Work Text:
There I was again tonight
Forcing laughter, faking smiles
The hold his father had on his arm couldn’t be called firm by any means but it was insistent, and T’Challa knows without his father needing to strengthen it that he wasn’t going to be allowed to drift away as he normally tried to during these kinds of events. They were just so tedious, so hollow. No one actually wanted to be here, stifled in a hot room with too many people and formal clothes. At least the music was a temperate volume, allowing conversation without overwhelming the large rooms with the strings and piano.
The flow of people was far more natural than the actual people themselves, shifting as music changed and conversations ended, the fake smiles of politicians and important leaders playing the part to get their way. It was mind numbing.
“You look like you’re sucking on a lemon. Smile a little or something.”
He barely kept himself from rolling his eyes at his sister’s voice in his ear. It took him only a moment to find the nearest security camera, a white bulb set into the corner of the ceiling, then he put on the most pleasant fake smile he could while staring at it.
“Better. Now do that with the next person who talks to Baba, and you may actually make some friends.”
His father’s fingers squeezed gently and he could feel his smile dip again as he turned back to join the current conversation. It was a politician, obviously trying to get on the good side of the king who controlled vibranium. It was so obvious, they always wanted more power, more control, more technology, and it was frustrating sifting through the ones who would use it for good and the ones who would use it to overpower others. T’Challa was grateful he didn’t have to be the one to make those decisions yet. The weight of future responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders, but his father's guidance and example were invaluable.
Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy
Vanished when I saw your face
He struggled to pay attention, trying to add thoughts and comments, but it really wasn’t necessary. His father controlled the conversation before moving on to another one and it didn’t require his participation.
People watching was really the only upside to these occasions. He found it amusing to watch the interactions throughout the room and later recount them to Shuri, who would come up with truly wild and hilarious assumptions.
The edges of the room always had the best ones, tucked away enough for only the most observant eyes. Like the couple in the corner, standing close, body language clearly centered only on each other. The blonde man was a little too disheveled for the event, holding a plate full of hors d'oeuvres while trying to retuck the back of his white shirt into his trousers. The redheaded woman was much more smartly dressed, her green dress contoured to her shape, clearly more comfortable than he was. When she turned to survey the room her expression was fond but exasperated, also recognizable. She’d spoken with his father earlier, though T’Challa couldn’t recall much of the conversation. Shuri would have lots to say about them.
Just along the wall there was a group of men standing, clearly comfortable and much more lively then the rest of the room at large. All three of them were clearly fit, the blonde had one arm around a brunette whose longer hair was pulled up into a bun. The glances between them were hard to read, but clearly understood between them.
T’Challa’s eyes drifted toward the third in the group and when he really took the man in he couldn’t move his eyes away again.
His suit was cut well, tailored to display every curve and bulge of muscle. His arms were thick, even from the distance T’Challa could see the way they flexed and moved as he tucked his hands in his pockets. He was staring too long at the thick waist and thighs and only managed to tear his gaze away because the man threw his head back laughing. The side profile was hardly enough for T’Challa, and he must have pleased the universe somehow because it only took a few seconds for the man to turn, eyes seeking out something the blonde was referencing with a hand, and his face was finally lit by the light of the chandeliers.
“T’Challa.”
He barely kept himself from startling, turning sharply back to face his father and the politicians he was talking with. “Yes, baba?”
The King’s look was chastising, a raised eyebrow indicating his displeasure. “They were asking of your time at Oxford, how did you enjoy it?”
A more direct chastisement was sure to come by the end of the evening, so in order to mitigate it he focused on the conversation. But he couldn’t stop glancing back toward the corner, catching glimpses of the man as he naturally flowed throughout the room, meeting several new people along the way. It was only when the politicians finally moved on, leaving him and his father alone for a moment that he realized he’d lost track of him.
“T’Challa, this is to be your duty one day, you must learn the art of it.”
A glance back to the corner confirmed the man had been swallowed by the crowd. With a sigh of disappointment he faced his father, nodding seriously. “Yes, baba, I know, I am sorry.”
“What are you so distracted by? You can’t lie to baba, you shouldn’t try it.”
Shuri was as unhelpful as she usually was in this situation, particularly because if he responded with words it would draw his father’s attention. T’Challa really didn’t need him taking away the one enjoyable thing they’d snuck in. The communication chip was only small enough to avoid notice if no one was looking for it.
“You will be sorry one day if you do not pay attention now. I will not always be here to help you, son.”
That was a terrifying day to consider and it pulled T’Challa back into reality harshly. “Baba,” He reached for his father’s arm, holding to the sleeve for a long moment. “I am sorry, I am learning, I promise, I want to learn from you for many years still.”
T’Chaka’s eyes were kind and T’Challa closed his eyes when his father cupped his cheek gently. “Keep your mind trained on the important things, T’Challa.”
They were interrupted by a gentle clear of a throat, and both turned to find a new couple awaiting their attention. It took T’Challa a moment to place the familiarity, only to realize it was the blonde man who’d been speaking with the other man before. He wouldn’t have guessed the blonde knew the redheaded woman, but the grip she had on his arm spoke of both insistence and comfortability.
“Your majesty, I hope you don’t mind the interruption. I wanted to introduce you to Steve, I mentioned him earlier.”
“Ah, yes,” T’Chaka turned to face them completely, placing T’Challa at his side once again. “The captain with the vibranium shield.”
T’Challa followed the conversation as well as he could while still surreptitiously looking for the man again. Surely he was still around, especially if his friends were still here.
Only when his own name was mentioned did he come completely back to the discussion.
“T’Challa is recognized as the greatest warrior in our country, though I am sure there is no such thing as too much knowledge in that area.”
He straightened a little, especially when the redhead’s eyes swept over his frame. “That’s an impressive title. Enhanced?”
With a glance at his father to confirm it was okay to share more information he nodded. “Yes, but I am sure it is not in the way you are imagining.”
She raised an eyebrow but the Captain tilted his head, shrugging. “Being a great warrior doesn’t require any enhancement. God knows we have plenty in Avengers’ ranks who aren’t enhanced at all, simply well trained. The mindset and responsibility can be the hardest part of being a reliable team member.”
That was certainly something he could agree with. He nodded, grateful to find someone who at last wasn’t entirely just interested in the politics of being a friend to Wakanda.
“As a matter of fact,” The captain turned, searching the crowd around them. “We’ve got a couple of our unenhanced members here tonight. Nat, where’s Clint?”
But the redhead rolled her eyes. “He’s gone already, as soon as he had his fill of the food. But Sam should still be around.”
It was as he glanced around with the Captain that he finally caught sight of the man again. He was standing with a few other people, a drink in one hand now, and T’Challa knew he wasn’t being lit any more brightly by the lights than any other person in the room, but the lights certainly brought out the angles and lines of his body, flattering him in a way they didn’t do for everyone else.
Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?"
'Cross the room your silhouette
Starts to make its way to me
The captain had one hand to his ear, quietly muttering a summons into an earpiece. T’Challa was listening enough to know when to tune back into the conversation fully, but was mostly watching the way one of the women in the group was reaching for the man. She slipped her arm into his, stroking a hand down what was surely firm muscle.
But as he watched the man’s attention was caught by something else. He was looking up, abruptly scanning the crowd, then his free hand drifted to his ear.
“Yeah, your seven o’clock,”
T’Challa didn’t put together the Captain’s words with the man’s actions until the man had extracted his arm from the woman’s grip, obviously apologizing fervently, and began to make his way through the crowd.
“Are you going to have a heart attack? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Still unhelpful, so unhelpful. Nothing could help him right now, not when the most captivating man he’d ever seen was walking toward him purposefully, eyes on their group now, smile getting brighter the closer he got.
“Hey, you called?”
The captain pulled the man in, arm around his shoulder before nodding first at T’Chaka, then at T’Challa. “This is King T’Chaka of Wakanda and his son, Prince T’Challa. We were just discussing enhanced versus unenhanced and figured you’d be a good person to join the conversation.”
The man nodded, evidently agreeing, as he glanced between T’Challa and his father. “And does Wakanda have more of the enhanced variety, or are we all chillin’ in my corner of unenhanced heroes? Sam Wilson.”
He extended a hand which T’Chaka shook with a tilt of his head, but instead of offering his hand to T’Challa next the man, Sam, simply looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
It was embarrassing how long it took him to form a sentence. “We dabble in both corners, though much more in the latter.”
Sam’s eyes drifted lower and if he kept staring at him like that T’Challa would need more than a moment to recover. As it was, his breath was already a little short.
“Alright, alright, I can respect that.”
“Oh goodness, could you be any more obvious? A handsome man stares at you for a moment and you get all flustered? Okoye would hit you with her spear, pull yourself together.”
That was marginally more helpful than Shuri’s last comment, but only so much that it forced his eyes away from Sam’s figure. He threw a glare at the security camera, irritated with her level of observance even from seven thousand miles away.
His father thankfully picked up the conversation. “As the captain said earlier, we understand that those enhanced qualities are not all that make up a warrior. We encourage all good qualities, which allows for more strength and variety within our numbers, enhanced or otherwise.”
The three Avengers were nodding, Sam a little more emphatically than the other two. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, I’ve heard the enhancement stories of everyone on the team and I’d much rather go through another ten years of government training than anything else they’ve gone through. I get sympathy pains just thinking about it sometimes.”
T’Challa reflected on the night of his enhancement, receiving the Heart Shaped Herb, the choking pain that had pushed through every cell of his body only to be followed with the abrupt suffocation of burial and the gasping ache of returning from the ancestral plane. It was necessary, but he could understand someone’s desire to avoid it.
“Government training?”
He hadn’t even realized he’d been the one to ask the question until Sam’s eyes landed on him again. “Yeah, I was in the US Air Force, Pararescue, until they pulled me into the Falcon program. Pararescue took some hard training but the Falcon program was experimental which meant a higher security clearance and additional training. None of it was fun.”
The Captain laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve taken a look at your records, two SERE trainings, plus all the other stuff, I don’t envy that. I’m glad I got all that pain crammed into ten minutes, and long before they’d figured out all the stuff they put you through now.”
That lost T’Challa, he knew enough about the Avengers to understand their mission and recognize the more prominent members’ uniforms, but they were currently the only group who hadn’t reached out to Wakanda to ask for vibranium for their own uses. That had kept them off Wakanda’s priority and subsequently his.
Shuri was listening though and when she hummed into his ear he appreciated the information, even through the additional teasing.
“I knew Sam Wilson was a familiar name! You should know this, brother, you’ve seen him before. He is the one with the wings, he flies. But I hadn’t realized he was unenhanced, his skills are incredible.”
“I don’t know, man, they at least spaced it out a little for me. We were under the microscope but not nearly as much as you were during your little USO tours and missions. I liked flying under the radar instead of taking point.”
“You’ve seen him before, you even commented on his skill. Check your phone, I sent you a picture of his uniform. How did you not recognize him? He is practically Captain America’s right hand man, he even has a cute little robot who flies behind him.”
As his father picked up the line of questions he slipped the phone he used while away from Wakanda from his front pocket. With a swipe it opened to reveal a picture of The Falcon mid flight. He did recognize the uniform, and now that he had seen the man he could place the hairline and the carefully groomed facial hair. It was a shame the combat goggles covered so much of his face, though even as he thought that he understood it was rather more important to protect than to be flattering and recognizable. He recalled the one video he’d seen of the man in action, and couldn’t help but agree with his past self. If he had guessed, he would not have assumed the man was unenhanced. That was probably why he was so muscular, and it was somehow even more pleasing to recognize that those muscles weren’t just for the aesthetic of them but maintained because of his skill.
The playful conversation starts
Counter all your quick remarks
Like passing notes in secrecy
They’d moved onto names when he slipped his phone away and tuned back in.
“Of course Black Widow is a good name, Captain America was literally just propaganda. You should have heard Bucky’s rants about it back in the day, I’m pretty sure he’ll always hate the name.”
Sam waved a hand across the Captain’s words, turning back to T’Challa again. “Yeah, yeah, we all know that, but what about you? You’re enhanced, does that mean you’ve got a fancy code name, or do you not share it because of the whole secret identity thing?”
T’Challa again confirmed with a glance at his father that those questions weren’t going too far. His father seemed mildly more pleased with him, probably because he was actually engaging now without prompting. “I do not have a secret identity to protect. The mantle of Black Panther is passed from warrior to warrior, nearly always a warrior of royal blood, though that is not necessary for it to be passed. The people of Wakanda know who I am and hold me to the expectations of the mantle.”
The captain was nodding, his eyes intent and interested, while Sam was frowning. “Does that mean,” he gestured toward T’Chaka with a curious tilt of his head. “It was passed from father to son, or does the current king not carry the mantle?”
T’Chaka again nodded at T’Challa, so he answered the question. “It was passed to me by my father after I had completed the required training and proved myself worthy of it. It is a blessing within our country when a king reigns long enough to no longer carry both mantles. One day, under Bast’s care, I will carry both as well.”
“That’s an impressive tradition to carry, you wear it well.”
T’Challa nodded toward the Captain to accept the compliment, but Sam was beginning to smile, his lips lifting mischievously, and it caught his entire attention.
“Black Panther. I like it. Does it come with a cat suit or is it a little more traditional than that?”
“Sam!”
But T’Challa rolled his eyes, ignoring the Black Widow’s chastisement. “Those are bold words from the bird whose companion is a robot parakeet.”
Shuri laughed in his ear, and Sam was clearly surprised by the comeback, a hand going to his chest in mock offense when he recovered. “Hey now, we don’t dishonor Redwing in this house, he’s an invaluable member of the team.”
“Of course, of course,” T’Challa pretended to acquiesce, a tilt of his head presenting his faux apology. “His programming is immense I’m sure. It must be, after all, to protect someone named after the tiny Pygmy Falcon.”
“The Pygmy-” Sam spluttered a little and T’Challa grinned. He hadn’t been sure the joke would be understood, but clearly Sam was knowledgeable in all the varieties of falcon, not just the large ones.
He’d evidently been so caught off guard by the comment that it was taking him a moment to reply to that, shaking his head in disbelief, while the Captain was pulling out his phone.
“The Pygmy falcon? Wasn’t the program named after the Peregrine? What does the Pygmy-?” Apparently the query had loaded on his phone because he cut himself off with a laugh. “Oh, Sam,” He threw his head back while Sam turned to glare at him, pushing his shoulder when he only laughed harder. “Oh come on, that was good! I’ve never seen someone cut you down that easy before.”
T’Challa continued to grin, even as his father sent him a look. He couldn’t help it though, and technically Sam had started it.
“You are just so pleased with yourself. Finally a real smile out of you, and of course it would be after insulting the man you are so infatuated with.”
He rolled his eyes at the security camera, recognizing her teasing tone without having to see the smirk that came with it.
“Oh, but it’s cute, maybe we should rename you, Sam.” The Black Widow was smirking as well after glancing at the Captain’s phone and Sam threw his hands in the air, turning away from the group.
“You know, I didn’t have to come over here, and if I’d known I was just going to be insulted like this I would have stayed over there with Rhodes.”
Before he could actually leave the Captain grabbed his shoulder, spinning him back around with another chuckle. “Oh, come on, and deal with Melissa from engineering and her flirting? You know you like it over here better.”
Please don't be in love with someone else
T’Challa’s breath caught at the mention of a woman who he could only guess was the one who had been hanging off Sam’s arm earlier.
“Oh shut up, you’re just glad she gave up on you.” Sam rolled his eyes at the Captain before turning back to T’Challa, shaking his head with a grin. “Is that all you got? Gotta say, man, if that’s your roar it’s sounding a little more like a meow to me.”
They’d moved on far too quickly from the mention of the woman for T’Challa’s taste. It evidently was not a woman Sam himself was interested in, but why not? Was he already involved with another? Or perhaps a man? The Captain had a ring on his left hand, which T’Challa knew to be the western tradition for marriage, but Sam’s hand was bare. Not that that meant he wasn’t with someone, T’Challa certainly shouldn’t allow that to give him hope. But what if- He just shouldn’t allow it to distract him, especially with the way his father was watching them.
“You are sure you would like to squawk again so soon? You have hardly recovered from the first bout of it, don’t sprain your wings, little bird.”
“You should tell him you can show him how hard you bite, but it must be consensual.”
Shuri’s sly tone made his mind stutter, pulling intrusive images to the forefront of his thoughts. Sam’s throat would be a beautiful spot for a mark, a precise bite against the strong muscle would highlight the angle of it. Or perhaps he’d want it hidden, a little lower, a secret claim that no one but them-
He forced his eyes up from Sam’s shoulders, obviously caught by Sam’s smirk. He must have missed Sam’s reply because the smirk only widened.
“Cat got your tongue?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the heat in his face and neck. “Perhaps they should rename you to the Parrot, a true bird of prey would never squawk this much.”
“A true bird of prey knows all the tricks he needs to get what he wants.” The line was smoothly delivered, accompanied by a flirtatious eyebrow.
Or maybe it wasn’t flirtatious… Maybe it was just another tease to erase the boredom of the evening. The sudden doubt made T’Challa entirely unsure, and for the first time found himself without a quick reply. He hesitated, searching Sam’s face until the man rocked back on his feet, expectation still lingering in his eyes. With a quick breath he shrugged, turning to his father even as he spoke. “A true bird of prey knows to only attack when he needs to, not simply when he wants to.”
He didn’t realize how much he’d tuned into Sam until he turned to find him and the Captain involved in their own conversation. Surely it hadn’t been that long since they’d split into separate topics, but apparently it’d been long enough.
A vibration on his wrist alerted him to a communication from the King’s Guard in the hallway. Before he could open it on his phone, Shuri’s voice told him what he was.
She was entirely unhappy about it. “Ah, Bast, Ayo is pulling the car around. Why are you leaving so early? This is just getting good, you need to make a move before you leave, get his phone number or something.”
He ignored the last part, confirming on his phone screen that she’d been right. With a sigh he sent an apologetic glance toward Sam then held his phone out to his father. “Baba,”
T’Chaka glanced at the message then nodded. “Tell her we shall meet her outside, we will only be a moment after making our farewells.”
This is me praying that
This was the very first page
Not where the story line ends
My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again
He sent the dictated message before turning back to Sam.
Sam had slipped his hands into his pockets, which only accentuated the flex of his biceps and the thickness of his waist. “Leaving already?”
“We have other matters to attend to before the night is over.” Part of him was grateful for the additional duties he needed to complete because it meant he could finally leave here, with the stifling crowd and the insincere conversation. But it was just his luck that leaving would interrupt the first genuine and enjoyable conversation he’d had all evening.
“Ask him for his number and next time you visit you can see him again!”
The Captain was shaking his father’s hand and T’Challa still didn’t know what he was going to say. He couldn’t do as Shuri was suggesting, especially with his father present, but his practiced ‘ it was a pleasure to meet you’ simply wasn’t enough.
The Captain reached for his own hand and the automatic platitude fell from his lips, but then Sam was reaching out as well.
“Hopefully everything goes well for you tonight,”
“Thank you,” The warmth of Sam’s palm was startling against his own, and he knew he would feel the ghost of the firm grip for the rest of the night. “I believe it already has.”
Sam smirked, nodding a little. “It was a nice to meet you.”
T’Challa let his grip linger a little longer, not letting Sam’s hand go until they made eye contact again. He made sure he spoke clearly and sincerely. “It was enchanting to meet you.”
Shuri began to laugh in his ear just as he’d anticipated, but Sam didn’t. T’Challa released his hand and stepped away with a smile, but the man still stared, his eyes a little wider than they had been.
Minutes later as they were leaving the room finally, he glanced back to find Sam by the wall, watching them closely. T’Challa let himself smile.
This night is sparkling, don't you let it go
I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home
“Enchanting? All of the words you could have chosen, and you decided to use enchanting? What is this, an American romance movie? That was so cheesy, I cannot believe it.”
He ignored Shuri’s words, engaging with his father as they reviewed the evening in the car. He did actually have duties to complete, and he couldn’t allow her to distract him from those. He watched the lights of the city flicker through the windows, the rays slipping across his father’s face as they talked.
When they reached their hotel for the night he slipped into his room, grateful to finally interrupt Shuri’s continued harassment at his choice of words.
“Shuri, I swear to Bast, if you don’t stop it I will not wear a chip next time and you will have to spy without the audio.”
“But it was ridiculous! Though, somehow, it wasn’t to him if I judged his reaction properly. Ugh, you should have just asked him for his number.”
He turned to the wardrobe against the wall, pulling a far more comfortable outfit of sleep pants and a sleeveless shirt from the hangers there before stripping out of his suit. “It was the only thing I could think of. Baba was there, you wouldn’t have asked for his number with Baba there either. It was a political meeting, it would have been inappropriate to say anything else.”
That finally appeased her, and the topic changed. They continued to talk as he got comfortable and pulled up his beads to check in with the Border Tribe before they began their morning patrol. He was only part way through that, and hardly making progress in his conversation with Shuri, when his beads chimed at him to indicate a change to his schedule.
With a frown he pulled it up, confused. He was supposed to accompany his father through several business meetings before they departed in the evening for Washington D.C. where they would have another few meetings before finally heading home. Instead of that schedule though, the entire next day was blocked out with the simple heading Avengers Training Session.
He stared at it for a long moment before he was able to breathe again. Then he quickly rose from the chair he’d settled in. “Quiet, Shuri, hold on a moment.” He stared at the projection as he slipped from his room, somehow expecting it to change the longer he stared at it, and finally found his father in the communal lounge area, unconcerned and focused on his own projection. “Baba, what is this, why has my schedule changed?”
T’Chaka barely glanced up before nodding. “The Captain invited you to train with them tomorrow, demonstrate your skill and observe theirs. I deemed it more productive than following the original plan for the day, you may observe the politics while we are in Washington.”
When had they talked about that? T’Challa had been standing next to his father the entire time the Captain had been present, how had he missed that discussion? “But-” He stopped. A large part of him was incredibly grateful, his father knew him so well and a day spent training was far more preferable to a day engaging in politics. But another part of him was screaming that Sam Wilson was an Avenger. He hadn’t prepared himself to see Sam again, much less so soon.
He’d paused long enough that his father collapsed his projection and moved to stand in front him. “It will be good to share more with them. I believe the Avengers will be allies, and we must foster that relationship so we may benefit from the association. Trusting the Avengers with a little truth will allow more trust in the future.”
“Yes, of course,” He nodded, absolutely agreeing, but still stuck on the fact that Sam Wilson was an Avenger.
T’Chaka laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You will need to pay attention tomorrow, gain what knowledge you can, share what is necessary to gain their trust. I am trusting you, my son, with this task, and you must not allow anything to distract you.”
For a heart stopping moment T’Challa was sure a reprimand about his conversation with Sam was coming. Such a conversation wasn’t out of character for him necessarily, but in that situation it must have been noteworthy enough if his father was going to forbid him from engaging in that way again.
It was a relief and an annoyance when instead T’Chaka’s hand went to the communication chip behind his ear. With a gentle touch he removed it and held it between them with a raised eyebrow. “As much as I know you enjoy your sister’s company, it distracts you from your responsibilities. I expect this to be stored away when you go tomorrow, remain focused without her words in your ear.”
T’Challa sighed, his heart rate returning to normal even as he dropped his eyes in apology. “Of course, Baba,”
He held up his hand and T’Chaka placed the chip in his open palm before patting his shoulder lovingly. “Tell Shuri I love her and that it is far too late at home for her to still be awake, she needs her sleep.”
“Yes, Baba.” He returned to his room, slipping the chip back into place only after he’d closed the door.
Shuri instantly sighed into his ear and he could picture the pout she was wearing. “I thought for sure we had been sneaky this time, how did he notice it?”
T’Challa shrugged, filled with too much energy to return to his previous seat he began to pace in front of the wide windows. “I don’t know, but if it had truly bothered him he would have removed it far earlier in the evening. Unless he didn’t notice until later.”
“It is ridiculous that he will not allow me to accompany you. That would solve both your boredom and my nosiness, he knows that and yet he still insists I am to stay here.”
“You are too young still, Shuri, I was far older than you are before I was allowed, you know this.” It took focus to continue the conversation. How was he supposed to simply be calm when faced with the prospect of spending the entire next day in Sam Wilson’s presence? And without his father present?
He hadn’t noticed Shuri had gone quiet until she hummed. “You were worried, weren’t you?”
“Hm? Worried about what?”
“Worried Baba had noticed your infatuation, your enchantment?” The tease was back, and though it was comforting it made him sigh. She was entirely too observant.
“No, I was not.”
“Yes, you were, don’t lie to me!”
“He was right though, it is far too early in the morning for you to still be awake from yesterday. It is past first light by now, you should be in bed, sleeping instead of teasing.” He knew the insistence was probably for naught, but maybe it would get her to change topics again.
“Whatever, mama knows I was spending the night in the lab, it doesn’t matter. What matters is your new schedule. What are you going to do? Baba won’t be there, you could ask for Sam Wilson’s number!”
“Shuri,” He sighed and dropped his head back, staring at the lights of the city as they reflected off the polished ceiling. “I am going to do as Baba told me, that is it. If we are to have allies in the Avengers I cannot allow anything else to color my intentions.”
She dismissed that with a dissatisfied grunt. “But surely having a stronger relationship with one of the Avengers will only make the allyship even better!”
He highly doubted his father would agree with that. Instead of arguing with her he changed the subject entirely. To his gratitude she allowed him to, distracting him from his new anxiety with more conversation as he paced in front of the windows, alternating between pausing to stare at the lights on the ceiling and watching the cars move on the streets so far below him.
The lingering question kept me up
2 AM, who do you love?
I wonder 'til I'm wide awake
Eventually Shuri did end the call in order to sleep, and though he tried to lay down and sleep as well, he couldn’t.
If he was truly going to see Sam again, what was he supposed to say? His last words hadn’t been meant to be followed with more interaction. He’d thought that would be the entirety of their acquaintance until the next time his father needed to come to America. But now he was supposed to not only interact with him, but train with him as well.
The image of Sam covered in sweat, locked with him in mock combat across a training mat, sprang to mind unbidden. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed to dismiss it. Those ideas were the last ones he needed right now, it was entirely unhelpful.
He needed to prepare himself for the very probable reality that Sam Wilson was already committed to someone else. He could not allow himself to hope, or pretend, or even consider that those moments of teasing were anything other than a chance to dispel boredom with another equally bored person.
Eventually he couldn’t stop himself and opened his beads again, pulling up a search query and typing in the man’s name. Thousands of results appeared, though it seemed most of them were from gossip articles rather than actual reports. He sifted through them quickly but none revealed any information he could use. Either Sam Wilson was not committed-again, an option he would not allow himself to believe-or he went to great lengths to protect the person he was engaged with. That was most believable.
But still. Shouldn’t there be at least one sighting of Sam Wilson with a partner? The only articles he could find pointed fingers at him with another Avenger, either the Captain, the Black Widow, or another woman who turned out to be Maria Hill, about which there was absolutely no information available no matter how hard he looked. But he knew, he knew, the Captain was already married; there was another article about the Captain and someone named James Barnes which had two pictures of them staring lovesick into each other’s eyes. So, clearly it wasn’t the Captain, and while the other two were possible the Widow hadn’t shown any indication of a preference for Sam. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t let go of the Captain’s arm during the entirety of their interaction.
T’Challa closed his beads with a sigh, shaking his head at his own actions. Stalking a man he’d had one conversation with. Surely that was a new low for him. But he’d never been this desperate before, this captivated by even the sight of the man. The conversation had simply been a bonus that enthralled him, enchanted him, even more.
He groaned and rolled over, burying his head in the plush pillows and forcing his mind to go blank. He needed the sleep, desperately needed the sleep, if he was going to be training at his best when he woke up.
Even with his training keeping his thoughts from swirling when he awoke it was clear he hadn’t gotten quite enough sleep. Apparently the Avengers were early trainers, as his schedule block was specifically set to an eight am arrival to Avengers’ Tower. Usually he had no issue with early mornings, much preferring to train with the rising sun, but with the combination of a late night and the adjustment his body required for the time difference from home, he was blinking through yawns as he packed a light bag while the sun rose through the windows.
When he arrived at Avengers’ Tower, nearly five minutes early, it was only to be stopped at the security desk. They searched his bag, which was honestly laughable considering it only had a spare change of clothes and some toiletries while the truly dangerous items were on his person or with the guard who was waiting in the car in the underground garage. He smirked as they waved him toward the elevators.
He’d been warned about the Avengers’ AI JARVIS, so when it spoke in the elevator he wasn’t exactly surprised, more mildly impressed. It was rare to find such high tech outside of Wakanda, and though this didn’t quite compare, it certainly stood out from the rest of the world.
The AI deposited him onto floor eighty one, explaining it was a congregating floor where the Avengers usually shared breakfast. He was so focused on taking in the details of the room-a lowered floor off to one side with a large sectional couch and entertainment system, large windows that made up two of the walls, and a large kitchen and dining area-that he didn’t notice who was standing in the kitchen until they cleared their throat.
“You just gonna stand there starin’ at everything or did you want some breakfast?”
He didn’t startle, he didn’t, but it took him a second to get his bearings and step forward away from the elevator doors. He nodded at Sam, forcing the nerves away as he’d been doing all morning with focused breathing. “I ate already, but I appreciate the offer.”
Sam nodded easily, turning back to what appeared to be toast and jam on a plate. Without turning back around he lifted an empty glass and gestured toward T’Challa with it. “Orange juice? Apple juice? I don’t know about your enhancements but Steve’s always downing something to keep himself going.”
T’Challa set his bag on a stool at the kitchen island, still surveying the area but including Sam now, so obviously comfortable where he was standing and so different from the previous evening. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, and if the tanktop and shorts were anything to go by, he’d apparently gotten an early start training. T’Challa didn’t allow that to distract him. “Water will do just fine, thank you.”
With a smirk, Sam gestured with the glass again. “We don’t cater to royalty here, water’s in the fridge. Make yourself at home, your highness.”
T’Challa rolled his eyes, accepting the tease and grateful for the release of tension. He felt a little lighter and far more comfortable as he crossed the kitchen to take the glass from Sam’s hand. Perhaps they didn’t need to do anything but slip back into the teasing from the night before. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected it, not with how primitive the technology here is.”
“Primitive?” Sam turned to watch as T’Challa opened the door of the fridge, spotting the filtered pitcher quickly. “Man, you better watch it, Stark hears everything in here and he’ll whoop your ass if he hears you calling his shit primitive.”
He filled the glass with water and replaced the pitcher, only then turning to raise his eyebrow at Sam, taking a sip from the glass as he did so.
It only took a moment for Sam to roll his eyes with a sigh. “Well, he’d try to whoop your ass at least, and it doesn’t matter how enhanced you are, that suit is intimidating when it’s coming towards you.”
Well, that was arguable, but T’Challa simply shrugged. “I was told the Avengers eat breakfast together, not that I doubt your ability to hold your own but aren’t there a few missing?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam gestured toward the elevator with a butter knife, clearly unconcerned with his teammates' tardiness. “They’ll get here eventually. Steve ran with me this morning but he went to get Barnes out of bed, everyone else usually trickles down after he gets breakfast going.”
T’Challa hummed, curious about Sam’s choice to eat ahead of his teammates but deciding not to mention it. If he could avoid any of this becoming awkward his day would be a success. He wandered to the window, appreciating the cold water as he stared out across the city.
This floor was higher than the one at the hotel, and it afforded him a far better view of the city and the ocean beyond it. He was used to higher views, the Citadel in Wakanda offered a fantastic view of the city and valley, as did the mountain range he trained on, but the abundance of people was different. Throughout the night there had been people flowing through the city, and now, even so early in the morning, the streets were crowded with vehicles, with people going about their day.
The City That Never Sleeps, indeed.
He turned back toward the room only to stop when he caught Sam staring, eyes dropped too low to be anything but obvious. It only lasted a moment, a single second with the heat and weight of his gaze, before he jerked his eyes away, clearing his throat as he tried to casually lean against the counter, plate now held in one hand.
T’Challa couldn’t help a smirk, probably a touch too smug for how awkward Sam suddenly appeared. He could see the apology building on his tongue, could sense the discomfort that was about to spread through the room. In order to avoid that he allowed himself, far more openly, to do as Sam had done.
Please don't have somebody waiting on you
His eyes dropped down Sam’s form, openly appreciating it for the first time. The sleeveless tank top left almost nothing to the imagination, cut against his chest, tight around the muscles of his abdomen, showing the strength in his back. The hem had lifted at some point, perhaps when he’d pulled something from a cupboard, leaving a strip of skin revealed, the vee of his waist obvious. The shorts were loose, hiding a little more, but the power in his thighs was still admirable. His shoes were standard, nothing too impressive especially compared to T’Challa’s vibranium weave, but he let his eyes linger for a little longer before finally flickering back up, appreciating his arms and hands for a moment.
He was beautiful.
When T’Challa finally stopped staring enough to meet Sam’s eyes again he was pleased with the intensity of the gaze. Any thought of apology had disappeared, replaced with a touch of heat as Sam’s eyes dropped down again, any shame dissipating as he scanned T’Challa’s form.
There was a moment, frozen in silence, where he wondered if one of them was finally going to say something out loud, finally going to ask or acknowledge somehow.
A soft noise heralding the elevator interrupted it.
Sam cleared his throat again, blinking quickly as he shifted his eyes to the plate in his hands. He lifted the slice of bread to his lips as T’Challa turned toward the group exiting the elevator.
“Your highness, good morning, glad to see you made it alright.”
T’Challa nodded at the Captain, taking another sip of water instead of clearing his throat. “Good morning, thank you for inviting me, you saved me from a day of politics.”
The Captain laughed, casually tapping Sam’s hip to get him to move along the countertop. “Well, I am happy to help with that anytime, days like these are much better than nights like last night.”
“Hm,” He nodded, “I heartily agree.”
Sam continued to eat his toast even as he was shuffled around the kitchen each time the Captain needed access to another drawer. It took several minutes of further conversation before T’Challa realized the reason Sam wasn’t sitting down was T’Challa’s proximity to the bar stools. He tried not to feel bad about that, instead moving his bag to the floor and taking a seat casually as he observed the team move around the space together.
The Black Widow had followed the Captain from the elevator, pouring her own glass of water, while the blonde man who had tailed her collapsed with a wide yawn at the edge of the counter and laid his head down.
Just as the Captain began heating a pan on the stove the elevator opened again, pouring out another four members of the team. The volume in the room rose considerably as everyone joined what was obviously a usual morning routine. Several began helping the Captain with breakfast as a couple pulled dishware out of the cupboard. They each greeted T’Challa, and though he received a couple of surprised looks most of the team took his presence in stride.
He was just beginning to feel awkward when the Widow slipped into place next to him. “Sam said you’ve already eaten?”
“Yes,” He’d emptied his glass as well, which had been quickly cleared for him and placed in the dishwasher, which had left him with nothing to occupy his hands. “I had breakfast with my father.”
She nodded, evidently pleased. “Good, you want to get started instead of waiting here for these lunatics to finish? Sam’s good to go and so am I so we can get warmed up at least.”
Judging by the jerk of his head, she had not cleared this plan with Sam, but T’Challa just nodded, eager to be moving finally. “Please, lead the way.”
He grabbed his bag as he followed her to the elevator, smiling softly at Sam when their eyes met.
The training room was impressive, two stories tall and clearly modified for each of the teammates’ abilities. The Widow began pulling on some of her gear as Sam disappeared only to return a moment later wearing a sleeved shirt with his flight pack in one hand. They both glanced at him mid-motion.
“You didn’t bring your catsuit or what, man? You need a place to change?”
T’Challa smirked, setting his bag on the edge of a bench as he shrugged. “I am ready when you are, but please don’t rush on my account.”
They shared a look but eventually Sam shrugged and finished securing the straps of his pack. The Widow strapped two guns to her thighs then gestured toward the open floor space in the center of the room. “We train wearing most of our gear. Do you have weapons or anything you normally use in combat?”
He joined her on the floor, shifting his weight to get a feel for the give of the padding. “I am trained with many weapons but do not generally use projectiles or anything of the sort, if that is what you are asking.”
“You don’t use any weapons?” Her tone was polite but her eyebrows were skeptical.
Crossing the mat took six paces, the edge of the mat dropped nearly two inches to the floor. It wouldn’t be a pleasant fall if someone went over it. He determined not to use all of his strength, just to ensure no one got hurt. “I frequently use the weapons of my opponents against them. Bringing my own seems redundant.”
She seemed to agree with that, at least she didn’t answer before gesturing to Sam with one hand. Sam nodded and took two steps forward before his wings extended behind him and he lifted to hover behind her, both of them facing him.
Seeing Sam in his wings without the combat goggles was a sight he wouldn’t mind appreciating a little more, but before he could do more than glance the Widow moved. She darted toward him, keeping her weapons tucked away. It was clearly a test, which he was only too happy to pass.
It was fairly easy to stay ahead of her. He allowed her to test his speed, his mobility, and his defenses, all while staying out of her reach and away from the edge of the mat. Some of her tricks surprised him, but none got under his guard. Sam was still hovering but clearly satisfied with letting the Widow take the lead. He doubted Sam would attack at the moment, though he kept one eye on the drifting bird as the Widow continued trying to make physical contact with him.
Eventually, after another unsuccessful attempt to touch him, she stood up, her knees still soft enough to be braced but moving out of the offensive position she’d been in. “Alright, you are pretty good.”
A strand of her hair had fallen in front of her eyes and though they’d been moving for nearly ten minutes straight it didn’t sway with heavier breath. She was breathing just as steadily as he was.
He shrugged, stepping along the edge of the mat as he waited for her next move. “The Black Panther is not an honorary title, it is a warrior’s title. It requires skill to earn and keep it.”
“Clearly.”
Some signal must have passed between them, it could have been a hand signal or a look that he didn't see, and they both took action at the same moment. Sam swooped toward him and the Widow pulled her guns from her thighs as she twirled across the mat.
He had no idea what she’d loaded the weapons with, but he wasn’t nearly trusting enough to wait to see what they would do if they made contact.
A single thought had the Panther Habit gliding out from his necklace, encasing him in vibranium a heartbeat before Sam reached him. He caught Sam’s wing easily, using it to pull himself above the trajectory of her weapon before he dropped back to the ground, landing in a crouch behind her.
“Holy shit-” Sam landed just to the side of the mat, whirling to stare as T’Challa stood and the Widow eyed him. She didn’t do anything as undignified as shout, but he could see the surprise in her gaze.
Silence reigned for a moment before he collapsed the helmet with a thought, revealing his satisfied smirk.
Sam stepped up onto the map, shaking his head. “Knew it was a cat suit.” He lifted his hands to wiggle his fingers against the side of his head above his ears. "I like the cat ears."
The Widow rolled her eyes but T’Challa waved away the comment with one hand, allowing the vibranium claws to extend as he did. “It is the suit of the Black Panther, not a cat.”
“Oh-” Sam took a half step back, his eyes widening. “Okay, alright, alright,”
The Widow glanced at him and T’Challa knew as soon as Sam nodded back the real test was about to begin.
“Let’s do it,” Sam smirked before extending his wings again and stepping back off the mat into the air. “This is gonna be good.”
I'm wonderstruck, dancing ‘round all alone
T’Challa couldn’t disagree with that. When they both attacked, clearly in a coordinated routine, it began to get interesting.
Eventually the rest of the team joined in and it became clear that they really were a team. Their attacks were just as coordinated as Sam’s and the Widow’s had been, each member moving away when it became obvious a different skill was required. It was impressive and by the time they’d each had a turn against him he was actually feeling the burn in his muscles as his breath came heavier.
After a short break they split into two teams. Which wasn’t a problem, only Sam was on his team which meant he had a lot less reason to watch the man fly and that was a little disappointing. The skill and precision Sam used in the air was obvious and deserved so much more attention than anyone was giving him.
They fought six fake battles, switching team members occasionally according to the Captain’s directions, before they finally broke for lunch. It was invigorating to work with and against such a variety of skills, he hadn’t realized how easy it had become to read the Dora in mock combat. Being unable to rely on familiarity forced him to recall the most basic points of his training to stay ahead of them.
As the team filtered out the door, discarding gear on the benches as they went, he let the Habit collapse back into his necklace. He’d sweat enough that he wouldn’t be able to comfortably eat unless he cleaned up a little, so he grabbed his bag and slipped into the side room that had additional benches with showers and sinks.
The door opened behind him just as he pulled his shirt over his head.
When he turned Sam was standing in the open doorway, his eyes lingering on T’Challa’s torso. “Uh, sorry,” He shook his head as if to clear it before gesturing back toward the main room. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
T’Challa shook his head, unbothered. “I assumed it was a public space, an apology is unnecessary.”
“Right, right,” Sam finally stepped in, letting the door close behind him as he moved toward a cabinet set into the wall. They shared a glance, T’Challa unsure if another comment was a good idea, before Sam turned away again to pull his shirt off.
Oh, dear Bast, that was… a lot of skin. A lot of beautiful, dark skin, pressed tight over firm muscle.
Heat flushed up his neck and he turned his attention back to his own bag. He hadn’t planned on taking a shower, just washing the salt off his skin, and by the time he turned back around, washcloth in one hand, Sam had replaced his shirt with a clean one. That was both disappointing and a bit of a relief.
The tension was a little overwhelming as he moved to the sink. Maybe T’Challa was the only one feeling it though because Sam moved easily through the room, dropping his dirty shirt into a bin before rummaging in the cupboard again. T’Challa was paying far too much attention to his movements but it was mesmerizing to watch. Only when they made eye contact through the mirror did T’Challa finally remember to turn on the water and wet the cloth in his hand. He swiped it across his skin, appreciating the cool refreshment, then began to move back toward the bench and the clean shirt he’d pulled from his bag.
A firm hand on his arm pulled him back, and it caught him enough by surprise that he didn’t resist when it turned him to put his back to the wall.
Sam moved in close, their eyes level as they watched each other. T’Challa swallowed when Sam’s eyes dropped to his mouth.
“Still unnecessary?”
That took a long moment to process then another to understand. Sam’s proximity was messing with his head, pushing him to ignore everything and lean into the inviting expanse of Sam’s chest. But he was able to recall his comment a moment earlier and as soon as he’d grasped the memory he was nodding.
If this was truly happening he in no way wanted an apology.
When their lips finally met there was no spark of electricity or pulse of magic. There was warmth and strength, Sam’s lips plush against his own. The brush of Sam’s breath against his skin was tantalizing. When he moved away T’Challa took his own breath just to huff in disappointment. He didn’t want Sam to pull away, didn’t want the warmth of his chest or the strength of his grip to disappear.
His hands slipped around the thick waist he’d admired so much in the past few hours, pulling Sam back against him as his head tipped back and his mouth opened to accept anything and everything Sam was willing to give him. Sam’s smile was obvious against his lips and he couldn’t help smiling back. He let his weight rest against the wall, submitting as Sam deepened the next kiss.
Enchantment may have been a word worthy of teasing, but there really was no other way to explain how Sam’s touch spread across his skin. Perhaps there was a better word for it, but he didn’t worry about it at that moment, letting his mind go blank as he surrendered to whatever Sam desired.
I'll spend forever wondering if you knew
I was enchanted to meet you