Work Text:
It happens in a few parts.
One:
“Sam stopped by,” Okoye comments as T’Challa walks into his private quarters, throwing aside his tie and shrugging off his jacket. “He told you to, ah, hit him up. He wants to show you something.” Okoye is smiling, but not with her mouth. Her eyes are bright and T’Challa can’t help but smile back.
As exhausting as it is, ruling, coming home is always a relief. That is what the palace is, after all: home. It might be grand and used for political purposes just as much as the American White House, but to T’Challa it will always be the place where he grew up. He has memories of playing games with his sister and father as well as memories of making economic deals to further Wakanda’s economy. That is just the way his life is.
“He wanted to stay and wait, but I told him no one outside the Dora Milaje and family are allowed in your quarters without your permission.”
T’Challa pauses, vest half unbuttoned. “Let the others know that he is allowed here without me.” It is a testament to Okoye’s years of service that her surprise is almost invisible. Perhaps if he wasn’t paying attention, he would not have noticed it. But he does and he waits to see if she is going to ask.
“Is that it?” She nods and withdraws. T’Challa pulls out his phone and is unsurprised to see he has three messages from Sam alone.
Only two of them are cat videos. T’Challa sends Sam three pictures of birds anyway. He definitely doesn’t have hundreds saved on his phone.
He definitely doesn’t save the videos to his ever-growing folder. T’Challa is King of Wakanda, the Black Panther, and he doesn’t smile and feel his heart warm every time he watches a cat sitting in a box.
He doesn’t smile and feel his heart warm when his phone goes off, telling him that Sam Wilson has sent him another video.
Two:
The reporters are always clamoring to know more about Wakanda’s royal, especially if he has his eyes on anyone. It’s been a part of his life since he was a child and T’Challa dislikes it, loathes it on occasion, but he knows how to fit into the role that is given him. Playing the media is no difficulty, not with how much practice he has had.
Still, he can’t help but wish they expressed so much interest in how Wakanda’s economy has been booming with its latest trade policy or mention how crime across the capitol is at an all-time low. Maybe even discuss Wakanda’s latest announcements about how they will eliminate all industrial pollution in five years.
Important things like that.
“What do you have to say about the demands that Wakanda is an old country in a new world?” Someone asks. T’Challa dislikes the implications but he is glad that it’s a more serious than an inquiry on his favorite meal. It’s beef wat, preferably made by his own personal chef, but Sam’s brisket has been a close second for some time.
“Specifically,” the woman continues, “The lack of recognition for same-sex couples or protections for transgender peoples.”
T’Challa prides himself on being aware of every detail of his country, but he finds himself surprised. He could have sworn that he released a statement promoting the expansion of civil rights several years ago. Still, he plays the political card and makes some roundabout comment about how there have been more important issues. The interview moves on.
Later, T’Challa asks Aneka about it.
“The bill did not get passed,” is all she says. “Why?”
“Summon the Taifa Ngao. I have an edict I want discussed.”
No one asks T’Challa about his workout routine for a solid month. They’re all too busy asking questions about the motivation behind the new civil rights laws that were passed, including one ordering recognition of marriage between any two people regardless of gender identity, race, religion, and so on.
“Is there someone you had in mind when writing this?” Someone asks. T’Challa says no. He thinks of Sam.
Three:
T’Challa is proud of his nation. They are the most advanced in technology. Their food is delicious. Their religion complex and their geography beautiful. Wakanda has been in the shadows for so long, it is easy to forget how… Well, how far ahead they are in so many ways.
But he is no fool. He acknowledges the greatness of other countries and appreciates them for what they have contributed to the world, even if some of those achievements are not necessarily beneficial. For the most part, though, the world is better for everything that has been created.
Food, for one, is difficult to ruin. Medicine, though it is often in reaction to greater horrors. But above all else, T’Challa has a soft spot for music.
“What are you listening to?” Shuri asks even before greeting him. T’Challa tilts his head to one side; he had simply put his music on shuffle as soon as he got home, his usual routine, and had paid it no attention.
“Marvin Gaye, Trouble Man,” he replies, identifying it within seconds. His sister gives him a look but says nothing. He supposes that’s fair. Marvin Gaye is hardly traditional or even modern Wakandan music. Still, she accepts his answer and T’Challa thinks nothing more of it until they are sitting down to eat.
It is rare that they share meals together in the privacy of their own home; both have busy schedules and friends outside of the palace, but they attempt to make time for each other regardless.
Still, they do not always know what is happening in the other’s life so it is a mostly innocent question when Shuri asks if he’s seeing anyone.
“No,” T’Challa replies immediately. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing.” They resume eating. T’Challa’s phone beeps. He’s king, it’s not like he can turn it off, dinner with his sister or not. He checks it. There’s a chance of danger, someone needing Black Panther or their king.
Sam has sent him a text asking if he wants to train together tomorrow. T’Challa consults his calendar and, thankfully, has enough time to spend running circles around his friend for a few hours.
“So you really aren’t seeing anyone?” Shuri repeats, pushing her food around, an innocent expression on her face.
“No. I would tell you if I was. Why, are you seeing someone?” She isn’t and the subject is dropped.
T’Challa resolutely does not think if he is in a relationship with Sam and has just not realized it yet. He studied in England, not America and there are still some aspects of American culture he doesn’t understand. Romantic intentions are one.
He decides, sometime around midnight, sleep not coming, that he is not in a relationship with Sam.
He’s not sure how he feels about it. Disappointment is not something T’Challa is used to.
Four:
Sam is panting as they walk to the showers, his tank top clinging to his body, sweat dripping down his face. T’Challa is looking because Sam is talking about… about something. No other reason at all. Not that he needs a reason to look at his good friend while they’re having a conversation. It’s called being polite.
“Seriously, I thought one super soldier was difficult, but two of them? And I just said, nah, man, I am either your friend or your therapist, I can’t be both–”
T’Challa has interrupted someone once before, once in his whole life, and that was a man giving a speech trying to convince the citizens of Wakanda to overthrow the monarchy. Sam is just talking about his life, his friends, and some part of T’Challa’s brain tells him that this is unnecessarily rude but, well, he has been calm and controlled and calculating for most of his life.
He’s a king and the Black Panther of Wakanda but he is also human. He’s allowed to let his emotions control him once in awhile.
“Will you have dinner with me?” Sam pauses, confused. They’ve gotten meals together many times, but it’s clear that T’Challa means this differently. “As a date. I am asking you out on a date.”
Sam says yes. The smile on his face is brilliant, brighter than the sun at midday.
T’Challa wonders if this is what love feels like.
Five:
That night, an hour before their date, T’Challa panics and summons the Dora Milaje for advice. They give it to him in bits and pieces. It ranges from “take him hunting and impress him with your strength” to “challenge him to a duel and impress him with your strength.” He would be more exasperated if he thought they were serious, but they all have gleaming eyes.
“I have felt less concerned before meetings with diplomats, royalty, Avengers, and the media,” T’Challa mutters. Okoye steps forward, puts a hand on his shoulder, and looks him in the eyes.
“What you are feeling, King, is something far stronger.” They end up giving him real advice. It’s not nearly as bad. He even uses some of it.
Six:
Sam smiles when he sees the small table, the vase of red roses, the candles burning. It is not a Wakandan romantic evening, but T’Challa is fine with that. He wishes to make Sam comfortable after all, give him a taste of the home he has lost.
They eat Texan steak and drink Californian wine. It’s not what T’Challa is used to but he admits it is delicious.
He sees Sam sitting across from him, their knees touching, hands brushing as they both reach for the wine. They kiss.
T’Challa is certain this is what love feels like.