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One week after arriving in Wakanda, Bucky sidles over to Sam on the couch. Sam quickly moves the remote over to the other side of his body.
“For the last time: if you wanna watch Real Housewives, you can do that in your own room—”
“Calm down, Wilson,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “I’m not here for that.”
“Oh. What do you want?”
Bucky lowers his voice and leans closer to Sam. He smells like a freshly cleaned pine forest. “Do you know if T’Challa’s single?”
Sam’s eyes widen, and he sits up straight. “Do I know if who is what, now?”
Bucky gives Sam an amused look. “T’Challa,” he repeats, licking his lips. “Is he single? Is the Black Panther on the prowl?”
“You…” Sam splutters, feeling lost for words. “You can’t date him.”
“Why not?” Bucky shoots back. “You don’t like gay people?”
Sam bursts into laughter. If he had a drink in his mouth, he’d do a spittake. “No!” he chokes out.
“You against interracial relationships?”
“No! It’s just… I wanted to date him,” Sam says slowly. He sighs, thinking about his highness’s brilliant smile and bright eyes. “But, I mean, his dad just died, and he’s running the whole country by himself. I figured it wasn’t the right time.”
“Waiting for the right time is for suckers,” Bucky informs Sam, looking irritatingly smug.
“Who are you calling a sucker, you sexual predator?” Sam shakes his head. “Whatever. T’Challa’s famous enough, I’m sure we can find out his relationship status on the internet.” He pulls up Google on the TV screen.
Bucky squints at the screen, reads aloud: “…whosdatedwho dot com?”
“You have a lot to learn about the twenty-first century, man.” Sam searches T’Challa’s name and scans the page. “Holy crap, he dated Salma Hayek? Daaaaamn. Oh, here, look. He is single.”
“Nice,” Bucky says. He turns to Sam. “Wanna make this interesting? Fifty bucks to the first man to kiss his highness.”
“Easy money,” Sam scoffs. “No way I have less game than the brainwashed Soviet assassin. No effing way.”
Bucky shakes Sam’s hand and grins. “It’s on.”
Sam hears the door open, and Steve enters, still sweaty from his jog. He takes one glance at the TV screen and furrows his eyebrows. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see this,” he says.
The next morning, Bucky’s sleeping in and Steve had gotten up hours ago, so it’s only Sam and T’Challa at breakfast. Sam asks T’Challa about what he has planned for the day, and T’Challa spends at least fifteen minutes enumerating all of the various kingly duties that he has to perform by dinner. And that’s why Sam had thought it wasn’t the right time for a relationship. But a bet’s a bet.
“…and lastly, I must meet with the Board of Education to discuss the budget for next year. I have no doubt that M’Laku will attempt to cut the arts program yet again.” T’Challa sighs. “Fortunately, as King, I have the power to veto him.” He takes a bite of toast. “And that, Sam, is what I have scheduled for today.”
“Damn,” Sam says. “Is there anything I can do to help? Make it easier on you?”
T’Challa gives Sam a small, tired smile. “You’re very kind, Sam. But even if there were, it would make no difference. There is always more to do, more to improve. A King never rests, not when he cares for his people.”
I think I’m in love. Sam shakes his head and takes another sip of coffee. Focus. Come on, time to say something smooth.
“So… you like cats, huh?”
God. Damn. It.
Luckily, T’Challa only looks amused. He grins, showing his teeth. “And you like birds. Does that make us incompatible, Sam?”
“Of course not, your highness. It just makes things…” Sam raises an eyebrow, “…interesting.”
The next time Sam walks into the lounge, he finds Bucky sitting on the couch and T’Challa holding a measuring tape. Bucky is shirtless, all of his muscles displayed in their rock-hard glory. T’Challa lightly presses the measuring tape to Bucky’s right bicep, and Bucky gives Sam a dirty smirk.
Sam frowns. “What’s up, guys?” he asks.
“I am measuring Bucky for his new arm,” T’Challa explains eagerly. “We will forge it out of vibranium. I will be designing it myself, and it will be a large improvement over his previous one.”
“His highness is really being too generous,” Bucky tells Sam, voice oozing with charm. “As I keep telling him, a hook for a hand would be more than enough.”
“It’s no trouble,” T’Challa says with a smile. “I will enjoy the intellectual challenge.” He wraps the measuring tape around Bucky’s pecs, and for a brief moment, Sam’s not sure whether it’s Bucky or T’Challa he’s jealous of.
“Ooh, your highness, it’s really itchy on the back of my arm, ya think you could get that for me?” T’Challa goes to scratch Bucky’s arm. “Ah, that hits the spot,” Bucky moans, shooting another dirty look at Sam. “Oh, yeah.”
Sam tries to look unimpressed, but the back of his neck starts to itch.
T’Challa moves to the other side of the room for a moment, and Sam takes the opportunity to lower his head to Bucky’s ear and whisper, “You’re flexing so hard, you look like you’re gonna burst a vein.”
Bucky throws back his head and laughs.
Sam goes on a run with Steve around the palace grounds. (Though, what “goes on a run with” really means in this context is “runs alone while being repeatedly lapped by”.)
After his fourth lap, Sam slows down when he sees T’Challa standing behind the hedges, waving enthusiastically at him.
“Ah, Sam, just the man I was looking for.”
“Really? I’m—” Nonchalantly, Sam tries to lean on the hedge, then realizes that it’s impossible and almost falls into the leaves before he catches himself. “Uh, what’s up?”
“I have a message for you and your friends.” He looks around. “Is Steve around, as well?”
“I don’t know where he went. He’s probably taking a shower like an asshole,” Sam mutters. T’Challa looks confused. “Never mind,” Sam adds. “You were saying?”
“Well, please pass the message along to him, when you see him. I’m having a dinner party tonight. Mostly members of my cabinet and their spouses, a few foreign dignitaries. It will be a seven course meal followed by cocktails.”
“And you want us to stay in our rooms and out of the way,” Sam guesses.
T’Challa laughs heartily. “You and Steve and Bucky are guests in my home. You are invited, of course. Why would you think otherwise?”
“We’re fugitives. I didn’t think you’d want to publicize the fact that you’re harboring us.”
T’Challa only shrugs, and Sam stares at him.
“You just don’t give a shit, huh? That’s…that’s pretty badass.”
Giving Sam an intense look, T’Challa says, “I’d really like for you to come, Sam.”
Sam’s mouth is dry. “Alright, yeah,” he says, nodding.
Dinner passes quickly. Sam spends half the time sharing flirtatious looks with T’Challa, and the other half trying to dodge the peas that Bucky somehow keeps throwing at him without anybody noticing. Once the party moves to the lounge for cocktails, Sam saunters up to Bucky, who has cleaned up surprisingly well and looks quite dashing in a suit.
“Prepare to be fifty dollars poorer, Bucky, because tonight is the night I seal the deal,” Sam says, sing-song.
Bucky’s eyes crinkle. “You’re awful confident,” he replies.
“Yeah, well, T’Challa personally invited me to this dinner, so…”
“He personally invited me, too.”
Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, I bet he didn’t do it as seductively.”
“No, no, he was pretty erotic about it,” Bucky counters.
“He’s been staring at me all night!”
“He’s been staring at me all night.” Bucky puts down his drink and starts walking over to the other side of the room, and Sam follows him. “Look, we’ll settle this right now. We’ll find his highness and—”
They’re stopped dead in their tracks by the sight of T’Challa sitting in the corner with none other than Steve Rogers, their heads bent very closely together. T’Challa says something, too quiet for them to hear, and Steve turns beet red and looks at the ground, hiding a smile. Laughing, T’Challa inches closer and closer to the other man.
Bucky narrows his eyes at the scene before them. “Steve, you son of a bitch,” he mutters.
Sam furrows his eyebrows. “I feel somewhat… betrayed.”
“Quick, make out with me,” Bucky hisses.
“What?”
“It’ll make T’Challa jealous.”
Sam stares at Bucky. “Of you or me?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky says, pulling Sam’s lips towards his.
Bucky tastes like mint and champagne, and Sam immediately forgets about everything else. He rests his hands on Bucky’s waist and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss, and Bucky moans in response.
It occurs to Sam that this is a very good kiss. Far too good of a kiss to be wasted on making someone jealous. No, a kiss of this quality should be the start of something. A kiss this good has potential.
Feeling dazed and giddy, Sam pulls away. He watches Bucky’s eyes flutter open and says, “I’ve, uh, suddenly lost all interest in his highness.”
“My room is closer,” Bucky growls, pulling Sam along by his hand.
The next morning, he and Bucky are back to sitting on the couch together. They’re watching some show about swamp people on the Discovery Channel because Bucky has poor taste, and Bucky’s absentmindedly playing with Sam’s fingers.
Suddenly, Steve appears in front of the television. He gives the two of them a judgmental, yet slightly amused, look and crosses his arms. “So, I’m glad you guys are finally getting along and all,” he says, “but you were really pushing it with the PDA last night. We’re guests—”
“Oh, Steve, still such a prude,” Bucky says, voice fond. “You haven’t changed.”
Steve’s eyes get teary, and he completely forgets what he was talking about, which he does pretty much every time Bucky mentions something about the past. “Buck, I—”
“Also, am I wrong, or did you not come back to your room last night?” Sam asks.
Steve looks like a deer in headlights. “I have to go,” he says, turning away.
Sam and Bucky hold up their hands for high-fives, but Steve blows right by them. “Nice one, man!” Sam shouts at Steve’s back as he leaves.
A few minutes of TV later, Bucky says, apropos of nothing, “Seriously, though, I could have sworn T’Challa was flirting with me the whole time.”
“I’m confused, too,” Sam agrees. “Maybe that’s how he acts with everyone. Maybe he’s just a flirty guy.”
“Or maybe he wasn’t actually flirting with either of us, and we’re just deluded motherfuckers.”
“Hm. Oh, well. At least you have me now, Bucky,” Sam says, waggling his eyebrows. “Instead of the Wakandan King, you got the Falcon Prince.”
“Yeah, I do,” Bucky says, sounding so genuinely pleased that it catches Sam off-guard, and he gets a little suspicious.
“Wait, did you do that whole thing just to make me jealous?”
Bucky looks at Sam and chuckles. Then, he slings his arm around Sam’s shoulders and lets out a content sigh. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sam,” he says.