“I’m not afraid of germs.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
Kan throws himself over James, grabs T’Challa’s face and licks him across the cheek. T’Challa honest to god shrieks and Kan scrambles away, T’Challa throwing himself over James to give chase.
“If you’re not afraid of germs, you shouldn’t want to punish me for that!” Kan calls out.
“No one wants spit in their face!”
“Please, your cum used to be part of my regular diet!”
“Knock it off you two!” James calls out as Kan and T’Challa circle the table. “Seriously, you’ll ruin Tony’s stuff!”
“I’m gonna throw you into a snow bank!” T’Challa threatens.
“If you could only catch me!” Kan shouts back.
----
That night Kan invites T’Challa to his bed. T’Challa excuses himself with work, but Kan knows the man might be afraid of what Kan would want to do, to let his king know that he has been fixed. Still, about two hours into sleep, T’Challa opens Kan’s bedroom door. He takes off his shirt, shoes and socks in the dark and slides underneath the covers, smoothly placing himself on top of Kan, chest to chest, with his arms around Kan’s neck. Kan comfortably rests his hands on T’Challa’s back and thinks that this is okay. This is T’Challa. Kan has missed him.
“The ex-assassin,” T’Challa whispers in the dark, his eyes glowing. “Do you like him?”
Kan blinks sleepily, scratching a patch of skin in the small of T’Challa’s back. “James?”
“Yes. Him.”
Kan sighs. “Yes. I like him.”
“And the others?”
“They’re good people. Nice.”
“But not like James.”
Kan awakens a bit more. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s just a question.”
“I like him,” Kan carefully says. “I like Sam also.”
“Of course,” T’Challa grunts. “How are your dreams?”
“What dreams?”
“Kan.”
“The same,” Kan yawns and “I’m sleeping fine. Or I was. Until you came along.”
T’Challa grinds his hips into Kan’s thigh and Kan tenses before relaxing. He closes his arms around T’Challa’s back and lets his hand slide down to his ass. This is okay.
“Don’t you dare fuck me gently,” Kan says. “I need to feel you. If you can’t do that, I want to top.”
T’Challa immediately perks up as he recognizes the tone. They have played this game before; where Kan will try to bait T’Challa, challenge his authority and his right to top and dominate, until T’Challa would sweep Kan off his feet and make Kan admit submission. It’s rare that they play that game though, because sometimes Kan would feel bad about submitting, really question if him bottoming makes him any less of a man. He knows it’s not like that, and he doesn’t understand what idea he’s got of what a man even is. Despite that, sometimes it still feels like he’s risking his masculinity, and because of that it’s usually Kan who needs to speak the words before they can start.
And he says the words now. He hopes that T’Challa is up for it.
When T’Challa digs his claws into Kan’s arms and sits up to look at Kan, Kan gets hopeful. “Do you really want to do this?” he asks Kan.
“Yes,” Kan answers. “And I…” Should he bring it up again? He has suggested this before and they had spoken for hours about it, but when T’Challa had finally gotten an idea of what Kan wanted, he had been unsure and said he’d rather stick to the mild roughhousing for now and Kan had been fine with that.
But some hours before Kan had called T’Challa to his bedroom, T’Challa had made Kan look for his utility belt in his bag and Kan had caught a glimpse of ropes. They had been soft and a little rough. It had no doubt been T’Challa intention for Kan to see.
“I want you to do what we talked about,” Kan finally says, blushing lightly.
T’Challa looks patiently at him. “And what did we talk about?”
“I want you to… use stuff,” Kan says and when T’Challa opens his mouth, Kan quickly clarifies, “like ropes and a paddle. And, you know. Pull my hair. Choke me. I want you to degrade me.”
T’Challa closes his mouth again.
“If you want to,” Kan says, taking T’Challa’s hand. T’Challa look down at their joined hands.
Finally T’Challa looks up at him and pulls his hand away like he has been burned. “What, you think I’ve gotten soft?”
The words are like magic. It’s the sentence T’Challa usually answers with when he’s willing to play.
“I’m not Storm,” Kan provokes. “How long has it been since you laid with her, my king?”
T’Challa slaps him across the cheek, which only makes Kan growl and roll them over again. However, T’Challa doesn’t want that, so they keep trying to take control until they fall down on the floor, Kan thankfully landing on top.
“You’ve left the country while waiting?” Kan asks as he holds T’Challa down and licks his own palm. “Found a nice person you could have fun with in peace? Or have you only touched yourself?” He slips the wet hand underneath T’Challa briefs and grabs his dick. “How often? Did you finger yourself while you did it?”
“I thought you said – “ T’Challa says, shivering as his legs bend.
“Answer me,” Kan says, giving T’Challa’s cock a hard stroke and it starts to harden. “You remembered lube or did you do yourself dry, like you did to me on your office desk? Hm. Come on. Come on, my king, have you been a naughty little pussy cat?”
T’Challa growls and pushes Kan off him. Before Kan can as much as sit up, his knees are being pushed up to his shoulders, his thighs spreading around T’Challa’s waist while his crotch urgently grinds against Kan’s ass. As T’Challa lets one of his knees go to yank off Kan’s pants, Kan surges up and pushes T’Challa onto his back, pulls off his briefs and gets his hands on the cock he has missed so dearly.
T’Challa pulls the duvets off the bed and on them which blinds Kan long enough for the man to overpower him and dig his claws into Kan’s ass cheeks. Kan howls at the feeling, and desperately starts humping T’Challa’s waist.
“You’re still a slave to pleasure with pain, aren’t you,” T’Challa mutters into Kan’s neck, and instead of licking it, he digs his teeth in and Kan yells and comes. T’Challa gets up. Before Kan can get up as well, T’Challa presses his foot down on Kan’s crotch and Kan’s ass hit the carpeted floor with a soft thunk. T’Challa unhurriedly rubs his foot up against Kan’s length and Kan closes his teeth, partly humiliated and partly turned on by how T’Challa won’t even give Kan’s cock his hand.
“You’re always so hungry for it,” T’Challa whispers, his foots slipping over to Kan’s solar plexus, his heel pressing down before letting the foot settle on Kan’s throat and T’Challa pushes down with power, making it harder for Kan to breath. “You need it all the time, don’t you? Paddle hands and a fat cock to put you in your place – I wonder how you’d feel with so much jizz inside of you it just spills out. I bet you’d love it.”
“Clearly you would too, since you apparently love to not do anything yourself,” Kan snarls.
“That pretty mouth of yours,” T’Challa says, but he sounds more thoughtful than annoyed.
“That pretty mouth of mine is going to be sucking James’ cock if you don’t hurry up.”
“Better make sure you stay here,” T’Challa peacefully answers, though Kan can see that his dick is fully hardened now. He lifts Kan up by the hair, and Kan’s hands fly up to hold the locks by the roots so the pain won’t be too bad. He hisses, glaring at T’Challa, who’s attention is taken by his bag. Nonchalantly he pulls Kan with him, Kan stumbling to follow on his knees, as he crosses the bedroom and off-handedly looks into it.
He pulls out what is unmistakably a gag and perhaps something for Kan’s asshole, and lots of rope. Kan starts feeling nervous about what he has craved of T’Challa.
“You know about the traffic lights, yes?” T’Challa says, finally letting go of Kan’s hair, only to quickly gather the rope in his hands and kneel down to start binding it around the beginning on Kan’s thighs and gather the rope around his waist and around his arms. “Red is for full-on stop. Yellow is for pausing. Green is for go.”
“You want me to use traffic lights?” Kan says.
“It’s time we start using them for real. Now focus. Snap your fingers if you’re wearing the gag and you want and need to disrupt the scene.”
“We’ve never used traffic lights before.”
T’Challa tightens the rope around Kan’s forearms so they are bound tight on his back and makes his chest naturally bend forwards. T’Challa tugs at the rope a couple of times to test the stability and tightness, before continuing up towards Kan’s neck, where he swirls the rope in a complicated manner that makes the rope press hard against the sides of Kan’s neck and stretch gently above his throat. Kan’s heartbeat is picking up. “We’ve never done it this way before either, have we?”
Kan nods and tests the rope. Surprised by their firmness, he clenches again and then outright struggles. They’re still sternly tight and that makes Kan oddly scared and very aroused at the same time. “I can’t get out,” he feels compelled to tell T’Challa anyway.
“That’s the idea,” T’Challa replies. “You don’t like it?”
“I like it too much,” Kan says, feeling out of breath. T’Challa gently gets him onto his back. He pulls out another set off rope and works on locking Kan’s ankles against his ass.
“You’ve planned this,” Kan says, and T’Challa smacks his ass. Kan flinches but finds that the ropes are too tight for him to really move his legs. T’Challa smiles down at him as Kan looks up at him in realization.
“There you go,” T’Challa says. “All ready and open for me.”
“Good luck getting me off the floor,” Kan says and T’Challa smiles at him, before also finding a bottle of lube in his bag and what looks like a tiny fly swatter. “What’s that?”
“A riding crop,” T’Challa says. “Sometimes the western world uses them when they ride their horses. I'm not sure I want to use a paddle. These are less serious, though the pain is sharper. But we’re not using it tonight.”
He opens the cap of the bottle of lube and after looking at it with some consideration; he sticks the head of it into Kan’s ass and squeezes out the content. Kan startles with the feeling of coldness inside of him. T’Challa clinically removes it and Kan blinks in sheer confusion. T’Challa rolls Kan onto his stomach. It’s difficult to keep balanced with his bounded legs and T’Challa ruins Kan’s trying by pressing his hips into the floor, his bounded legs naturally fanning out.
T’Challa puts his hands on Kan’s ass and the scratches that have been healing are scrapped open again. Kan gasps as the claws near his crack, the gentle scratching feeling too intimate and painful in that sensitive an area. T’Challa pulls back and there’s the sound of him slipping out of his jeans, before the man walks back towards Kan on his knees and lifts Kan’s thighs so they’re spread around T’Challa’s waist.
His cock is sliding in between Kan’s ass cheeks, hot and wet with precome and Kan almost drools with the thought of it inside him: whether it’s in his mouth or his hole doesn’t matter. His hole is still burning from the sudden intrusion of the lube bottle and it doesn’t help that the hotness of a cock is sliding against it in tiny little movements. Kan is so concerned by the thought of not being fucked soon, that the hand that slaps down on his ass takes him by surprise. He yowls, his body naturally trying to escape the pain but he finds that he's unable to move.
T’Challa smacks down again with his other hand and this time he scratches again.
“Please,” Kan hisses, not really knowing what he is asking for.
T’Challa smacks him again with both hands, digging his claws in as he fucks his cock in between them Kan’s buttocks. “I think,” he says, sounding a little out of breath himself now, “you’d love being fucked hard while choking on a cock on the other end. Wouldn’t you?”
The slaps get much harder and Kan’s toes are curling, scratching against the carpet. And then T’Challa pushes in. The force is relentless, too big, but Kan can’t escape, can’t do anything but tense and get impaled. He yells as the length has forced itself fully inside, his rim struggling not to tear.
T’Challa’s phone suddenly rings and Kan’s head snaps up, his body automatically trying to remove itself from T’Challa’s, but the king’s hand snatches the rope around Kan’s neck and pulls. Kan gasps and then can’t gasp, all as T’Challa’s cock gently starts thrusting in a way that’s groundbreaking.
He pulls at the rope with force now so Kan is forced up on his knees, held solely with T’Challa’s strength. His airways are completely closed and he blinks as black spots are starting to pop into his vision, only the feeling of T’Challa’s cock making him aware of the throbbing heat coursing through him. T’Challa lets go of the rope and Kan gasps with relief, and doesn’t even notice that he is being turned and lifted until gravity makes him fall onto T’Challa cock. T’Challa is gripping Kan’s thighs, circling his hips. He walks forward until Kan’s back hits a wall and then fucks up into him, knocking Kan into the wall, and quickly builds up the force until Kan is pushed against it with every thrust. Kan gets to come two times, before T’Challa leans in and bites him in the neck again and comes.
Kan whimpers, his legs shaking around T’Challa’s waist, as the man’s grip on him gets looser. There’s a hot feeling of the man coming in his ass and Kan’s hole clenching around him, before T’Challa pulls out. He lifts them up, turns around in a circle and walks over to the bed, carelessly drops Kan on it and goes to the bathroom.
When he comes back, he looks gathered and refreshed. He puts on his clothes, not even looking at Kan. Instead he’s looking at his phone. “You’re still hard,” he notices. “But I have errands. Want me to call up James to finish the job?”
Kan doesn’t answer.
“Thought so,” T’Challa says. “I like you like this; bound and spread out for me I’ll be back in an hour. Color?”
“Green,” Kan sluggishly answers.
“Talk to the phone if the color changes.” T’Challa puts the phone beside Kan and closes the door softly.
Notes:
What Malice did to T'Challa is very much canon. If you want to read more about it in Black Panther vol. 3 #32
Chapter Text
Kan flinches awake when the door opens and closes. He wriggles his toes and automatically tries to move out of the position he’s in and slightly panics when he finds that he is bound, but the soft shushing of T’Challa sooths him. Carefully the king unbinds him, stroking Kan’s bare skin.
“Are you alright?” T’Challa asks, rubbing the goose bumps on Kan's arms and cleaning the traces of spunk off his stomach and around his hole.
Kan gives him a soft look.
“Look,” T’Challa says and gets Kan up on his ass. He lets Kan lean into him, back against chest, and commands: “Lights.”
The lights automatically turn on and Kan remembers the body-height mirror placed behind the bed, which he is now directly faced against. He stares.
His throat and chest are littered with bite marks and hickeys, and bruises swirl around his chest and thighs in the shape of the ropes. There are traces of claw marks on his wrists and arms, blue-red rings around his wrists and red fresh clawing tracks around his thighs, abdomen, sides and hipbones. He doesn’t even want to imagine his ass or back. It looks like something wild has loved him hard all night.
He sighs and leans further back into T’Challa, lifts his chin to look at his neck. One of the bite marks is too high up to be covered by a turtleneck. T’Challa clamps a hand around his knee.
Faintly, so faintly he can’t even hear it himself, he whispers: “Just go make up with Storm.”
T’Challa looks startled. “Where is this coming from?”
Kan shrugs himself loose and goes to bathroom.
It’s not long before his king knocks. “What’s this about, Kan. Please talk to me.”
In response, Kan lets the water run for a second. “I’m just tired.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
Where would Kan go, if not back into T’Challa’s arms? He bends down and washes the sweat off his face. “What is it that you want with me?”
T’Challa listens with steady breaths while Kan talks, and Kan regrets his confession and is about to brush it off, when T’Challa knocks again. “Can we have this talk face to face?”
Kan turns and unlocks the door. When T’Challa stays by the door, his eyes flickering, Kan settles down on the toilet seat.
“How about what you want?” his king finally asks.
Not to feel so goddamn ashamed all the time. To feel like he has a purpose; a meaning.
“Things aren’t the same as they were,” Kan finally says. “I’m not the same as I used to be. I used to be content about what I am, who I am, but I’m not. I’m just confused.”
“Is this about our relationship?” T’Challa asks.
“Maybe. It’s about my worth being measured in the sex I can provide,” Kan says.
“You know it’s not like that. Though I love this, your worth won’t change if you don’t want us to have a sexual relationship anymore. Today I just wanted to give you what you wanted. I thought the past months had proved it’s not necessary for us.”
“But sometimes I still feel like sex is something I have to do, to have worth. Do you know, no one in Wakanda talked to me for the two first years? That people only seriously started to include me when I began to sleep with them?”
“I’m … I’m sorry.”
“You said it yourself, I don’t age,” Kan says. “This can’t continue to be my life. I’m so tired of this. Not being anywhere. Not being anyone.”
T’Challa straightens. “You want to know who you are?”
“Would it change anything?” Kan asks.
-----
T’Challa looks at his hands for long minutes. It’s past dawn already, and Kan went for a jog about an hour ago. Finally he stands up, supposing that it can’t be postponed any longer.
He goes to his bag, and pulls up the diagrams. They were finished maybe a month or so back, complicated equations filling page after page. It’s a formula on a supplement for the vibranium that is coursing through the man’s supersoldier blood, something that will fight off the worst effects of the withdrawal, so the man won’t thin and crumble in on himself again.
After that Kan … Steve’s body should be able to heal the neural connections that are blocking Steve’s old memories. Steve will remember and he’ll probably…
The man has proved his intelligence enough many times for T’Challa not to believe that Steve will figure it out that T’Challa has been lying. The formulas mention that the supplement has been made out from the few notes Erskine left behind.
T’Challa probably deserves it.
He bows his head, and sends a long prayer to the Panther God, before he calls up Ororo.
She picks up the phone after the third ring. “Hello?” she calls in that serious voice that always made him giddy.
“It’s me,” T’Challa says.
“Why are you calling?” she asks, in that tone that implies that she damn well knew who it was.
He leans back. “Kan told me to make up with you. So here I am.”
There’s a minute of stunned silence. “You were always so in love with him.”
“Perhaps,” T’Challa says. “I just called to say that I still love you. And that the only reason I annulled our marriage instead of trying to work it out, is because you made it clear that the X-men were first priority. And that’s not enough for me. As the king I can’t be that selfish.”
“I know,” she says and finally her voice has become gentle.
T’Challa nods even as she can’t see.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
He holds a hand over his eyes. “Kan is leaving.”
She sighs. “It’s been coming for a while, hasn’t it? And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been preparing things for him.”
“I know,” T’Challa says, and remembers the loving way Steve looks at James. They’re united once again. It’s a wonder how apprehensive James has been to trust his memory and refused to recognize his childhood friend. T’Challa has caught the former Winter Soldier staring at Steve too many times, for T’Challa to trust that James simply doesn’t remember.
Besides James, Steve has found a team, a purpose with his life that isn’t cleaning and maintaining a barn. He’s got other people than T’Challa now, he’s got Sam and Pepper. “He will resent me. For not helping him any sooner. When he remembers.”
Storm sighs. “You know who he is, don’t you? I always told you to be aware of this side of yourself. Whatever is coming, you deserve it.”
“Please look out for him.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that for it to happen.”
----
At 11 a.m. James comes when T’Challa calls for him.
T’Challa doesn’t explain anything immediately. He just nods towards Kan’s vibranium-water tanks.
“Help me get these out,” he says. He grabs two of the water tanks, and the super soldier grabs another two and they carry them onto the elevator. It’s silent as it descends down to the car T’Challa has waiting.
“It’s water from a local lake in Wakanda. It’s filthy,” T’Challa informs him. “Poisoned from the vibranium core that once laid in the main fountain. We found him in the water 5 years ago, and he’s been reliant on the poison since then.”
James lifts a brow.
“The fatigue he experiences when it’s withdrawn is lethal,” T’Challa continues. “I’m not sure he will be able to survive going cold turkey. His blood cells won’t accept glucose, fatty acids or amino acid without the vibranium.”
“What about an IV?”
“His body will not absorb the nourishment as it filters out the vibranium.”
“So why are you doing this?” James asks while turning his body towards T’Challa in an aggressive manner.
“My lab has finished producing supplements that’ll make sure he survives until he’s clean,” T’Challa says. “Detoxification will stretch for about a month, if my theory stands. He will need the supplement three times a day, and he needs to sleep in temperatures on or about 38° C for the cleansing to go faster.”
“Are you saying it’s our responsibility?” James asks. “Why not you?”
They reach the bottom floor, and T’Challa walks out without looking at James. He gets the car open and transfers the tanks onto the back seats, opening the door wider for James to get through.
“My judgment becomes poor when it comes to him,” he finally answers and to his surprise he isn’t lying. “I tried one time without the supplement, which didn’t work out. And after Namor, I couldn’t bring myself to. He became depressed. And after that there was therapy, and then his trial period at the Avengers. But I can’t wait around for the right time forever.”
James nods. “I'll get the team to help out.”
T’Challa looks at him. “He’ll become a handful. His hormone levels might go sky-high for some time. Violence isn't part of his nature, but sex is. Don’t be surprised if he wants to use you. He often uses sex to cope.”
Now the old soldier just looks stunned.
“Also,” T’Challa says. “I won’t get angry if any of you sleep with him. But remember that, in legal terms, he is royal and he should therefore be treated with the utmost respect and hospitality or there will be consequences.”
“But – “
“I trust you. Captain.”
Chapter 10
Summary:
Listened to this while writing the crash scene.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When Kan comes back from his jog and finds his colored bottles and tanks gone, he sits on his bed and stares into the air for twenty minutes. When Kan starts talking to himself, James peeks into his room, listening carefully.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Kan asks. He's starting to speak more English with T’Challa since he moved in here, which is nice since James would like to know what the Hell is going on when T’Challa and Kan get into heated arguments. “Why didn’t you discuss this with me?”
“You said you wanted to remember,” T’Challa replies. He’s on speaker and the phone is on the bed, its camera facing the ceiling. Kan is on the floor, drawing on his hands, a habit that leaves ink fingerprints all over the place.
There’s a moment of silence, and then Kan looks up, his lips thinning. So the first withdrawal symptom has already arrived; twitchiness. “I can never tell if you pretend you don’t get what I’m saying or if you genuinely think there’s nothing wrong with this.”
“What’s wrong?” T’Challa asks, now annoyed.
“You can’t just make these decisions without talking to me!” Kan shouts. “You can’t just hear me say ‘I’m tired of being nobody’ and go ‘Well, let’s make this drastic change immediately without letting the person in motherfucking question know’. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Do you disagree with it?” T’Challa asks, sounded concerned. “Because we can – “
“No, I don’t necessarily disagree with your decision,” Kan screams. “But can you respect me enough to discuss these important decisions about my life with me? I just told you how it feels like I don’t have any worth and you just fucking agree by not taking my say into account? Am I really that small and unimportant to you?”
“Look, Kan, I had to do it before I could change – “
Kan apparently doesn’t want to hear the excuse. He grabs his phone and throws it into the wall, and it breaks into dozens of pieces. James pulls back.
-----
Every morning, noon and evening James makes sure that Kan gets the supplement, but as described in the medical journal, Kan still goes crazy. He walks the carpets thin, pick fights with everyone, doesn’t want to eat, burns his sketchbook, until James and Natasha finally decide to take him down to spar.
Kan apparently used to spar with T’Challa often as the king wanted to teach Kan about Wakandan weaponry and how to use it properly. For some days it does make the concubine calm down a bit. But then he starts getting restless and then constantly angry. T’Challa tries to call a few times, but Kan is always too irritated to pick up the phone. James can tell that it drives T’Challa mad.
One evening James knocks and enters, just to see if Kan is alright since he’s been quiet all day, and finds Kan on the floor, drawing. Kan doesn't understand that when he’s lying or sitting beneath James like this, he reminds him of Steve. Kan even looks up at James with that hungry expression James sometimes caught Steve having. Their eyes are so similar: unnervingly blue and focused.
James has had nightmares of Steve’s eyes dulling and becoming glass-like and empty, as he drowns in icy water. James grew up with the knowledge that Steve would be the one to go first. It was inevitable. Steve was exposed to his mother’s TB and that sickness is known for settling in your lungs and coming back with viciousness, and it was only a matter of time before a tonic couldn’t do anything about Steve’s cough, only a matter of time before some bully slammed Steve's into the cobblestone a little too hard. But after the serum Steve had walked off bullets and burns and broken bones. It had lulled James into a false sense of security.
James jumps when Kan reaches up and closes both of his hands around James’, looking up at him like he’s one of Kan’s colored bottles with vibranium water. “Please,” Kan mutters, his eyes big and round. “Kiss me.”
James holds his breath, calculating. Natasha warned him about this, and with all that time spent together, James should’ve seen it coming, too. Should’ve prepared saying no.
But perhaps this is what he has been waiting for all along.
“Then settle in for tonight, okay? And eat something.”
“Okay,” Kan says and James suspects that Kan would agree to just about anything right now.
James kneels down and puts a hand on the back of Kan’s head and one on Kan’s cheek. Kan looks up at him, waiting. James bites his lip, suddenly feeling reluctant. This isn’t right. It’s not fair to Kan – or Steve. Steve wouldn’t have wanted him to do this.
Kan shakes his head. “I don’t care that you see someone else when you look at me,” he makes it clear as if he can read James’ thoughts. “Just kiss me. Make this better.”
Steve was always a greater man than James.
And James is lonely and misses Steve, so he kiss Kan and lets Kan touch him, and the concubine’s hands are clingy and desperate. James bows his head and closes their lips together.
And of course, it doesn’t end there. James tries to make the simple peck last as long as he can, but when he finds himself unable to pull away, he goes ahead and deepens the kiss. He allows himself to bite the bud of Kan’s lower lip and Kan is sweating, James doesn’t understand why. James’ hands tighten, and is careful to not let the metal one on Kan’s neck leave bruises. When James pulls back Kan sighs, blinking his eyes open and stares longingly at James. His pupils are dilated and James bets his own are the same. Before Kan can pull at James’ shirt, which he had grabbed onto at some point, James leans in again and their mouths slide together. James finally sits down on Kan’s lap, his legs straddling the blond’s waist and the ex-assassin naturally folds his arms around Kan’s neck, deepening the kiss again. James never slept with Steve after the serum, but this is how he imagines it’d be. Smooth movements, the feel of knobby bones replaced with the solid resistance of muscles, and this time the limbs won’t be left with marks, won’t shake like copper leaves in autumn.
Kan reaches up and peels off James’ sweater and James softly groans as Kan’s fingers squeeze James’ pectorals. As their kissing gets more hectic, Kan’s breathing picking up, James rocks his hips and it’s good and James does it again, until Kan’s hands grip James’ muscular ass cheeks, pulling them closer together.
James pulls back from Kan’s mouth, choking on the forgotten desire he thought he had put to rest already, the need veiled in regret. His breathing is unsteady, his thoughts flimsy, and he keeps turning his head away from Kan’s lips, until he feels Kan close them around a nipple, softly lapping at it, before flicking it with his tongue. James feels himself get hard and there’s something poking at his ass as well.
It’s terrible. Their bodies feel so immensely old. They’re a place that’s so dry that everything cracks as it shifts and the fragments dissolve underneath Kan’s tongue, underneath his wet kisses. James’ head falls backwards, staring at the ceiling and focusing on the feeling of skin against skin. He’s shared it regularly with Natasha, but this is something else. Something less sacred.
Kan’s teeth close down on James’ nipple and his slick lips open in a moan.
He looks down and Kan’s eyes are intense and greedy. He’s a shark and he smells blood.
“Take your pants off,” Kan whispers, his voice deep and raspy. The blond sits up, opens the drawer and pulls out the weird glossy chap stick. When Kan turns around, James has already shimmied his pants and underwear off. James grabs at the seams of Kan’s shirt, pulling it off, baring smooth, flawless planes of skin. Kan used to be darkly tanned, his hair like ivory, but he’s gotten pale the past months, the roots of his hair a subtle sandy blond. There are no scars on him, even though James knows Kan’s been injured plenty of times.
They stare at each other for long seconds, Kan’s unavoidably looking at the interface of scars in-between Bucky's skin and metal prosthesis. Then Kan unbuttons his jeans and while he shucks off his pants and underwear as well, James takes the chap stick, wets his fingers and presses two fingers into himself. The pain is instant and sharp and James focuses on his breathing and tries to relax.
Kan looks passively at him, his eyes focused on the place where James is steadily stretching himself. James spreads his legs for a better view. James looks down at himself. His dick is starting to flag a bit, but the lube is of unusual quality and he doesn’t have to add more. Kan slowly crawls forward, letting James read his movements, and takes direction of James’ hand. He softly pulls James’ fingers out a bit and then twists the hand around.
“Curl your fingers, slightly,” Kan instructs quietly. James does as he’s told and cries out in surprise when he finds his prostrate. He has always had a hard time finding it. “Softly,” Kan instructs as he drops a fleeting kiss on James’ temple. James does it again and this time he only groans. Kan licks at the lobe of James’ ear, runs his fingers through dark strands of hair. His hand finds James’ quivering one and he cups it, squeezing it reassuringly, before pushing in one of his own fingers. James takes a deep quavering breath.
“Relax,” Kan whispers, as if they have all the time in the world. He's a solid rock against James, and James looks away, his whole body shaking. They wait for a minute before Kan grabs James’ other hand and pulls their joined fingers out, just to slowly push them in again.
“Your hole is all red,” Kan says, looking down. “You shouldn’t be so rough with yourself.”
With these words he pushes their fingers in further. In small jerks he pulls their hands in and out again until they slide back and forth easily and James is whimpering, clenching the bed sheet with his free hand.
“You’re doing so good,” Kan mutters as he finally pulls their fingers out. He lets his own finger linger and almost clinically tests the looseness.
James turns around and gets down on his fours. Maybe, if he just doesn’t look at Kan while this happens, maybe then it’d...
Almost feel the same.
Kan’s thrusts are easy but insistent, and they remind James so much of Steve’s weak hips, that Kan barely gets time to stroke James before he comes. When the hot bite of orgasm fades, he’s angry with himself and he stares at the pillow, sorrow making tears well up into his eyes. Kan kisses his shoulder blade and James snaps: “Fuck me properly already.”
Kan sighs at him, gently wipes away James’ tears, before he pushes in again. James jolts, and Kan grabs his hips harshly, before pulling back and slamming into him again. James chokes in the middle of a groan when Kan does it again, quicker and harder, until James comes again, calling out Steve’s name. As James shivers through the aftershocks, Kan wraps his hands around James’ head, pulls it back, licks and kisses James’ jaw line before he suddenly starts the pace again, with even more force, and James is openly crying now, the pleasure too full and too firm inside of him and then Kan changes the angle of his hips and hits James’ prostate.
The pleasure skyrockets and James forgets why he’s sad, caught up in roughness of it, the feeling of Kan’s sweaty skin. The blond’s hand glides over James’ mouth and James opens it, feeling Kan’s thumb against his tongue as Kan’s other hand starts stroking him. James wails when he comes again.
Maybe he’s starting to get why Kan is here.
----
That night they pretend like James won’t fall apart if Kan just holds him tight enough. The next day, James meets him in the kitchen and pretends like nothing happened. Kan, however, seems happier and more fresh since T’Challa left. Still, James is ashamed. He never wanted to make Kan feel as if he were another mistake people wanted to make.
----
Steve sees the Red Skull grab the cube, and it’s like watching a globe of glass break into pieces and get inhaled like smoke. He doesn’t concern himself with the Cube, which is melting through the metal floor and instead runs towards the control panel and lightly shakes the steering wheel. Then he gets up and tries the door. It’s locked from the outside. He does a run-up and clashes with blunt force.
Dread fills his stomach. It’s alright. Howard will guide him how to fly the plane. He quickly walks back to the panel, and turns on his radio, tuning in. He stares at the radar: ZIEL: NEW YORK.
His plane is getting closer. He stares up at the horizon of grey clouds, twilight sky only being set alight from the setting sun’s golden light. The hole in the front window is blowing a wind into the cabin.
It’s beautiful.
“Come in, this is Captain Rogers, do you hear me?” he calls out as he starts flicking the switches.
Morita’s husky voice answers: “Captain Rogers, what is your – “
“STEVEN IS THAT YOU, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” Peggy interrupts.
“PEGGY!” Steve says. “SCHMIDT’S DEAD!”
“What about the plane?”
Now Steve is flicking all the switches, shaking the steering wheel again. There’s no reaction. It must have been the energy burst when Steve’s shield damaged the cube when it functioned as a power source. “That’s a little tougher to explain.”
The control wheel is working; the diving function only though.
“Give your coordinates. I'll find you a safe landing site.”
A sour taste spreads in Steve’s mouth at her words. He stares at the screen in front of him. Six active missiles are still attached to the Valkyrie. The stream in these waters change too often for coordinates to make a difference. ”There's not gonna be a safe landing. But I can try and force it down..”
”I- I will get Howard on the line,” Peggy says, but he has never heard her stutter before. ”He’ll know what to do.”
Steve tries to not show his fear. ”There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York.” Steve stares out of the front glass. The sun is setting. ”I got to put her in the water.”
He pulls the steering wheel and it starts diving. It sounds like Peggy is crying. He gives her a broken promise.
His sentence is cut off as the snout of the Valkyrie hits the surface of the ice.
When he wakes up, most of the windshield is in pieces. He’s lying on his back. The bombs haven’t gone off, he might still be able to –
Every bone in his body is broken. He hears the ice give underneath the ship, and panic arises in him. Water flows in. It’s so cold it hurts.
“Tsk,” he hears a voice say somewhere. “You sacrifice my ocean in favor of your land? I think not.”
He startles but can’t turn his neck. He thinks his spine might be broken. His breathing picks up. He was sure there was no one in the ship. Every HYDRA agent is dead, Schmidt is gone, please let Schmidt be gone.
“Relax,” the voice groans and a blue hand sticks into vision, dropping its coolness on Steve’s forehead. “I’ll take care of the bombs, the underworld will be safe –“
----
It’s pitch black in the Valkyrie, its mighty build creasing and cracking in the pressure of the black, deathly water and as the cold paralyzes his body, he feels no fear. It’s his time to die now; he knew when he tried to get into the army that things might end up like this. His last thought is that nobody will ever find him here; in the belly of a metal beast, slowly descending into the dark depth of the Arctic Ocean.
----
It doesn’t come steadily. It’s not a process.
One day Kan just wakes up and he’s Steve.
Notes:
Very passive-aggressively wrote the death scene. I wrote the scenes while watching the movie. If I catch ONE OF YOU saying that Steve crashed because he was dumb, dramatic and suicidal when he crashed the ship... it's totally ok. Just know the Valkyrie was bound to crash with bombs. Why the bombs didn't blow idk.
However, it was a bet that Steve knew about the streams underneath the ice and it was a guess that it was the energy burst from the cube that destroyed the electronics. Also, it's purely fictional that Steve checks if the cockpit door is closed.
Chapter Text
Steve slowly sits up in his bed, his movements jerky. He feels heavy. Every new thought is startling. Every question he had has an overwhelming answer. He's drowning. He can’t breathe.
It’s like having tried to reach into a box all this time and finally feeling it’s warm, stinking content.
Bucky is the falling man. Bucky is alive.
Steve is ambushed by all the information he knows about the Winter Soldier: the torture, the programming, the criminal charges and the chaotic trial period. He knew about the public controversy, the wary Avengers.
Bucky has been living and healing right in front of him; without Steve, without anyone who knew him from before the fall. Bucky has been all alone.
He gets up from the bed, and finds his jeans. He’s not sure where he’s going. He just needs to be away, away to think, away to find, something, anything –
The door is opened, and Sam comes in, startling when he sees Steve trying to get his pants on. “Woah, take it easy, big guy,” he says in too relaxed a voice. “What’s the rush?”
Steve stares blankly at him.
“You want some fresh air?” Sam offers, frowning in worry and Steve shrugs, looking away. “You want me to call James?”
“Bucky?” Steve asks in surprise.
“Yes,” Sam nods, looking increasingly unsettled. “That’s right, Kan. You remember James.”
“Bucky.”
“Mhm.” Sam nods and says: “JARVIS, please call Bucky. Say Kan is lucid.”
Bucky arrives quicker than Steve is prepared for. “Hey, Kan,” he greets, a fake, calm smile on his lips. “How are you feeling buddy?”
“Y-You know,” Steve stutters. “I was pretty sure you were dead. I saw you fall. You fell, Buck, you – I would have jumped, if I’d known – I said to the end of the line, I should’ve known, I-I’m so sorry –“
He’s interrupted by Bucky choking and then running into the bathroom. He sounds like he’s throwing up.
“Kan, what are you talking about?” Sam asks.
“My name is not Kan,” Steve says and feels himself choke up. “My name is Steve.”
“Okay.”
“My name is Steve,” Steve repeats, and why does it feel like he's breathing and choking at the same time? Sam nods with wary eyes and quickly leaves the room. Steve can hear him dial Tony and start talking with him in a lowered voice.
He remembers Bucky falling, his death going from an unclear dream to a painful burn. But he also remembers Bucky being alive for the past years, even if those memories feel like looking through a fog of emotions. The memories, the crystal clarity and the surety in Kan having touched and talked with Bucky for all these months contributes into putting a thick layer of film over the hurt.
God. It all happened a long time ago. Such a long time ago.
“I kept having this dream,” it flies out of Steve when Bucky comes out. His eyes are red, his lips are thin and his face is pale. “About this man falling into an abyss, a void. How I reach out for him, but he keeps falling and I felt this heavy dread. This impossible grief. And I didn’t understand why but I knew he was dead for sure, so I didn’t- I never looked into it, I’m so sorry – “
“Quiet!” Bucky snaps.
He scans Bucky’s face. It’s pinched, as if he’s in pain. He’s biting his lip, looking away. Big boys don’t cry, they've always been taught that since they were barely kids, but Bucky has always been a crier. Always been able to do what Steve was always too proud to.
Steve steps up to him, and catches Bucky’s eyes. “I’m sorry I could never… see you. I’m sorry I left you on your own.”
Bucky shakes his head, his hands rubbing his face and fingers going through his hair. “I thought you were dead. Stupid Rogers, getting killed two days after I wasn’t there to…” He breaks off.
Steve knows, has caught glimpses of the long progress from being a thing to being somebody. Has seen him being somebody, someone important and strong enough to take leadership and demand respect. “I’m proud of you. And everything you’ve done. And become.” Steve swallows the heavy lump in his throat. “Both for others and for yourself. You deserve that.”
Bucky coughs out a hoarse laugh. “You always were good at those speeches. Gonna take the shield off me now? I’m tired of pretending to be a good person.”
Steve blinks. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re greater than you believe.” He tries to smile. “Give yourself credit. You lost an arm, broke seventy years of brainwashing and de-humanization, and you still choose to fight for your country, even though you deserve rest. Me, on the other hand... I’ve isolated myself in Wakanda and slept peacefully every night. If your sense of courage is measured that way, we all have a Hell of lot to work towards.”
“It’s not bravery,” Bucky says. “It’s redemption.”
“What they made you do wasn’t your fault,” Steve frowns. “If you claim blame like that, it means that everything Natasha did in her youth, Clint did while Loki controlled him, were their own fault. That’s kinda of unfair, isn’t it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky says and finally tears well up and release. “Those poor people aren’t coming back. They’re all dead and nothing I do can make them come back, can fix this.”
“There is someone left,” Steve says, catching Bucky’s eyes and quietly continues. “There’s you. You’re the only alive victim who’s left.”
Bucky glares at him hard for a long time. Steve meets his eyes evenly without flinching.
“God,” Bucky finally chuckles, rubbing his eyes. “This is not how I imagined it.”
“You imagined this conversation?”
“Every night. Needed some motivation, right?”
Steve finally smiles and reaches out, hooking his arms around the man, and Bucky bows his head, becoming very silent as his breath puffs damplyinto Steve’s neck. Steve remembers how it waswhen this man was everything; he remembers the feeling, the memories, so vividly that he shivers. He is Steve’s only family and used to be his best friend. The punkand the ladies man, the captain and the sniper. They lead the Howling Commandoes. Steve hopes, somehow, that they can still be, even though they’re both very different people now. That they would become Steve and Buckyagain, a pair where you couldn’t get one without the other.
At best, Steve is useful to the Avengers. At worst, he's a relic. He knows he’s not ready to be Captain America again, not while all his memories are still a mess and he’s not sure if he has remembered enough to be completely Steve again. He’s not sure whether he’s strong enough to be the soldier that has somehow become a superhero over the years.
Besides, he knows that trying to stand up to what Captain America, and not necessarily Steve Rogers, has become might be a way to keep Bucky strong on the path. He has seen what good responsibility has done for him. If Bucky takes the mantle seriously enough to want to earn it, there’s no better way to ensure Bucky’s stability.
“You need to keep being Captain America,” Steve decides.
“But,” Bucky says, pulling back. His eyes are wide. “I didn’t want to become a… a superhero.”
“Neither did I. I was just supposed to be a soldier.”
“I don’t want this, Steve.”
Steve takes a deep breath, and measures Bucky up again. No, Bucky might not want the leadership. But he might need it. “So then... do it for me.”
Bucky clenches his teeth. “Asshole move.”
“What do you say?”
When Bucky doesn’t answer, Steve continues: “You have Sam and Nat. And Clint, and the Avengers.” He reaches forwards again and squeezes Buck’s shoulder. “You won’t be alone.”
----
When Steve has made both Sam and Bucky leave, he goes to the roof and brings a jacket. The cold is so bad it almost bites. Steve finally knows why he hates the strength of the cold so much. He picks up his phone and dials T’Challa’s number.
It doesn’t take long.
“Hello,” T’Challa says in a low, tense voice, telling Steve he had seen this phone call coming. “How are you?”
“I expect you to return the original shield to Bucky,” Steve cuts to the chase in Wakandan. “A dear friend of mine gave her to me, and I’d appreciate it if you returned her without a hassle. I don’t care how you do it, just do it.”
There’s a pause. When T’Challa speaks again, his voice is gravelly. “She’s probably laying around somewhere in my father’s old chest. Should I donate the uniform to a museum?”
“Please do,” Steve says and gets up. “Thank you for everything, T’Challa. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. But I think it’s time to go back to my roots.”
“Of course,” T’Challa says, clearing his throat. “You will be fine?”
“Sure,” Steve answers and gives his best USO tour smile to the direction of the camera. “However, if you show your face around here, I will punch you. I will punch you and then Bucky might join out of pure instinct. So just stay away.”
“I,” T’Challa doesn’t sound surprised, “I was… I only wanted the best for you. To protect you.”
“From what!?” Steve screams, finally letting the utter weight of betrayal and hurt come through his voice. He heaves in a choking breath, and then sobs, tears welling up into his eyes. “Helping Bucky’s recover? Visiting Peggy before she passed away? Dropping flowers on where my mother’s grave used to be? Tell me. You were trying to protect me from what?”
He hangs up.
----
It takes time. Bucky very obviously doesn't trust the reality of the situation. Even though Tony has matched Steve’s face to old pictures and calculated that they’re indeed the same person (“Okay, come on, how were we supposed to recognize you? There are like six newsreel of you, only two where you’re not wearing your cowl!”), Bucky obviously doesn’t quite believe any of it. It’s been a long time since Steve has seen Bucky doubt his sanity, and it hurts him that Steve’s presence caused it. Bucky deals by asking him questions of the memories he has (Bucky later reveals that it’s not all memories he has gotten back himself), calling out all the ridiculous pet names he’s called Steven over the years. It finally ends around 20 days after Tony had confirmed Steve’s proclaimed identity, when Bucky says “You still move like Kan”, but somehow relaxes into the sentence, sounding as non-accusing as possible. After that Bucky starts to trust Steven more.
Steve re-learns to straighten his back, to march again. He’s done being pretty and sweet and he has no fear of disgracing any king anymore, so he doesn’t concern himself when the Avengers are caught off guard by his attitude change. He has a feeling it makes them divide Steve and Kan in their minds.
There’s mild teasing about Steve’s “sexually liberated past”, but when he doesn’t respond to any of those comments, and Bucky starts sneering every time an Avenger start, they eventually stop.
However, the change in Steve’s feeling of identity doesn’t stop Steve from noticing his almost demanding sex drive, fired up and ready all the time. Until now it’s been more than satisfied, but his sudden celibacy makes it hard to ignore, but Steve is still trying to sort himself out and he doesn’t have the mental capacity to even think about something as complicated and draining as sex. So he works out a lot, spends a lot of time reading or drawing or just sitting on his bed and drowning in all the things he suddenly knows. He returns his armor to T’Challa and a few weeks later, Steve’s old shield and uniform are sent to them. It’s not a lie when Steve tells Bucky T’Challa has only sent them now, because Steve had asked the king to look for them.
Bucky doesn’t know the truth about T’Challa, but he senses that something is up, senses Steve’s unease when talking about the matter. It’s odd to see the wholesome Captain America starting to follow Steve around and glare at people. It’s almost feels like them again, but Steve has a feeling that Bucky doesn’t know his old habits, just knows that he’s started doing them.
Slowly, while the Avengers realize that the sexual jokes need to stop, Steve re-takes his position and his authority. Before he would’ve shrugged his shoulders at something as serious as symbolic responsibility, but he just really, really needs to reinforce that side of him that used to almost define him. Needs to remember what it’s like to be Captain America – to be the man he was before he went to sleep.
And it’s frustrating, because truth of the matter is that Steve will never be the person he was before Kan. He will never completely be Kan again, either.
Even after remembering, he still gets up at sunrise, thinking he has to take care of the horses. He misses their warm bellies, the smell of animals and fuzzy firmness of the animals. He misses the simplicity that was his life before, misses the stable children, and misses the celebrations even though he hadn’t even attended to any of them in the end of his stay in Wakanda.
Furthermore he misses being unimportant. He sees how Bucky looks at him, how the other Avengers are starting to look at him. Maybe T’Challa really tried to protect him, because Kan’s carefree state of mind feels so far away now.
Some nights he misses T’Challa so much that he starts heaving, his body calling out for the king’s physical presence in expressions of ache and loneliness. Steve’s lonely. He feels more lonely than ever.
And he wonders, speculates as he pulls on his hair, if it’s always going to be this way. Before he was lonely because he didn’t have any place, and now he’s lonely because he’s a person that can’t express himself, define himself. It’s hard to be someone people think they already know. It’s hard to come through the image he has become.
Bucky is very supportive and Steve still spars with Natasha, has film nights with Sam. Sometimes he drags Tony out of the house, goes with Pepper to an art museum, and trains with Hawkeye, fishes Deadpool out of containers.
Spring begins. Some days it’s sunny enough for it to be almost pleasant to sit outside with winter jackets. Steve is trying out an iced coffee and Tony is drinking Bailey’s. The billionaire hasn’t slept all night, working on a project he’s behind on because of the Avengers, so Steve is currently trying to keep him awake until 8 pm, so the man’s sleeping rhythm isn’t going to completely messed up. Not that he has to do a lot of work for it.
“You still haven’t cut your hair,” Tony says in the middle of his long stream of babble.
Steve looks up. “No, I haven’t,” he acknowledges. He’s already had this discussion with Bucky several times, the man having cut his own a few years ago. “I’m not ready for people to recognize me yet.”
“Sure,” Tony says, obviously not buying it. “You know all of this ignoring who you were before you remembered? It only makes you look repressed.”
Steve doesn’t want to encourage Tony to go further down that road, so he doesn’t answer.
----
As soon as the Avengers leave on a mission, Steve goes to his closet and finds the tightest T-shirt he owns and a black pair of jeans. He throws on his leather jacket, foregoes his evening shave and leaves the house. He’s been doing some research and he knows where to go.
A twink sucks his dick in the club’s bathroom and afterwards he fucks the man up against the wall, holding the man’s mouth to quiet the cries not even the music can drown out. The man asks for something called a Grindr and invites Steve out for a drink, but Steve leaves the man with his friends, leaves for the next club though the bartender hands him an invitation to a private party. He doesn’t find anyone sober at the club, so he moves on to a drag queen area and meets a sweet girl. They go to her place, and she pushes his head down between her thighs, makes him suck her dick and cup her artificial breasts. She comes when two of his fingers start rubbing on her G-spot. He leaves her apartment and goes to the card’s address. It takes him twenty minutes to walk there, but when he does he is relieved to see that dance floor is covered in grinding bodies. There are also a lot of drinks, drinks he wishes would work on him and other substances he’s glad don’t, so it takes a while before he finds people that aren't too intoxicated. It’s two sober girls rubbing against each other and giggling, with a group of three men cocooning them, their dicks hard underneath their tight jeans.
When they all fall asleep in the house’ only bedroom, Kan still struggles to breath.
----
Steve feels refreshed the day after. He knows what he did last night will only make him feel worse in the long term, but until then he’s high on the endorphins, his libido satisfied and his body finally feels properly worked out. He meets up with Sam and Bucky. Both of them look delighted by his upbeat mood; he and Bucky even race to the diner where they’re getting their breakfast.
As Steve sips at his milkshake, he looks curiously at his friends like it’s the first time, and it’s only when Sam coughs and looks to the side, quickly blinking, that Steve realizes that he is smirking at them. Bucky looks thoughtful rather than uncomfortable, and Steve looks away, blushing slightly. He excuses himself to the bathroom, and rinses his face and some of his hair, hoping it will dry before he gets outside. He’s afraid he’ll fall into this cycle again, and he’s not sure why he minds, but he does. He doesn’t want to sleep with Bucky or Sam right now. He just wants to focus on them as his friends, his colleagues. He wants space, and he wants to not want people all the time.
Someone knocks, and he turns around. “Come in,” Steve calls out.
It’s the waitress, and she smiles crookedly at him. “Is it okay for me to clean up a bit?”
It’s the men rooms, but there aren’t any other customers at this time, so he nods her along.
He sees that despite the early hour, she has taken the time to do her makeup, her light hazel green eyes framed in black, straight, jet-black hair lying loose around her shoulders. She empties the trashcans, but he can feel her eyes bore into his head. He slowly turns around, returns her glances directly.
She slowly smiles, her teeth white and a little crooked. “Wanna go check out the broom closet?”
He could never say no.
She leads him to the broom closet. He leans in right away, briefly unsure about the scent of his sweat transmitting to her, but he can feel her smile and she turns her face towards the ceiling as he kisses the soft skin on her neck, licks it and tasting the foul sprays of perfume. Women here are different than the Wakandan ones; American women are generally less muscled, less trained and have an odd habit of making themselves smaller or seeming like want to make themselves smaller.
Her body welcomes him though, she is warm and feels pleasure and he breathes out heavily as he goes down to his knees and cups her breasts though the blue shirt, feeling the buttons come undone as he massages their roundness. She groans and in response he nudges his head down under her skirt. Thankfully she’s wearing stockings and not pantyhose, so it’s easy for him to get her panties to slide down even in the awkward position.
He teases her at first, takes his time. Licks at her outer labia, only glances his tongue around her opening before dipping his tongue in and following it along the line of her inner labia, until he reaches her hard nub. Her legs shiver, so he holds her knees steady. He lets the tip of his tongue stay on her clit, motionless, before he ever so gently licks over it until her juices is the only thing he can taste in his mouth. At this point her legs are buckling, so he crooks one of her knees over his shoulder. Reassuringly he supports her weight and then more seriously dips his tongue into her. The smell of her sex fills his nose, and turns him on, and when she starts letting out soft moans, he allows himself to open his mouth wider to lap at her labia, fuck his tongue into her hole and flick it over her clit. He reaches up one hand and clenches a boob, which makes her heel grind into his shoulder blade. He groans, feeling a rush of heat run down to his crotch and when he can feel and hear her nearing climax, he pushes in two fingers and crooks them. She cries out and he squeezes her knee in warning, and the sound quickly turns into mewling.
She slowly lets go of him, staring down at him with flushed cheeks, and he re-questions himself: How can this be wrong? How can making someone feel so good be so supposedly barbaric and impure?
She’s happy, and so is he. He loves pleasing people. Why does he have to be so god damn ashamed of that?
She smiles and pulls him in, but Steve thinks he might hear something, someone who is trying hard not to be sensed, and he freezes, whips his face towards the door. “Bucky, that’s not funny.”
“Thought you were getting killed,” Bucky replies in a somewhat mellow tone from the other side.
“Oh my god,” the waitress frets. “I’m so fired.”
“You’re not,” Steve assures even if he isn’t sure.
“Just… finish up,” Bucky says, sounding very embarrassed, before Steve can hear his footsteps disappearing.
But Steve’s erection has wilted by now, so he unlocks the door and the girl disappears down the hall with a flaming face. Bucky is staring at the table when Steve comes back and Steve refuses to feel embarrassed, so he finishes his cooled meal.
Then Sam makes a big deal out of sniffing at him, and then exclaiming: “Dude, your breath smells like – “ before Bucky stomps on Sam’s feet.
-----
Steve is finally cleared for duty. Tony made him a subtle uniform in dark teal, with a star on the chest, wing-like stripes extending out to his shoulders where two white stars are placed as well and red stripes stretches down from the side of his hips down the side of his legs.
It’s nice to be out on the field again. He makes due with the non-lethal weapons attached to his utility belt, but obviously misses his shield, even more as he watches Bucky use it. Tony has offered him the replica, but Steve feels bad using it in a battlefield where the cameras are often watching. He doesn’t want people to get the wrong idea; there’s only one Captain America.
Not using the shield doesn’t mean that he isn’t calling attention to himself though. Avengers usually have an official press conference to introduce new members for public reasons. He can see that the Avengers don’t want to push him, but they can only avoid answering for so long.
Steve is uncomfortable with the mere idea of stepping forward about his revival, anxious about people’s expectations. He isn’t afraid to meet the expectations; it’s not like him being promiscuous has an effect on the team or the way he does his job. But he has barely gotten out of the shell of fear what the Avengers might think of him if they found about his… needs, and he’s not quite ready to open the doors for the public attention either; not yet at least.
He’s thinking of tapping Tony on the shoulder, but then something else catches his attention.
Thor has broken up with Dr. Foster, and one look at the situation tells Steve that Sif is going to snatch up Thor very soon. Fortunately Sif needs to do something in Asgard for a moon or two, so Steve hopes to quickly snatch up Thor for a quick ride before the female Asgardian warrior scoops the thunder god up. Steve has promised himself not to sleep with any more Avengers, but Thor could be discreet about it. Thor wouldn’t look down on him because of it. And every time Steve thinks about Thor’s cock, his big body and strength, Steve unintentionally feels like drooling. Bucky can tell he’s up to something, but doesn’t ask into it.
(Not that there’s anything wrong with the trips to the city. He gets what he needs there so he can relax a bit better, sleep deeper and focus more on missions. Besides, the Avengers always comment on how he “glows” the day after he’s had a trip. Sam always giggles hysterically, and has begun to call him an incubus in private. Bucky has started to stare at his hands, mumbling something about being an upstanding Catholic and if your Ma knew and remember we’re going to church in two days, Steve, for the love of God take a shower beforehand. Which is rude, because Steve would never enter God’s house with the evidence of last night still on his body.)
Steve intentionally looks at Thor for a bit longer than necessary at the breakfast table, flicks his glances down to Thor’s lips, sits closer together than appropriate at movie nights. So Thor picks up Steve’s interest pretty fast.
Steve has a routine, and it normally consists of running at dawn, sparring with Natasha and Bucky afterwards, breakfast, history catch up and then usually just other social outings with the Avengers. Recently he has considered picking up an evening class, both out of boredom and of interest. The mentality, where he could settle with cleaning a barn all day and shouting at children, seems so far away even if he misses the people with a hard ache he can’t quite ever ignore.
It’s this ache that keeps him up some nights. Even with Bucky sometimes sleeping in his room, couch cushions on the floor and the TV turned on with the lowest volume, Steve can’t help but think of those people. The love he has for them never disappeared, and neither did the homesickness, even if home is supposed to be here.
Steve wonders if his– if the king ever thinks of him.
Chapter 12
Summary:
“It went fine,” Bucky replies at the table as Steve dries his hair with a dish towel. “We could’ve done without that storm though.”
“Yeah, it came pretty out of nowhere,” Tony comments, out of his armor and going for the fridge as well. “Thor must’ve had a nightmare.”
And just like that, Steve can feel his breath leave him. “W-Well,” he stutters self-consciously. “I’m just gonna. Go to bed. I’ve, uhm. Been working out all night.”
Chapter Text
Steve is fighting another night of homesickness with boxing, when he hears the door swing open and finds that Thor is entering with a certain sleep-deprived face. Steve finishes up and goes to the locker room’s showers to get clean before catching a couple of hours, but the god follows him without even pretending not to.
Throwing off his T-shirt and shorts at the bench, Thor walks into the showers. Steve can smell the tense excitement in the air, and he looks over his shoulder as Thor locks his arms around Steve's shoulders, his broad chest pressed against Steve’s back.
Like the last time, Thor holds him tightly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest and squeezing until Steve feels small and breakable.
The god tilts up Steve’s chin and ask: “What do you want from me?”
Thor’s hard already and Steve’s can feel his own cock hardening in return. He reaches back and closes his hand around Thor’s erection. “I want you to paint me white with that thing.”
The bold statement makes the god growl, and Steve twists his body around so they’re standing chest to chest. Before he invites Thor up to his room, he needs to see Thor’s face. He doesn’t want to get involved in something heavy, something emotional.
There is interest in Thor’s face, lust too, but no desperation and no sharp intent. Steve relaxes.
“For fun, okay?” Steve says. Normally it isn’t a problem to make this clear, but it’s the second time he and Thor are exchanging pleasure. It’s already too risky doing it with someone he works with. Kan could get away with things like that, but Steve knows people expect better of him. But he knows that if there’s someone he can keep it casual and simple with, it’s Thor. After all, besides T’Challa, Thor was the first Avenger Steve slept with and people still don’t know.
“You had anything else in mind?” Thor asks with an inquiring eyebrow, and Steve smiles before leaning in and pressing his lips against Thor’s.
The God hums softly and reaches out for the soap. Without pulling away from Steve’s lips, he soaps Steve’s body with both hands. The kiss gets harsher and deeper as the god drags him in.
Before it becomes too much and they end up having sex in a public area, Steve pulls away. “See you in my room.”
----
It’s odd how subdued Thor is when he arrives. Steve is lounging on his bed, naked and checking some files on his Starkpad when the myth walks in. Steve puts the Starkpad down and turns towards the blond, who’s just standing in an oversized T-shirt and some shorts.
Steve relaxes back into the cushions, trying to radiate serenity. “Please lock the door.”
Thor turns towards it, and closes it. He glances over his shoulder at Steve, oddly coy.
“Come closer,” Steve calls out.
Thor steps towards the bed, and stands still, looking at Steve. His eyes are in between the sure state a timeless being like Thor is always in, and a blue haze of mild confusion. Evaluating. Observing.
Steve crawls over the bed and sits with his legs spread. He puts his hands behind Thor’s thighs and pulls him closer so he’ll stand between Steve’s knees. Thor nears him in jerky, controlled steps and looks down at Steve with a question in his eyes.
“Are you nervous?” Steve asks, looking up at him.
Thor puts a hand on Steve’s cheek. “Should I be?”
“No.” Steve keeps his eyes steady on Thor’s.
The sex that follows is pretty mediocre; so ghostlike, it’s almost eerie. Thor seems to be in another place as Steve rides him, and even if Steve quickly gets his attention and he himself enjoys the thick length in his ass, he can tell that something’s missing. When they’ve both come, Steve lies on his back with his hands gathered behind his head and Thor is lying on his side, both breathing steadily, still a bit sweaty.
“Is it Foster?” Steve asks, rolling onto his side to eye Thor. “Are you thinking of her?”
Thor hadn’t seemed very shaken up by the breakup, but he’s the kind of guy that doesn’t show these things. “No. Though I do feel her absence already. You did nothing wrong, Steven. I enjoy your company.”
Steve nods and looks down at Thor’s ass, and thinks for a long silent moment. “You haven’t had penetrative sex with men before,” he finally works out.
Thor shrugs.
“Aren’t you thousands of years old?” Steve asks.
Thor nods. “In Asgard it’s not wrong. But my father always told me to spend my affections on maidens; it would turn fruitful easier. Besides, Asgard’s perception of time and how it flows is radically more different than Midgardians. Thousands of years aren’t that many, you’ll see.”
“Probably.” Steve sits up and straddles Thor, so the god is forced to roll onto his back and face Steve. “You know,” Steve mumbles as he runs his hands down Thor’s pumped torso. “My primary pleasure comes from knowing my partner is having fun as well. You’d make it a lot easier…” Steve skims his hands around Thor’s hipbones and then closes around Thor’s cock with a loose grip. “If you could tell me…” Keeping his eyes on Thor’s, he lets one of his hand go down to the alien’s balls and then further down. Tryingly he rubs at Thor’s perineum. Thor jerks his knees and lets out a low groan. “What it is you really came here to get.”
Scenting true arousal and something stronger and muskier and a lot more intoxicating, Steve continues rubbing his fingers in small circles on Thor’s perineum. Thor groans again and instantly hardens in Steve’s other hand. Steve looks down at him as he feels a slow smile unfold on his face. He gentles his touch next to nothing and places it down on Thor’s rim.
Thor chokes and abruptly pulls Steve’s hand away from his asshole.
Steve looks up at him in alarm, and Thor makes an embarrassed grimace. “I apologize,” he rumbles. “It merely surprised me.”
The soldier pulls back and takes a deep breath. Thor looks more and more nervous, but also excited. Perhaps this is what he couldn’t bring himself to ask for.
Maybe it’s better for Steve to take control.
“Get on your fours,” Steve instructs. “And hold the headboard.”
Thor frowns. “Why?”
“Just try it. It will help, trust me.”
Thor narrows his eyes at him a bit and then rolls around to get on his knees. Hesitantly he grips the headboard. He glances over his shoulder, and Steve consequently nudges his face forward.
Steve walks closer on his knees and looks down at Thor’s figure. His back muscles and the dimple on the small of his back are a lot more pronounced than Steve’s, his ass and waist broader and more proportional. Steve puts his hands on Thor’s shoulders and grinds his crotch against the god’s flanks.
Thor gasps and holds his breath, despite how much Steve likes the sound. His big hands are tamping down tighter on the bedframe. Steve hopes the god won’t break it.
“And a girl has never taken you from behind either?” Steve asks in a low voice, purposefully letting the head of his dick slide away from Thor’s asshole and down to his balls, so the sensations won’t distract the alien from answering.
Still Thor shivers. “Only fingers.”
Steve nods. So Thor came to get a cock. “You showered properly before coming here?”
“Yes?” Thor answers albeit he sounds confused.
Steve pulls back and cups his hands around Thor’s waist. He spreads the Avenger’s ass cheeks and looks at that small, pink hole with soft blond hair around it. The god’s balls are tight despite his recent orgasm and his cock has started dripping. “You look so good down here though,” he whispers and massages the rim with his thumb. Thor chokes again. “So sensitive. Can’t believe you haven’t had a cock in there yet…” He grips his cock and softly slaps it against Thor’s tight hole. Thor is outright panting now. “Would you like that?” he asks, and lowers down so he’s face to face with Thor’s ass. “Getting a nice, thick cock in there?” With these words he presses the tip of his tongue against Thor's asshole and Thor wails and comes on the sheets.
Excited and surprised by this turn of events, Steve lets his tongue rest against Thor’s hole. As it flutters, he softly dips it in. A wave of tremors goes through Thor’s body and he spurts out a few more drops.
“Answer me, Thor,” Steve commands and pushes a sharp note into his voice.
Thor doesn’t answer, only sighs and his head slips down to the pillows. He groans into them.
“Oh well,” Steve grins cheekily. “I guess we’re done for the day.”
“No, we are not,” Thor protests, his face whipping up.
“Oh?” Steve says in mock surprise. “Then what do you want, Thor?”
Thor honest to God blushes. “I want you to enter me. With your thick cock.”
“Take you?” Steve asks and once again lets his cock rub at Thor’s hole. “You want me to take you like a cat in heat?”
“Yes,” Thor groans, turning his face away but the back of his neck is deeply flushed.
“Want me to make it good for you?” Steve asks. “How many times can you come?”
“I don’t know,” Thor groans. “Please, put it in me.”
“You don’t get to boss me around,” Steve coos. “But if you’re nice to me, I’ll let you get what you want.”
Thor growls in impatience. Steve leans back and waits calmly.
“Fine,” Thor rumbles.
Steve feels powerful.
It’s not the first time.
-----
Their sex drives are insane and because Steve tops, he has a better control of what happens and how many times he comes himself. He focuses all of his energy on getting Thor off, on going from heavy thrusting to carefully licking Thor’s cock and hole to teasing the god to the edge with his fingers. He generally needs to be a little rougher than normal because Thor’s invulnerability dulls sensation. Around dawn they finally get unstuck, and Thor splays out on the sheets and falls asleep in the middle of a wet spot, and Steve curls together on the small dry space and passes out as well. Around 8 am, Steve is pushing in again, and he fucks Thor while the god is pressing his face into the pillows. They’re fucking in front of a mirror, which Steve hadn’t noticed before because of the darkness, but now he gets to see the mild fatigue on Thor’s face.
When a sob rattles through the man’s body, Steve feels utterly primal and he pulls Thor up by the hair, so they can watch Thor’s flushed, dewy face with fresh tears pouring out.
God damn it, Steve might be an incubus, because he drinks in the sight like he was dying from thirst.
“You take it so sweetly, Thor,” Steve whispers as he kisses and bites at Thor’s ear. He pulls back and looks at Thor’s hole swallowing Steve’s cock, loose and glossy with lube and seed through the night’s deeds. Steve has got to admit, he feels like his balls are going blue, but he needs one more, just one last orgasm from Thor.
Thor has given up on all cooperation. He is hugging the pillows after having broken the bed frame, and his spread legs lay relaxed and unmoving on the covers. He takes every thrust with a pained groan, but Steve has learned what his sounds mean by now, how it’s supposed to sound like when the golden Avenger is about to come, so he continues and continues until Thor is crying out. His cock comes dry.
His breath is left sobbing and shaky, and it hits Steve that super villains were ridiculous if they wanted to kill someone like Thor. There is armor against pain, but pleasure leaks through your defenses easily.
Steve has watched clips of Thor fighting for literal days. And all it takes is a long night of climaxes.
Steve pulls out and only now does he realize the painful throbbing of his balls and cock. He pokes Thor’s side with knee to get the person to roll over and the god automatically opens his mouth and lets Steve push his cock in. But the soldier needs a little more right now, so he whispers a hushed “Come on, Thor, open that sweet mouth up a little wider”, and grinds his hips until his cock has bottomed out. Thor doesn’t choke, just breaths a little heavier through his nose and Steve rocks his hips, Thor’s nose pressing into his pubes. As Steve comes without warning and Thor coughs, Steve pulls out and jerks himself onto Thor’s tongue and lips and chin. The semen is thin by now and runs freely down Thor’s beard and Steve can’t help it, it’s so fucking sexy that he bows down and licks it up. Thor passively lets Steve do it until Steve straightens and Thor’s head falls back into the pillow.
Steve wants to roll over and fall asleep for seventy years (again) as well, but the bed is sticky and Thor needs to be cleaned as well.
Steve gets up and goes to shower. His muscles feel sore and his cock is aching, but in a good way that makes Steve feel healthy and satisfied.
Afterwards he drenches a towel and bullies Thor up on his legs so he can clean him. Thor falls asleep in a chair, while Steve changes the sheets and guides his partner back to the bed. He eyes Thor’s still figure underneath the duvet and puts on some pajamas pants before going to kitchen.
As he is pulling two big water bottles out, he hears the sound of the Quinjet landing on the platform and only now notices that it’s raining outside. He frowns at looks out of the windows, before turning on the radio. Apparently there’s been a storm going on most of the night, and many flights had been cancelled.
“I swear to fucking god,” Cage grumbles as he marches into the kitchen.
“Language,” Steve reprimands.
Cage growls in response, pulls out his protein bars and leaves. He has left the floor dirty because of his soaked feet, so Steve gets to his knees and cleans it up. As he is about to go, the kitchen fills with Avengers and he wants to stay and hear about the mission.
“It went fine,” Bucky replies at the table as Steve dries his hair with a dish towel. “We could’ve done without that storm though.”
“Yeah, it came pretty out of nowhere,” Tony comments, out of his armor and going for the fridge as well. “Thor must’ve had a nightmare.”
And just like that, Steve can feel his breath leave him. “W-Well,” he stutters self-consciously. “I’m just gonna. Go to bed. I’ve, uhm. Been working out all night.”
“Why?” Bucky asks over his shoulder.
“Worried,” Steve sweats. “Been worrying about you.” He grabs the two water bottles and runs.
----
Eventually Bucky drops by and does see Thor sleeping in Steve’s bed. Steve is embarrassed, but instead of the doubtful silence Bucky always gives him, he claps Steve’s back and smiles. Steve’s not sure why, but he relaxes with it. Bucky has told him that he used to be in love with Steve, but they’d agreed that they were too different now to pursue whatever they had.
Bucky has Natasha now and Steve has yet to feel capable of giving his dedication to anyone but T'Challa. But Steve still feels odd about showing interest to others in front of Bucky.
“I don’t mind,” Bucky lets him know as they watch a re-run of the Kardashians. If their mothers saw their reality show addiction they’d cluck their tongues. “I guess it took some time getting used to. Before you never really seemed sexually interested in a person you weren’t in love with, you know?”
Steve frowns.
Bucky turns to look at him. “Or, am I remembering something incorrectly?” he asks slowly. “Come on, say it. I don’t remember everything yet, you know that.”
Steve looks at the tv, then takes the remote, and turns down the volume. “You’re ready for this talk?”
“Stevie, of course I am.”
“Bucky, I loved you. I did. But I know you didn’t want that kinda of life. So I … I started going to certain areas when you weren’t home. Just to explore, you know? Experiment a little. But you found out. Had a fit. Said that I’d be dead as soon as the mob found out. Called me a faggot.”
Bucky stares at him.
“You didn’t want me to have a queer life,” Steve continues. “Back then, well, I didn't fit in with what was considered 'respectable.' I couldn't make myself fit so I... You know how eugenics was a big thing back then; I could barely go to the hospital, without being threatened with forced sterilization. I wanted kids, I still do and…”
It’s clearing up outside.
“You said that if I needed anything, I could get it from you. That’s how our sexual relationship begun, and you never told me you loved me back. I guess you didn’t want to encourage me further into the queer life. When you enlisted, you made it clear that it was over.”
Bucky is silent for a long time, staring at his hands at the end of his sweater’s dark grey sleeves. “I was scared, wasn’t I.”
Steve’s heart softens. “We all were, I guess.”
His childhood friend turns off the tv. “You want to go back, don’t you?”
With these words he reaches out and twirls Steve’s hair around his fingers.
“You want to go back to him. T’Challa,” Bucky continues, more silently. He sighs and rubs his eyes. “Can’t I make this place a home for you as it is for me?”
Steve holds his breath, staring at the black screen and at his own pale hands. “My home is where you are, you know.”
Bucky smiles. “Well. If everything really was as you told me…” he says. “I guess it’s on high time that I tell you to be brave and talk to him, isn’t it?”
Chapter 13
Summary:
“Your anger is so sharp, Steve,” T’Challa admits. “And I deserved you lashing out with it. But don’t underestimate what you do to me. You’ve changed. You’ve changed me too.”
Notes:
Seriously, go spam Ashacrone, who deals with me bouncing ideas off her all the time. She has been invaluable and has fixed so many of my screw ups.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
T’Challa shucks off the boxing gloves and throws them down on the floor. In front of him the bag sways, on the edge of bursting open. He takes a deep breath and then leans into the bag, closing his arms around it and supporting himself against it. It’s broad and tight and T’Challa hates himself for knowing how much it reminds him of Steve, and still not letting go of it.
He should stop feeling so god damn sorry for himself all the time. He'd had this coming all along.
From the moment he had thought Steve a spy, not questioning the blond man’s importance, he should’ve known that he had put himself into the mindset of a king. He had treated Steve as an outsider at worst and as a servant at best. Even though Steve made it easy for him, baring his own throat and openly submitting to T’Challa, T’Challa should’ve still known better.
He had been ignoring Steve’s right for privacy from the beginning: gotten the Adored Ones to supervise him while the man was working in the Barn to make sure that the man wasn’t hurting anybody. It was wise of T’Challa’s father to have arranged for Steve to live and work at a workplace full of low-life criminals; that way, if Steve had showed himself to be a sleeper agent, the public wouldn’t care too much about the adolescents anyway. If it had been up to T’Challa, he wouldn’t have allowed Steve to stay. T’Challa didn’t care if the adolescents were doing time; he didn’t want one single hair on their heads harmed. He respected his deceased father’s wishes enough to let Steve stay, despite the obvious danger factor.
So supervising Steve in the beginning had been, despite T’Challa’s regrets, necessary.
Yet every day the Adored Ones, no matter which one, came back and reported the day to have been slow. Besides the slight changes Steve brought to the Barn, rearranging the booths, fixing the fences and rationing the food stock better, Steve didn’t do much else. He got up at dawn, worked until midday, where he ate. At evening time he collected the horses, locked the doors and made sure all power is off, before he went to sleep. In his room he drew for a bit, mostly the things around him, before turning off the light and going to sleep.
And Steve had never disobeyed T’Chaka or T’Challa’s orders. He kept to himself, didn’t talk too much with anybody and only strayed from the Barn when he had to collect an adolescent.
The longer this harmless routine went on, the more suspicious T’Challa had become. Finally he had gone there himself, gotten closer than the other Adored Ones had allowed themselves to. The first hours had been as quiet as T’Challa had expected. Then he thinks he might have made a sound, because Steve had whipped his head around in the direction of T’Challa. For minutes both of them were as soundless and alert as possible. Then Steve had turned around and quickly walked to the ground where the kids ate their lunch, grabbed two 10 years olds playing with a ball and pulled them inside while snapping orders for the rest of the kids to get inside. Most of them had been surprised, but had done what he said. A second later a few of the oldest adolescents had rushed out to collect the horses, and Steve had gone out with a torch and soundlessly started searching the bushes of where T’Challa was hiding.
For half an hour Steve had combed the area. T’Challa watched him carefully, but lost sight of him at some point. Then he had heard someone sneaking up on him, and by instinct he fled and headed towards the trees, hearing Steve follow right on his heels.
The next day T’Challa had thought long and hard of the way Steve had made sure no one was in danger, before giving chase to what he must have thought was a wild animal. T’Challa agreed with himself to let the man stay supervised, but not as closely as before. He still called Steve to him, asking the blond if he wanted to go home.
Steve had tried to be as calm and collected as possible when he answered that question, but his big hands had started shaking, his eyes wandered all over the room. He had been on the edge of a breakdown, his words tinged with confusion of what he must’ve done wrong for the king to ask him to leave.
Ah. That was probably where it had seriously started. When T’Challa had decided never to bring up Steve leaving again. When he had believed Steve, and realized that the man genuinely wanted to stay in Wakanda, had no wish of looking for family or of his former home. It was when T’Challa promised himself to keep Steve.
----
The mission is in Vancouver. It’s an exorcism gone wrong, resulting in a small army of demons. It’s not that great of a threat, the demons aren’t even physically manifested and it certainly doesn’t call for both T’Challa and Namor to be there. Still they are, and the Captain has had to cut off their sniping several times.
Namor is good for something, though. He doesn’t want another tide to kill people. T’Challa doesn’t even know why he’s there, only that the Captain called for him specifically. Steve crashed his bike at some point and then he and the Captain did the thing where they don’t speak and Steve had run off on some telepathic order. Susan has been keeping the demons off the port, her force fields so far the most efficient thing against them, but the demons have just revealed themselves to be able to unleash small bursts of kinetic energy, which ended up with Sue almost getting thrown a car at her.
Because Sue is obviously the most effective fighter here and Reed’s wife, T’Challa pulls off his helmet and makes her wear it. For reasons beyond him, none of the Fantastic Four actually wear a lot of safety gear. Granted, Sue can be invisible, but the demons sense her through her aura rather than with their eyes. T’Challa is going to leave Reed a long passive-aggressive message about this.
So T’Challa is running around, trying to get as many civilians as possible evacuated while they wait for Strange to do something about the demons, because there’s no voodoo magic T’Challa can think of that’ll banish water demons, when he hears something sing through the air and everything goes black.
When he groggily opens his eyes, his head is throbbing painfully and he is coughing up water. Strong arms are wrapped around his chest, now clapping his back comfortingly. He looks up and blinks, red water running down from his hairline and down in his lids and sees Kan- Steve look down at him, his hands bloody and his eyes frantic and figure drenched with sea water. But T’Challa is pretty sure Steve is too mad at him right now to be holding him like this.
“You’re a fucking moron,” Steve snaps at him.
That sounds like Steve for sure. T’Challa knows he’s safe now, so he willfully blacks out again.
---
It’s only when he saw Steve running faster than he has seen any other in Wakanda do before, his figure a stray fleeting ray of sunshine on the golden and green landscape, running to get Ink, one of the few stallions in the Barn that T’Challa suspects that it might not have been the Panther God’s hands that kept Steve alive in the Twisted Visions Lake.
----
Turns out some demons took T’Challa’s lack of helmet as a cue to throw a street light at him. He’s got a skull fracture and is receiving medical care at Avengers Tower. With other words, someone decided to drug him until his face got numb.
T’Challa hates to lie there without his uniform or weapons. He knows he’s among friends and strong allies, people that are able to protect him better than his embassy would, but he can’t stand it anyways.
He does, however, go to the team debrief (gets lost three times until Sue runs into him and leads him to the conference room while shaking her head). The meeting begins very quickly and T’Challa has a hard time focusing on the back and forth. There had been a bit of panic when T’Challa had taken the hit and gotten thrown into the water, but apparently Steve had just gotten back from city hall and quickly taken control of the situation. He had gotten a hold of T’Challa (T’Challa twitches by the words) and Stephen had banished the demons about 34 minutes after T’Challa lost consciousness.
By the end of the meeting James asks T’Challa to stay put, and Namor pulls the Captain aside, far enough away from T’Challa for the Black Panther not being able to hear them. James listens to him for a second and then calls for Steve. Steve re-enters and James waves at them as he leaves. As soon as they’re alone, Namor starts speaking in an articulate voice at Steve. Steve looks at him, measures him up in a way T’Challa has never caught him doing before, and then drawls something in a very devil may care way. Then he steps up so close to Namor that the Atlantean must be feeling the human’s body heat. T’Challa has cuddled with Steve; he knows how hot Steve runs.
T’Challa stays in the room, caught up by the scene and not sure whether he should follow James. He feels too troubled about Namor and Steve being so close together to leave though. Still Steve doesn’t show any hint of how Namor and his last encounter had left the soldier, and stands his ground as if Namor is a particularly stubborn child.
T’Challa giggles and then feels awkward about it. He shouldn’t be having fun in this situation. Where is James? How could he leave Namor and Steve together? Can’t he see T’Challa is a bit too affected by narcotics to be of any use right now?
Well. If the Captain still trusts him, T’Challa should try. He gets up and nears the two carefully, his footsteps and legs feeling loud and clumsy. He gets just close enough for him to catch Steve saying: “I don’t care. If you want special treatment, you can forget about it and if I catch you acting outside the law, you’ll be treated like anyone else that does so. Don’t let the door smack your tight ass on the way out.”
Namor scoffs and turns around to strut (his tight behind) out. “Not as sweet and pretty as I remember you, Kan.”
Steve grimaces and then walks directly over to T’Challa. The Black Panther jumps. Steve seems to be very aware of his presence. T’Challa doesn’t know why this surprises him.
Maybe T’Challa thought he was invisible. That sounds about right. The king wonders if thinking he’s invisible is a bad sign. Probably is. Probably shouldn’t stay here. With Steve. T’Challa stares up at the blond in a daze. He tries, and fails, to predict what Steve is going to do. Maybe sneer at him for listening to his conversation. Or yell at him for getting his ass hurt on the battlefield. T’Challa has noticed that Steve does that a lot now. T’Challa should be wary, but he's pretty high right now, and he’s just happy that Steve will look at him. And breathe in T’Challa’s direction. Right now Steve’s breath smells of fruit and soya milk and cookies. Good that he finally gave up the cigarettes with James. T’Challa couldn’t stand kissing Steve after he smoked. His sensitive nose and taste buds would pick the nicotine and taste of tobacco up way too easily.
Which reminds T’Challa of the nurse that is smoking on the balcony two halls away from his room. Which reminds T’Challa that he has been staring at Steve straight for minutes now. Steve is watching him with that meticulous look in his face. Weren’t they supposed to have a conversation? If they’re not having a conversation, why has T’Challa been pulled to the side?
Maybe Steve will be a gentleman and make sure to follow T’Challa to bed. Maybe he will even tug T’Challa in, and kiss his forehead like he’d do some nights, and cuddle –
“Are you alright?” Steve asks.
“Yes?” T’Challa lets out, frowning because Steve is looking concerned. That’s not how he played this conversation out, when he imagined it a few days ago. He was sure there would be anger.
“Why did you give Sue your head armor?” Steve barks.
There it is. T’Challa smiles dopily even as his head flares up in aching pain at the sharp, loud sound. “She – “
“I don’t care if she was the President’s daughter,” Steve fumes. “She has force fields, you’re not putting your own safety at risk because she’s your BFF’s wife.” Has Steve been talking with the Young Avengers? BFF sounds like something they would say.
“I’m not giving anyone special treatment,” T’Challa says, feeling insulted even in his doped state.
“Whatever,” Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. Surely he has been talking with the Young Avengers. T’Challa doesn’t remember Steve being this openly rude. “Come on, you’re going to bed. And we’re going to talk when we get there.”
Yaaaaaaaas. Steve is following him to bed. Nice.
T’Challa nods and then cringes when Steve wraps his hand around his arm and starts leading T’Challa in a slow, steady pace. The Wakandan king gets very confused. He had imagined Steve helping him as some sort of Samaritan act, obligation rather than kindness, but Steve seems to really want to be good to him. A couple of months ago – three months in two days – Steve had said that if T’Challa ever showed himself again, Steve would hurt him.
They get to T’Challa’s room and as T’Challa gets underneath the covers, Steve pulls the curtains and closes the door, before turning around to look at T’Challa.
“Are you going to kill me?” T’Challa asks him helplessly. “I said I was sorry.”
Steve frowns at him. “How high are you?”
T’Challa stares at him and feels his eyes get watery. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me anymore.”
Steve stares at him for some seconds, and then goes to wrap his arms around T’Challa neck. T’Challa doesn’t really understand the situation, so he mostly stays sitting upright with his nose right above where Steve’s belly button would be, while Steve’s fingers start massaging his neck. T’Challa loves Steve’s belly button. It means some wonderful woman out there (Sarah Rogers, deceased when Steve was 15, rumored to be a socialist) was conceived, grew and gave birth to this man. Therefore it’s reasonable to lick the belly button.
When Steve feels the damp movement against his shirt, he pulls back and stares down at T’Challa. “Maybe we shouldn’t have this talk right now.”
“No,” T’Challa whines. “Don’t go. Steeve. Steve. I won’t lick your belly button. I’m sorry.”
“T’Challa. What’s going on with you?”
“I just really love your belly button,” T’Challa helplessly tries to explain. “Are you gonna punch me?”
“I’m not. I wouldn’t. Though you probably deserve it,” Steve sighs, kneeling to look T’Challa in the eyes at the same height. His thumb does that relaxing thing, that thing where he rubs T’Challa’s temples in circles, and it always relaxes T’Challa, Steve should stop distracting him by doing the thing. “I didn’t mean to ruin our relationship. I hoped we could talk.”
T’Challa stares at him for long, tense moments, before he leans in towards Steve’s hand.
“Your anger is so sharp, Steve,” T’Challa admits. “And I deserved you lashing out with it. But don’t underestimate what you do to me. You’ve changed. You’ve changed me too.”
Steve looks down, his eyelashes a dark sweep on his cheekbones. “I guess,” Steve sighs. “I know you wanted to be good to me, but when nothing is good enough, the world turns against us and you let go. And you lie. You could have told the truth anytime, but you chose to push me away. I don’t like that about you, T’Challa.”
“And you think I like you going home with everyone that breathes in your direction, letting them touch you?” T’Challa asks. “I only let Ororo have you, because I trusted her with my life. I didn’t want to share you, Steve.”
“Well, good way showing it by finding and proposing to someone while I was gone,” Steve snaps.
“You left!” T’Challa snaps. “You left to find yourself in the mountains for who knows how long a time, without as much as leaving a note for me. How was I supposed to interpret it?”
Steve gapes at him. “T’Challa. I left because your Adored Ones, your fucking bodyguards, ambushed me on the way home from a visit at your palace!” he shouts. “I feared for my safety, the safety of the stable children. I wanted to be as normal as I could be as much as possible, please people as much as I could. How did you think I read that attack?” Steve asks. “Don’t you think I did nothing but think about you while up there?”
T’Challa leans his head back. “I’m sorry. I seriously didn’t know. If I had, I wouldn’t… wouldn’t have proposed to Storm.”
“You know I love Ororo,” Steve growls. “It’s not about her.”
T’Challa nods. “I’m sorry. I… I did treat you like my toy. But I meant it when I said I only wanted to protect you. You’ve seen the Avengers. What kind of lives they have. Can you blame me for wanting you to be safe for just a little more time? To be happy?”
Steve exhales as if T’Challa’s words take everything out of him. “I should have told you from the start. I should have demanded more of you, instead of not saying anything until the end.”
T’Challa nods, his eyes dull and tired. Steve bows T’Challa’s head forwards and kisses T’Challa’s forehead. The king looks at him in surprise.
The old soldier looks back right back. “I’m not that brutal, T’Challa. I understand mistakes. And I understand forgiveness.”
With these words, he joins T’Challa in the bed and arranges the man on top of him. T’Challa rubs his cold nose against Steve’s shirt and then wraps his arms around Steve’s neck. He loves this pose. Steve is big and warm and T’Challa needs that so bad.
“We need rules,” Steve finally says. “We need to communicate better.”
T’Challa closes his eyes.
“I can’t give up… give up being open. With other people,” Steve says, clearing his throat. “It’s been a part of me for so long - “
“I understand,” T’Challa says, and reaches up to idly start stroking through the blond locks. “I can compromise. I just can’t stand to see you walk with people neither of us know - You know that night? Where you arranged a gangbang and your musk smelled odd for days? Someone tried to roofie you, Steve. I hunted them down, but I can’t … can’t trust you with just anybody. Can’t. I need structure. I need you to be there for me.”
Steve looks down at him. “Anything else you’ve neglected to say?”
T’Challa takes a deep breath. And he starts telling Steve about the Twisted Visions Lake, how T’Challa had become disoriented with the fumes and decided to dive into what had looked like a bottomless hole. He tells Steve that he knows Steve and Ororo made out sometimes and that they got drunk a lot and dared each other into stupid shit. And that he has supervised Steve for a while.
“I think,” T’Challa says. “That if we begin again. We should. Stay off sex for a while. Just. You know. Work it out between out first. Okay?”
“Okay,” Steve mummers in a low voice. It’s dark outside at this point and Steve has been holding T’Challa for hours now.
“Promise,” T’Challa demands.
“I promise.” Steve kisses T’Challa’s temple. “It’s late now. Sleep, my king. I will come tomorrow morning.”
Notes:
Also, since this story is coming to an end, there's going to be a sequel for those who might be interested, but of a very different kind.
Kan-Steve seeks asylum in 616, and meets his very repressed, piece of work counterpart. It's gonna be another self-discovery, sexuality-focused fic but centering on 616 Steve this time and with some slightly different themes. There might be some angst. Might be some character development (as in I will shove promiscuity down 616 Steve's throat). And of course, some Steve/Steve. Let me know what you think!
Chapter 14
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Poseidon walks over the surface of the Arctic ice. His steps are long and measured, muscled blue legs bare against the Arctic snow storm. Despite the harsh wind, his robesare only gently floating. Camouflaged in the white landscape sits a white panther, as big as a large iceberg, waiting with eyes illuminating in a loud yellow color. Her weight should’ve broken the thin surface of ice, but she rests calmly, as out of her element as she is.
When Poseidon reaches her she straightens and immediately slims down to her female furry form.
“Did you bring it?” she asks as she stands up.
Poseidon surveys her form calmly. Snow is settling on her thick, white fur. The same is happening to his long silver beard. He looks down at his hand, where a blue thread is wrapped around his fingers. He carefully unthreads it and gives it to her. Her clawed fingers enclose the thread.
“A soldier lies sleeping in my ocean,” he says. “Many great words have been spoken about him. Many humans have, throughout their lives, come to look for him. Humans are looking for him right this instant. I give him to you as a gift.”
Bastet tilts her head, eyeing the thread. Not many things are lost to translation when you’re among gods, but she still questions Poseidon’s methods. For many years she has guarded Wakanda and its people, as were they her cubs. Poseidon has guarded Atlantis. However it’s uncommon for two gods to seek help from each other in a shared misfortune they have both predicted. Their countries are clashing and they know what the end result will be. None of them are ready for their people to fall yet and especially not in an attempt to destroy each other. “How is a soldier supposed to bring peace?”
Poseidon nods carefully. “The snakes have told this to Cassandra,” he informs her. “I’ve given you the tool. It’s up to you to position it.”
Bastet looks at the blue thread and pulls. It could be hours or less than a second when the Valkyrie wreck breaks through the surface. She walks over to the Valkyrie, and swipes the ice off its belly. The metal is thick, so she transforms back into her huge animal form and claws the belly open, sensing the presence of several dead people in the ship and only one resting.
She claws through the ice, carefully, until she finds the soldier. His skin is blue, and vines of ice have wrapped around his body.
“What are you going to do with him?” Poseidon asks behind her, as she cups the back of his neck and knees to lift him up and leave the Valkyrie.
She throws a glance back at him. “Let the right one find him.”
----
Not many days after T’Challa’s recovery, Steve informs Bucky that he’s going back to Wakanda and because Steve’s glee is poorly concealed, Bucky doesn’t complain too much. The stable kids seem to have grown so big in the time he’s been gone, and even though they express feelings of betrayal by him leaving for such a long time without visiting or giving many words, they do forgive him and he tries to make it up for them. James routinely texts him, Sam sometimes backing it up, and in return Steve sends plenty of pictures. He doesn’t exactly work at the stable anymore; the stable kids have a system without him now, which he doesn’t want them to drop because he's back.
So he gets to spend most of his time talking with the kids. He has had plenty of conversations with everyone already, but he has rarely gotten to sit down with them for long periods of time. Kenry is going steady with a girl working at the palace; he doesn’t really like calling Steve by his Christian name, but he says he’s happy that Steve found his family. Steve feels conflicted about that- though what he has with Bucky can’t be described as anything else than family- he feels like Kenry is a brother to him as well. He says this and Kenry looks awkward and happy for a minute, before finally giving Steve his first hug since Steve left Wakanda as Kan.
Steve sends a selfie with Kenry to Bucky.
- What’s happened with him arm? James replies.
- The tsunami. Prosthesis. You’re pro-bros.
- Hilarious.
He really wants Bucky to come and see the Barn and meet the children too. He feels like Bucky doesn’t quite believe him when he says that he’s happy here so he hopes he can show that to Bucky. The kids are a part of Steve’s self, and Steve feels it’s important for those two sides of his life to reconcile.
Steve goes to visit the flower tribe, just in time to see the purple flowers bloom. He snaps some pictures (he feels like a filthy tourist) since the sight of it is rare and sends them Bucky’s way, before calling T’Challa.
“Have you seen this?” Steve asks and directs the camera towards the meadow.
“Oh,” T’Challa says. “Did the bloom happen already?”
Steve directs the camera back at his face just so T’Challa can see him frowning self-righteously at him. “Already? It was five years ago since it last happened.”
“Yeah, I saw pictures,” T’Challa lets him know.
“How can you not have seen one of the most famous events of your country two times in a row?” Steve asks. “I demand that you get here right now.”
“Pushy,” T’Challa says.
Twenty minutes later T’Challa arrives on one of his bikes. He comes silently, not wanting to break up the celebration going on in the city. Steve grins drunkenly at him and T’Challa puts up with Steve putting all of his weight on T’Challa as they make out. When Steve starts to feel a little light-headed he pulls back, and they sit down with their fronts turned against the meadow.
“I’m glad you came,” Steve whispers to him.
----
The next day T’Challa introduces Steve to Ramonda.
Queen Mother.
“I’m so happy to meet you,” Ramonda greets and reaches out her hand.
Steve is surprised by the gesture, and isn’t sure whether he should greet her properly like a Wakandan normally would or if he should take her hand.
For now he takes it out of pure politeness.
“She didn’t leave,” T’Challa explains the same night. “She was abducted, a hostage for all these years. The people who abducted her were… were rapists. They arranged the papers so it looked like she ran away with a man. I was so stupid to have believed it.”
Steve looks at him.
“You know the night where I left you bound up after a scene?” T’Challa asks.
Steve nods.
“They had just found her,” T’Challa continues. “I needed to go meet her right away. Otherwise I never would’ve left you like that.”
Steve believes him.
----
When it happens, it’s not even planned.
It’s three in the afternoon, two weeks after they arrived to Wakanda, and they’ve both stayed in bed all day. It’s a rare opportunity even if their duties call. T’Challa goes to shower and Steve tries to focus on his call with Sam, but keeps getting distracted by the prospect of joining T'Challa that he ends up making the call short, and undressing.
They do sleep in the same bed almost every night, but Steve still loves the showers. There’s something about the enclosed space, the feeling of their naked skin touching, the kissing he knows won’t lead anywhere. The moment feels incredibly intimate.
When he enters the bathroom, more candles than usual are alight, which means T’Challa probably expected him. The black and gold tiles are carved out in the dim lightning, the floor is warm and already damp with the steam of the water. The shower stall itself is relatively new and built as a niche. There are several plants in the bathroom, blue leaves and sweet-smelling, dripping golden pollen on the floor. Apparently the smell cancels out other smells T’Challa’s. It won’t surprise Steve if it were just glorified catnip.
The bathroom holds a huge tub, but the king loves being efficient, so he usually showers. Steve walks into the shower, blindly reaching both of his hands out. T’Challa’s hands meet and intertwines with his and pulls him into the ray. Steve relaxes into the warmth and the touch of the other man, and lets their bodies come together. Their foreheads touch and Steve squeezes T’Challa’s hands as he presses his chest against T’Challa, feeling the king’s slight chest chair. He closes his eyes, the candles not really doing much for his sight anyway, and T’Challa glances against Steve’s cheek with his lips, breathing softly against Steve’s temple, his hands letting go of Steve’s and coming to rest on Steve’s chest.
They both breath out, their bodies pulsing, and Steve kisses T’Challa temple and his forehead, before putting his hand on the back of T’Challa’s head and his side. It’s hard not to get hard when they’re so close together and neither of them have lain with each other for such a long time, but they’re good at ignoring the erections at this point.
T’Challa’s nails lightly scrape at Steve’s skin as his hands move underneath Steve’s arms and on his back. Steve shivers and finally bows his head, finding T’Challa’s lips. He feels T’Challa get goose bumps underneath his fingers and he moves his whole body into the kiss, wanting to let T’Challa feel everything, every inch.
Wants to feel T’Challa as well.
Soon T’Challa’s lips opens up for him and they sway as their tongues engage. They’ve used endless months of perfecting making out, exploring each other’s mouth and Steve feels flushed, trembling and sensitive, because this never really loses its fire, this never becomes less intense or enjoyable. Their bodies press together, though Steve is sure they can’t get any closer than this, and Steve doesn’t notice their mouths disconnecting, only notices when his lips kiss T’Challa’s jawline, only notices when T’Challa shivers as Steve sucks at his neck, softly nips at T’Challa’s shoulders.
T’Challa’s nipples become hard buds against Steve’s flickering tongue and Steve can feel his own cock hardening. His hands stroke down T’Challa’s sides, feeling up the relaxed muscles. He leans in further to peck T’Challa’s nipples, and realizes with a small gasp that he probably went too far away from their deal, but as he pulls away, T’Challa’s hands pull him in again. Steve shivers and breathes, before opening his mouth, letting his lips and tongue continue their work. He’s holding T’Challa’s hips with both of his hands, rubbing his thumbs in circles right underneath T’Challa’s belly button.
As T’Challa’s breathing becomes deeper and less steady, Steve dares slide his hands lower. T’Challa’s arms close around Steve’s neck in anticipation, telling Steve what T’Challa has predicted him to do, and even if that wasn’t what Steve was going for, he follows along and lifts T’Challa’s knees around his waist, pressing the king against the shower wall.
T’Challa’s knees meet around Steve’s waist and tightens them so their crotches are rubbing directly against each other.
Steve straightens and seeks out T’Challa’s lips, lets the kiss turn more wanting and their tongues clash more forcefully, desire starting to pump in his veins.
It’s T’Challa who rocks his hips first and Steve automatically follows, feeling T’Challa’s cock throb against his pubic bone. Despite how fast Steve’s heart is starting to throb, how their kiss gets more desperate, their pace remains easy and unhurried. They act on their own time, not letting the pleasure become urgent, and instead build it up steadily, letting the intimacy stay crawling underneath their skin.
T’Challa only lets out a sharp breath as he comes, and Steve feels the hot spurt on his hipbone, feels his mind blaze with it and he feels all the more aroused, enough to set him off. He moans into the corner of T’Challa’s mouth as his hips keep grinding.
A sudden feeling of being overwhelmed comes with the realization of the step they’ve taken, and his breathing wavers and T’Challa shushes him, whispering: “Let it be, let it stay.”
After a moment of T’Challa holding Steve’s cheeks, Steve can breathe properly again and he kisses T’Challa’s hands and finally lets T’Challa’s feet touch the ground.
----
After that they generally go slow. They don’t go for many rounds at a time, and genuinely enjoy it that way. It’s weeks before they have a go at penetrative sex, and this time T’Challa opens his legs for him, lets Steve open him up. Afterwards T’Challa’s legs and arms wrap around Steve’s whole body, wraps them together tight so Steve is so deep in his ass it’s hard to thrust properly. He rolls his hips, grinds T’Challa’s ass into the mattress, the king responding by making these deep keening noises that urges Steve to drag it out, even if T’Challa feels burning inside. T’Challa comes with a shout, his hips jerking and shaking almost violently, semen shooting out so hard that the white liquid lands on the king’s neck as well as his chest. T’Challa clenches, almost painfully so, and Steve lets himself come, feeling the same release underneath his skin.
It takes months before they dare to do anything remotely kinky. T’Challa is riding his face, Steve’s lips still swollen from giving T’Challa a rim job and T’Challa pushes and pushes in until Steve’s nose touch his pubes and T’Challa snarls before coming down Steve’s throat.
----
“So…” Steve mumbles, approximately five months after having met Ramonda, looking up with his face resting again the pillow. “You and me?”
T’Challa, who’s sitting in between Steve’s legs and reading a book in a writing system Steve cannot recognize, turns and kisses him on the jawline. “You and me,” he confirms, squeezing Steve’s knee.
Steve nods and closes his eyes, just lets himself drift, and then he quietly hears T’Challa say: “You could marry me. If you wanted.”
Steve lets a single eyelid flutter open. “Political suicide. Sounds exactly like you.”
T’Challa drops the book and rolls around so their fronts are pressing into each other’s.
“There can’t be two kings,” Steve argues. “And I can’t bring you children.”
“There’s been – “
“- no pair of rulers made out of two cis males. Ever. Because there can only be one king.”
“There can only be one Black Panther, you mean.”
Steve sighs. “You’re not asking me.”
“I’m asking you. Would you rather I go down on one knee, like a proper Christian?”
Steve shoves at him with his foot. “Finish your book.”
“Nobody would dare hurt you here,” T’Challa continues. “People are becoming aware of your status.”
“And what about you?” Steve says, which he knows is a bad idea, because if they start discussing this, it means T’Challa’s proposal is up for discussion. “Once I’m coming out – which I am – my list of enemies won’t be short.”
“We’ll be stronger together,” T’Challa assures him.
Steve sighs. “T’Challa. I hate to break it to you, but I am white. Not just white; I am so pasty that Republicans look at me and envision their idealized America through me. Some tan and a wild man’s hair aren’t going to change that. Besides I want children. I really want children.”
“So do I,” T’Challa agrees thoughtfully.
“The Wakanda people would want you with the mother of your children. I wouldn't be allowed to be as much a part of their lives,” Steve explains impatiently. “I wouldn't have as much a say in how they were raised. The people wouldn't see me as their father, but as their uncle.”
T’Challa nods. “You’ve ever heard of stem cell reproduction?”
Steve purses his lips. “No.”
“It hasn’t been successful yet, but there’s a real possibility in it if my people take a look at it,” he says, trying to convince Steve.
Steve stares at him. “We’re not getting married, T’Challa. Shouldn’t your two other engagements have scared you off?”
“Third time is the charm,” T’Challa smiles and sits up again, picking up his book. ”It’s alright. I’ll wait until you come around.”
Steve glares at the back of his head. For ten minutes straight he refuses to bring up the subject again, even if his head is cloudy with thoughts, the possibilities, arguments, feelings of disbelief, hope, confusion and dread. “I want ten,” he finally says.
T’Challa looks back at him with a lifted brow. “Ten?”
“Ten kids, minimum,” Steve says. “I’m 99. It’s not unreasonable to want ten. We’re only getting ready if your scientist can prove to me that we can make a heir.”
T’Challa looks at him for a full minute, before his lips stretch into a full-blown grin and he throws the book on the floor and closes his arms around Steve’s neck, urgently kissing his lips.
Steve closes his hands on T’Challa’s shoulders, smiling and lets the happiness stream in.
-----
They’re holding two weddings, one in Wakanda and one in the States. The one in the States supposedly being the way Steve’s revival will be announced to the world, since Captain America is going to be best man.
Of course there is a backlash in Wakanda when people find out, but there is no real surprise. When the former queen had retired, many had predicted that it’d only be a matter of time before T’Challa would consider making his concubine his partner, man or not.
Again all the superheroes are invited, and Storm puts on a wig and colored lenses to sneak in. She preps and primes him along with Ramonda and Lan. He pouts when he’s told he’s getting dressed up as a traditional bride of his class, which means thousands of ruby drops arranged in his hair like a crown, gradient lips, painted colorless with a red stain on the inner side of them and a scarlet red shadow around his eyes, which are framed with black, and white liquid that makes his skin look wet is brushed onto the highest part of his cheekbones, his cupids bow and his tear ducts. He has a soft egg-blue suit on with a white and red khanga draped over his shoulder.
Bucky and Sam are going to be security (T’Challa had looked so offended when they told him this).
T’Challa shows up in his Black Panther uniform, gold and vibranium jewelry all over its cloth and he kisses Steve’s nose as Steve pouts at him.
“You’re wearing a white tux,” Steve tells him. “If I’m wearing a khanga, you’re wearing a white tux.”
T'Challa doesn't answer, only slides on a necklace around Steve's neck. Its chain is made out of fine vibranium and it has three large geometric pendants. It's an age necklace. you're supposed to add a pearl for every year.
A week later, still suffering from the Wakandan wedding’s hangover, they get married in New York in Steve’s childhood church. The press are all outside, waiting for those magic photo shots of the revived Steve Rogers getting married to the Black Panther. Steve even cut his hair just so his identity would be very clear.
Ramonda walks T’Challa down the aisle, and he looks beautiful, breathtaking, in the tightly fitted tux. And it doesn’t matter that Steve will have his hands and his mouth on another body in the future, on many bodies. It doesn’t matter that he’s only supposed to love one man now. Because he can do both and he is so much more.
Notes:
And that was it! And extra sweet ending for the beginning of an angsty sequel. Stay tuned :)
EDIT: It has come to my attention that a reader has chosen to link and liveblog about this fic. While I don't mind that they did this, it was only by coincidence I found out. If my fic or other fics left enough of an impression for you to liveblog it, I urge you to actually let the author know how you feel. Silence after posting your work can be devastating and not leaving either comment/kudos is your choice, but feels very odd when you can make 5-10 text posts about it.
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EncoreEclaireur on Chapter 4 Sat 30 May 2015 12:29PM UTC
Last Edited Sat 30 May 2015 12:33PM UTC
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