Chapter Text
Sam ducks to avoid a foot coming straight for his face. He really doesn’t want to break his nose again—it’s barely healed from last month’s fight with a hidden HYDRA cell in Paris and he doesn’t want his face to be sore later. He’s got plans.
He can tell someone’s watching him from behind, even over the sounds of Barnes grunting and Steve goading his opponent. It’s that feeling on the back of his neck, but he can’t waste any time glancing over his shoulder.
“Alright,” Shuri finally says, swiping a hand over her forehead. “We will stop now. I am going to get overruled any moment.”
Sam doesn’t fight the grin that takes over his face. He knows who’s behind him. He takes his time turning around, bending down to grab his water bottle and showing off his ass a bit. No harm in showcasing the goods.
When he finally turns, T’Challa is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face. “Hello,” he calls out.
“Hi,” Sam answers, sauntering forward. T’Challa’s eyes light up but he stays planted. “How was your flight?”
“It was long,” T’Challa sighs. “But I am grateful it went well.”
Sam shakes his head. It always takes a few hours for T’Challa to shake off the diplomacy when he gets home. Sam crowds T’Challa against the fence he’s leaning on. “I’m grateful it wasn’t longer,” he murmurs, a hair’s breadth between their lips.
“Mm,” T’Challa agrees, closing the gap. They haven’t seen each other in nearly three weeks; Sam was in Paris for a month, and T’Challa was already gone to meet with the White Gorilla Tribe when he got back. They keep their kisses chaste; Steve and Barnes are still sparring with the Dora Milaje assigned to protect Sam when he’s in Wakanda, and they’re out in the open. Even though the people know about their courtship and accept it, they don’t need more photos of them plastered all over the tabloids.
“Come inside,” T’Challa whispers.
“Yes,” Sam says.
“Bye, Sam,” Barnes sing-songs. “Have a good time!” Steve wolf-whistles obnoxiously while Shuri curses at them both.
“My brother,” she reminds them, getting a quick strike in on Barnes’s ribs that makes him double over, half-laughing and half-groaning.
“You don’t hit Steve?” He whines.
“Traitor,” Steve says, somehow injecting the word with more fondness than most people put into pet names. Shuri responds by sweeping Steve’s legs out from under him, making Barnes crumple to the ground, laughing too hard to stand. Sam laughs a little, but T’Challa’s tugging his hand and Sam’s got some pressing matters to attend to.
T’Challa doesn’t even wait for the doors to close behind them before he presses Sam to the wall and kisses the hell out of him. Sam’s legs are already tired from sparring Shuri; he blames the workout for how weak his knees go.
“Hey,” Sam gets out between kisses. “Come on.”
“Yeah,” T’Challa agrees, making no move to head to his quarters. Something about that one word—not his usual yes but instead a casual yeah—drives Sam wild. He groans into T’Challa’s mouth.
“Okay, but really,” he pants, realizing he’s going to have to be the one to get them moving. He pulls back and T’Challa all but growls at him. Sam huffs and pushes at T’Challa to get him walking. T’Challa reaches over and takes Sam’s hand, squeezing lightly, and Sam’s head spins from how fast the mood changes. It was frantic and hot, but with the brush of T’Challa’s thumb over Sam’s knuckles, everything’s slowed down and sweetened.
“I’m so happy you’re back,” Sam says honestly as T’Challa does the retinal scan to get into his quarters.
“I am happy you’re back,” T’Challa counters. Sam laughs a little. It still seems strange, sometimes, that they made it here.
Things were tense, politically, after everything with the White Gorilla Tribe happened. T’Challa organized the new vote, as promised, and then they had to wait three days for the results. The worst part was the fact that results came in a matter of hours, but custom dictated three different counts of the votes.
Wakanda had voted to keep T’Challa on the throne, and Sam was big enough to admit—to himself; he wasn’t going to burden T’Challa with it—a sliver of him was almost disappointed. It made him feel selfish and guilty, but so many of their struggles would have been solved with T’Challa off the throne.
But overall, Sam’s happy the people came to their senses. They did demand T’Challa be forthcoming with his courting, a request T’Challa was all too happy to oblige. Sam’s relationship with the Wakandan people is…less straightforward. They like him, but he knows they don’t trust him. Yet. He’s working on it.
“You’re thinking very hard,” T’Challa says once they’re inside, tugging off his tie. Now that they’re facing the bed, they’re taking their time.
“I’m sweaty,” Sam says. It’s a non-sequitur, but it’s also true.
T’Challa shrugs blithely. “I do not mind at all.” Sam’s mouth goes a little dry as T’Challa slips out of his starched dress shirt. They’ve been together for four months now, openly courting for all of Wakanda to know, and Sam still gets tongue-tied at the sight of T’Challa’s shoulders coming free of all that fabric.
“You’re about to get me more sweaty, huh?”
T’Challa’s smile turns predatory. Panther, Sam thinks, smirking to himself. “Oh, yes,” T’Challa promises. Sam steps closer and slides T’Challa’s belt from the loops, relishing the way T’Challa’s pupils dilate at the motion. There isn’t a lot of talking going on after that.
After, they lie on the soft sheets with sunlight streaming through the window. T’Challa quizzes Sam on his Wakandan vocabulary, which is still woefully small. He’s getting better, though. He’s proud of that.
T’Challa slides one finger down the side of Sam’s face. “Love,” he murmurs in Wakandan. “Filling my heart.”
Sam swallows hard. “Yeah, I caught all that,” he says, a little weakly. T’Challa’s soft smile doesn’t dim.
“Good,” he says instead.
Sam’s breath catches. That’s not somewhere they’ve gone. Neither of them have been shy with their affections, but love? That’s big. That’s something else.
“Do not worry,” T’Challa soothes gently. “That is not pressure.”
“I know,” Sam says, voice coming out more defensive than he meant. T’Challa rises up onto an elbow.
“I am not saying anything you are not ready to hear,” he promises.
“You know what I’m ready for?”
“No,” T’Challa says, frustrated. “I just meant—”
“I know,” Sam cuts him off quietly. “Sorry. You know I get a little freaked out.”
T’Challa sighs and lies back down. “You can freak out if you need.”
“I just need us to take it a day at a time.”
“I know. That is fine with me.”
Sam laughs a little. “Thanks, Your Highness.”
T’Challa wrinkles his nose. “I am not used to respect coming from you.”
Now Sam laughs out loud. “I always respect you.”
T’Challa harrumphs and slides his hand under the sheet to find Sam’s ass. “I think you respect parts of me.”
“Now you’re just trying to distract me,” Sam accuses.
“I have a few motivations,” T’Challa admits. Sam grins and lets it lie. They have better things to do after so much time apart, and he’s happy to do them.
“Mr. Falcon! Mr. Falcon!”
The Wakandan media never calls Sam by his name, just Mr. Falcon. Sam can’t say he’s terribly unhappy with it. But it gets annoying having them yell at him like that. They only get away with it for a few minutes before Sam’s personal Dora Milaje team—T’Challa’s cousin Lulu and Shuri’s best friend Jamila—stare them down and they scatter.
Sam had been kind of resistant to having his own bodyguards. He didn’t think anything would happen to him, and he still doesn’t, really, but T’Challa told him it was tradition. Sam doesn’t want to step on any toes and he doesn’t want to insult the Wakandans and make them change their minds about him.
“When will you and the king get married?” One reporter calls. Sam tenses, but Jamila decides that’s enough and raises an eyebrow. Sam doesn’t know if she’s actually that terrifying or if the press just knows when they’re pushing their luck, but they scatter.
“Are you going to run away?” Lulu asks. She’s a bit more in Sam’s face than Jamila, probably because she’s known T’Challa since he was born and is protective of him. Everyone seems pretty protective of T’Challa. Sam can relate.
“No,” Sam says. And he isn’t. Sure, four months is too soon for him to be ready to talk marriage, but it’s not like he doesn’t know they’re heading there. Every day he gets less scared of that. He hasn’t had to put his head between his knees for nearly two months.
“Sam!” Steve yells. “You’ve been gone forever.”
Sam snorts. He went with Shuri to visit the Academy and was gone for an hour and a half. Not exactly forever.
“You missed me that much, huh?”
“He cried,” Barnes says, grabbing Steve in a headlock. “Pretend I’m giving you a noogie,” he orders.
“Quit!” Steve obediently yells, scrunching up his face dramatically. Sam rushes forward to act as Barnes’s missing hand and does the noogie for him. It surprises Steve into yelping for real and Barnes into laughing and letting go of Steve. Steve retaliates by taking Sam down and sitting on him.
“I thought you were supposed to protect me!” Sam yells at Lulu and Jamila.
“You should be able to do some things yourself,” Jamila points out.
“Where’s T’Challa?” Barnes asks, nudging at Sam’s leg with his foot.
“Meeting with his advisors. Ruling the kingdom takes up so much time,” Sam complains. Steve stops shoving Sam’s face in the dirt for a second.
“Is he gonna be done by dinner? We don’t have to go out tonight. He just got back.”
“Yeah, maybe you guys want some privacy,” Barnes leers.
Sam uses Steve’s distraction to flip them over and take Barnes down in the process. Barnes squawks indignantly.
“He should be done,” Sam says. “If not, we can just go without him.”
They don’t get as much time together as Sam wishes they did, but they’ve both got responsibilities to deal with. T’Challa’s busy taking care of the country, and Sam goes off with Steve, Barnes, and sometimes Natasha on missions Nick Fury sends them. Most nights, unless one of them is somewhere else, Sam and T’Challa get to sleep beside each other and wake up to morning kisses. There are worse things in the world.
The three of them tussle around for a little longer, but the afternoon sun is zapping them of most energy. Lulu and Jamila don’t stick around long; once Sam’s inside the palace grounds, they mostly let him fend for himself.
Steve, Sam, and Barnes are lying on the ground, and Sam is ignoring the way Barnes is stealthily creeping over to lie more on Steve than the ground. It’s even odds whether he’s doing it for the physical touch or just because he doesn’t want to be on the ground. A shadow blots out the sun and Sam looks up to see T’Challa standing over them.
“Hello,” he says, wasting no time before flopping down.
“Your suit!” Sam protests, so T’Challa takes a page out of Barnes’s book and lies on top of Sam.
Steve cracks up laughing. “That shut you up.”
“I’ll shut you up,” Sam mutters.
“Are we going to dinner?” T’Challa asks. Sam rubs at the back of T’Challa’s neck, trying to ease out some of the tension he always finds there.
“How much time do you have?” Sam asks.
“I am done for the day.”
“Then let’s stay here a little longer,” Barnes suggests, voice slow and drowsy. He’s got his head tucked under Steve’s chin and Steve’s smiling. Sam feels a smile taking over his own face. He’s content. He’s happy. This is what he’s always wanted in a relationship.
“I will have to leave again in three days,” T’Challa mumbles, eyes closed. “I have been asked to attend a meeting with General Ross.”
All the contentment drains away from their group. “Ross,” Steve spits, trying to sit up. Barnes holds him in place, burying his face tighter against Steve’s neck.
“It will be good to see what kind of information he has,” T’Challa points out. “I have agreed to meet with him.”
“How long will you be gone?” Sam asks. “You better take extra guards. I don’t want that asshole thinking he can just hold you there.”
“He would not dare,” T’Challa scoffs. “That would be an international scandal.”
“He held Sam in an underwater super prison,” Steve reminds him. “He was going to kill Bucky! Let me come with you. I’ll take care of him.”
“Take it easy,” Barnes says. “You’d get picked up the second you got into the country. And I don’t think you need any more speculation about plots to take down the US government.”
Steve shrugs. “They’d deserve it.”
“I will take my guards,” T’Challa promises. “But I was thinking. I will be in your home city. Would it be alright if I asked your mother to meet for lunch?”
Sam’s completely floored. He feels like that came out of left field, though really, he probably should’ve seen it coming. There’s no other name for the feeling clogging his throat just then except jealousy. T’Challa can go to D.C. with impunity and see Sam’s mom, and Sam can’t.
Sam swallows hard. “Oh.”
He hears Barnes make a little noise in the back of his throat. “We’re gonna go inside,” he says quickly.
“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Um, let us know if you…well, depending how things…uh, we’ll be inside.”
“Smooth,” they can hear Barnes mutter as the two of them make their way up the palace steps. Then it’s just Sam and T’Challa. Sam’s arms are locked around T’Challa’s back, but it doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.
“Is that too much?” T’Challa asks. He’s trying to be patient, but Sam can hear frustration in his voice.
“I don’t know,” Sam admits. “I just…kinda thought I’d be there the first time you meet her.”
T’Challa’s eyes soften, but he bites his lip. “We do not know how long that would take. You want to wait…indefinitely?”
“I didn’t really think about it,” Sam lies. He’s thought about T’Challa meeting his mother plenty, but in a hazy fantasy where the Accords never happened.
T’Challa takes a deep breath. “Sam, I am trying my best to move this relationship forward, but I feel like you are fighting back. If you do not want—”
“I want to be with you,” Sam interrupts before T’Challa can voice the fear. “I just…I’m far away from my family. That’s hard for me.”
“I know,” T’Challa says quietly. “But I am not sure what you want me to do.”
“I want you to build a time machine to go back so Ross never came up with the Accords,” Sam jokes. But T’Challa doesn’t say anything for a minute.
“We would not have met.”
Sam doesn’t know what to say. He was just teasing, but yeah, he’s thought his life would be better if Ross had never shown up that day. He’s never put much thought into the fact that he met T’Challa because of it.
“I think we would’ve,” he says slowly. “You and your dad were working with the US more. You would’ve come to New York or DC and they would’ve made us come in to meet you. A parade or something.”
T’Challa snorts. “Does your government usually throw a parade for visiting dignitaries?”
“Oh sure, they love Africa, didn’t you know?” Sam asks dryly. It makes T’Challa laugh and some of the tension dissipates.
“I will work on finding some plutonium,” T’Challa promises, and now it’s Sam’s turn to laugh. “Will you please think over me having lunch with your mother? I want to meet her, but I will not do it unless you are comfortable.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sam promises. T’Challa nods and then slides their lips together.
“Let’s go get dinner before your friends eat each other.”
“Wow, there are so many things I could say to that.”
T’Challa makes a face. “You Americans are so obsessed with sex.”
“I didn’t say anything about sex. So maybe you’re obsessed with sex.”
T’Challa shrugs. “A bit.” He stands up carefully, gracefully, and somehow keeps his suit completely clean.
Sam cracks up and takes the hand T’Challa offers him. T’Challa doesn’t bring it up again at dinner, or later that night when they’re getting into bed. He acts completely normal, but Sam can’t stop staring at him.
He tosses and turns all night. He must finally drift off, because he wakes up way later than usual and T’Challa’s already gone. He can’t decide if he feels guilty about that. There’s a knock on the door, and he wonders if that’s what woke him up.
It’s Shuri. Sam’s not sure if he should open it. She might be mad at him for upsetting T’Challa. Is T’Challa upset? He acted normal all night. But he probably is upset. He basically told Sam he’s not going to wait forever. Which is justified. But kind of stung. Sam shakes his spinning head and lets Shuri in.
“You are not dressed,” she notes.
“Thanks for the update,” Sam shoots back. She mutters in Wakandan and Sam’s pretty sure the translation means something like touchy.
“You did not sleep well,” she says. “That is obvious.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Would you like to tell me what is bothering you?” Shuri asks. She looks uncomfortable even asking, but Sam knows it’s genuine. Shuri doesn’t say anything she doesn’t mean. He’s oddly touched, even with her grimacing her way through the question.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says.
“It is T’Challa,” she guesses.
“Not really. But relationship stuff.”
She stares at him for a minute. It’s always unnerving when she does this, like she’s examining him or reading his mind or something. And she always narrows her eyes while she does it, like she’s not impressed with what she’s seeing.
“I do not want details,” she finally says, which Sam knew and that’s why he didn’t tell her. “I am in an uncomfortable position between you.”
“Well, you would pick his side,” Sam points out. “If there are sides. I don’t think there are for this.”
“I do not follow my brother blindly,” she says warningly. She really hates when people act like she’s a brainless drone. Not that Sam blames her.
“No, I just mean…he’s your brother.” Sam shrugs.
“And you are my friend.”
Sam’s speechless for a solid minute, it feels like. “I am?”
Shuri looks unsure for half a second before she covers it up. “No.”
Sam grins. “We’re friends. You like me.”
“I do not. Please get dressed and come to the gym. We have much work to do with your hand-to-hand combat. You rely on flying and get lazy.”
Sam doesn’t even let her criticism rankle, even though it’s not even true. He has great hand-to-hand skills. Not everyone can be a super-trained ninja. He keeps grinning at her. “Okay, friend.”
She’s hissing Wakandan swear words at him, but she’s also laughing a little, and that little bubble of happiness from the day before comes back. Sam misses his family in a dull ache that doesn’t quite ever go away. But it’s not like his life is devoid of happiness. He can’t be with his family right now, so he’s made a new one.
Oh.
It stops him in his tracks, shirt halfway over his head. He does have a new little family. Steve and Barnes and Natasha and Shuri. T’Challa. There’s no denying he’s in that circle. And Sam’s keeping him apart from his other family. That can’t feel good to T’Challa.
“I gotta go,” Sam says, scrambling into his shoes. “I gotta talk to T’Challa.”
“Yes, we will just pause your training while you work out your personal life,” Shuri says, rolling her eyes. “Let us hope no one attacks you on your way there.”
Sam flaps a hand at her as he runs out the door. He skids to a stop outside the council door. He can’t just bust in and demand T’Challa talk to him. For one thing, the door’s protected with a fingerprint scanner. He looks at the Dora Milaje posted at the door.
“Can you get a message to the king for me?”
“He is busy,” the first one answers.
“They will break in ten minutes,” the other adds, a little warmer. Some of the people in Wakanda love Sam. Maybe she’s one of his fans. “You may wait.”
“Thanks,” he says, giving her a smile because he’s not dumb enough to alienate anyone willing to help him. It’s an excruciating ten minutes. He didn’t even bring his phone with him. Finally, the door opens, and Sam springs up from the floor where he’d been resting against the wall.
“Sam?” T’Challa says. “Is everything alright?” Sam takes him by the elbow and guides him a little ways down the hall to give them some privacy. He doesn’t miss the way both Dora Milaje track their movements, but he’ll take what he can get.
“I want you to meet my mom,” Sam blurts out. “I think it’s way past time.”
T’Challa processes for a minute—sometimes after meetings where everyone’s speaking Wakandan, it takes him a second to switch gears into English—and then grins so wide and beautiful Sam wants to press him up against the wall and kiss him senseless. He holds back, since they’re not exactly alone, but he does reach out and take T’Challa’s hand.
“You’re important to me,” he says. “It’s important you meet my mom.”
“This makes me very happy,” T’Challa tells him, like his ear-to-ear smile isn’t a give-away. “I did think about what you said, wanting to be there when I meet her. I have an idea.”
“You do?” Sam asks, almost giddy. “You usually have good ideas.”
T’Challa laughs and leans in to kiss Sam gently. “I think you will like this one.”
Sam jumps when his phone buzzes. He’s been staring at it for twenty minutes, willing it to ring, but somehow he wasn’t ready when it actually did. He takes a deep breath and answers the video call. T’Challa’s smile is the first thing he sees.
“Hey,” Sam says.
“Hello,” T’Challa answers. “We have fifteen minutes. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Sam promises. T’Challa looks into his eyes, checking in with him. Sam gives him a smile and nod. “I promise. I’m so happy you’re meeting her.”
“Me too.” T’Challa pushes open the door to the coffee shop. Everything’s loud, and the picture is all blurry while T’Challa moves, but then Sam is being pointed at his mother. His throat goes tight as he watches his mom first look T’Challa up and down and then focus on him on the phone screen.
“Hello, Sammy boy,” she says, smiling the same smile she’s given him his entire life.
“Hi, Mama,” he answers. “You doing alright?”
“Of course,” she answers. “You know I’m always alright.”
Sam laughs. “Of course you are.” He can’t see T’Challa, since he’s holding the phone, but Sam’s heart feels like it’s going to burst. He swallows and waits until his mom’s looking at him again. “Hey, Mama? There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Her eyes dart up to look at T’Challa. She’s grinning and looks back at him to wink. Sam cracks up. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been this happy. “He looks like a good one,” she stage-whispers. “He must mean a lot to you.”
“He is a good one, Mama,” Sam says. “And he means the world to me.”