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Royally Big Mistake
T’Challa had a killer headache. He hadn’t even realized that was possible anymore. Since he’d had the powers of the Black Panther, he’d sort of… never had to deal with hangovers. Which he had experimented with. Liberally. (Shuri didn’t really have to try hard to convince him, is what he was saying.)
“It’s the Asgardian mead,” Jim said helpfully.
Except it wasn’t helpful. T’Challa’s head throbbed with every word. “Mrgh.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t drink last night,” Jim replied, as if he understood what T’Challa had been trying to convey. “My pain was flaring up and I figured I was too old to get away with mixing my drugs and alcohol.”
“Mrgh,” T’Challa replied, pulling a pillow over his head.
“I got a lot of practice with Tony. Let me tell you, the press did not call them his ‘roaring twenties’ just for giggles.”
T’Challa took a few deep breaths, beginning to pull the pillow away, then thought better of it and pressed it back to his face. It wasn’t like Jim hadn’t been able to understand him already. “Why are you in my room?”
“You’re in my room, buddy,” Jim said, patting his leg as he passed the bed.
“Why… why am I here?”
“Probably because it was as far as you could crawl after keg-standing that mead,” Jim replied, amused, as he sat down in the armchair in the corner and opened a book. “I took your shoes off before I tucked you in. Hope that’s okay.”
T’Challa wiggled his toes miserably. “Yes.”
Jim was silent for a few minutes before he carelessly added, “Also, don’t panic but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…”
“I see,” T’Challa said. He closed his eyes and sighed. Then he jolted, eyes flying open, and sat up abruptly. “What-?! Oh–oh no–”
“There’s a bucket,” Jim said.
T’Challa scooped up the bucket and bent over it with a ‘hurk!’
“It’s not that bad,” Jim continued, shrugging. “Tony and I have gotten accidentally married at least three times since we’ve met. We’ll just get an annulment. No big deal.” He lifted his head to give T’Challa a very unimpressed stare. “Honestly, there are worse things than being married to me.”
“Uh–I did not mean to imply–” T’Challa began, remorseful.
“–You could have married Tony,” Jim added, smirking. “He always tries to convince me that we should stay married.”
“Why don’t you?” T’Challa asked after a moment.
“Because you can only drag someone’s head out of a toilet so many times before you realize that as much as you love them, you’re not who they need,” Jim admitted. “Also one time we kissed and it wasn’t great so. Nah.”
“I see,” T’Challa said. He considered standing, then thought better of it. He’d give himself a few more minutes to recover. “Give me a little time to recover, and I’ll go see about an annulment.”
“Sure,” Jim replied good-naturedly. “No rush. I’m enjoying being prince consort.”
T’Challa was about to say something else, but then the door burst open and in came Tony, looking delighted. “Rhodey! Rhodey! I heard you married T’Challa!”
“Yeah,” Jim sighed, smiling fondly. “I did.”
“You got yourself the sugariest daddy to ever sugar! I hope you guys are happy together.”
Jim spread his arms for Tony to fall into his lap, feeling endlessly fond when Tony didn’t even complain about the braces hurting him. “Are you still drunk?”
“They had mimosas at breakfast!” Tony exclaimed, offended. “What was I supposed to do, not drink them!? I’m not fucking rude! And anyway you’re changing the subject!” He leaned in, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Was he nice to you?” he asked, probably thinking he was whispering but failing completely in his drunkenness. “Is he a good husband?”
“Yeah,” Jim said, chuckling, voice soft the way it only did when he and Tony were showing they cared for each other. “He was a complete gentleman last night.”
“Good,” Tony said sharply. “You deserve a gentleman. You’re the best man in the world and no one deserves you. Well… Maybe T’Challa does, if he makes you happy.”
Jim laughed again. “He does make me happy.”
T’Challa stared, feeling warm down to his bones but also feeling as if he was intruding on someone else’s private moment.
Jim noticed him staring and rolled his eyes with a smile. “So why are you here bothering me on the morning after my wedding night?”
“Rhodey, I am so drunk,” Tony sighed. “So, so, so drunk. The drunkest.”
Jim ran a hand through his hair with a snort. “Where’s your keeper?”
“I’unno.”
The door opened again. Okoye poked her head in and snorted when she saw T’Challa leaning miserably over a bucket and Tony curled up in Jim’s lap. “I found him, Shuri.”
“Stark!” Shuri barked, flying into the room. “If Mama finds out I got you drunk in the morning to do science, she’ll kill me!”
“I’m telling on you,” T’Challa choked out.
Shuri huffed, then grinned like the cat who got the cream. “Mama already has words for you. She can’t believe you got married without her there.”
“Blurgh,” T’Challa said, and bent over the bucket again, wincing as Shuri and Okoye’s laughter made his head throb.