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“The world took everything away from me! Everything I ever loved!” Wind in his face, magnetic energy pulls on the liquid lightning of his armor, ripples the Jaguar’s golden spots. Erik snarls. “But I’mma make sure we’re even!” He bares his teeth at T’Challa, whips his words across the tracks with razor’s edge. “I’mma track down anyone who’d even think of being loyal to you, and I’mma put their ass down in the dirt, right next to Zuri!” The Panther lunges at him with a roar, and they fight, tooth, claw, blade. Holy eternal, the veins of Vibranium pull up to the surface, down into the abyss beneath them, uncaring blue glow. T’Challa stabs him in the chest. “Can you believe that?” Tears. It’s been some time since he cried. Real tears, at least. At last. T’Challa’s face is, his eyes, he’s soft for Erik then. T’Challa is gentle. “A kid from Oakland, running around, believing in fairytales.” The lift is fast, the suit closes tight around the blade. Wakanda’s sunset is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. T’Challa is next to him. “We can save you.” “So I can be a prisoner? Nah.” Erik shakes his head, he can’t look at T’Challa, his cousin, who’s alive. Despite Erik’s wrath, he’s right here, Erik didn’t kill T’Challa, and he collects his thoughts with effort. “Just- death is better than bondage-” T’Challa growls. “You will not die today.” The sun sets. Erik doesn’t die. The sun rises. He wakes with a jerk, fury in his bones. Bonds cut into his flesh like a safety belt in a car crash. “Calm down, murderer.” His vision clears, and the Princess comes into focus. A cluster of Kimoyo beads floats above him. Erik’s done missions in Siberia. Permafrost has nothing on her eyes. “You’ll live. Thank my brother for that, Killmonger.” With a flick of her wrists, the beads collect around her, follow her as she leaves without a second glance. The Dora Milaje regard him coolly. One of them touches her Kimoyo beads, and the bonds on his limbs disintegrate. “As per the King’s orders, you are to remain in the hospital until the medics release you.” “The King’s orders, huh?” He bares his teeth in a sharp grin. “Yes. T’Challa Udaku remains our rightful King, and you will be under guard at all times.” If the Princess is ice, the Dora Milaje are polished obsidian. They take their places at his door, unbending as granite. The wound in his chest hurts, phantom ache through his right lung. Lung tissue don’t regenerate, or at least that’s what Erik learned with the Seals. But those things ain’t true here, are they? Wakanda’s Sun rises into the sky above Birnin Zana and Erik stares at the smooth, white ceiling of his room. Noon comes, and his instincts stir, something. Something is there, here, somewhere- a scent. Someone’s scent-
Mine.
He tries to sit up proper, and his muscles give out, he can’t. But he turns to the side, and someone approaches his room. “Let him through.” T’Challa’s voice- His mate steps into the room. Their eyes meet, and then he’s there, by Erik’s side, hand on his neck, forehead to forehead. “You.” His voice is deep, rough. Serious brown eyes, tall, built like a brick house, fur around his shoulders. One of the Jabari. Alpha. “Wassup.” Erik smiles weakly, his voice cracks. His hands act on their own when they bury themselves in that soft fur to pull his mate closer. “You’re the lost Prince. N’Jadaka. T’Challa’s cousin.” “Yeah. And you are?” “I am M’Baku. Chief of the Jabari.” Of fucking course. “Nice to meet you. You got shit timing, you know that?” M’Baku pulls back, regards Erik, and his lips twitch. “How badly did you get hurt?” “I’ll deal. Stabbed in the chest, gonna walk it off.” M’Baku’s eyes darken, and wander across Erik’s bare torso. “Where is your physician?” “Prolly with people who need them more?” Erik shrugs. “I’m fine.” “Find me one of the healers.” M’Baku addresses the door, where two other Jabari as well as the Dora Milaje remain. “Don’t sweat it.” “Oh yes, I can see it already. This is going to be fun.” Erik smirks despite himself, and gets a wry lift of an eyebrow in return. Fuck, but at least his mate is handsome. “Can I ask you something?” “Anything you want.” M’Baku says calmly. “How many casualties?” “None so far.” The words take a moment to register, before Erik’s brain rejects them. “Come again?” “The flatlanders have competent first responders. You should be aware of that.” Erik sucks his teeth. “Healthcare ain’t exactly my number one concern.” “Yes. I know. I heard.” There is something in M’Baku’s voice. Hesitation, disapproval. Wariness. Erik meets his eyes. T’Challa bested him down in the mines, but up on the fields, the Jabari decided the battle. M’Baku was the one who put the final nail into the coffin of Erik’s plan, and they’re both aware of it. Shit. “What is going on here?” The Princess stands in the doorway, arms crossed. “I have just learned that Prince N’Jadaka is my true mate.” M’Baku tells her calmly. “As his mate, I would like to request an update on his state from his attending physician, your Highness.” She stares at them, unable to hide her surprise completely as she looks from Erik, to M’Baku. A curious, exasperated expression crosses her face, there and gone again. “… I am his attending physician, at the request of my brother.” “You are sixteen.” M’Baku says flatly. “I earned my medical license four years ago.” She gives back tartly and approaches Erik’s bed, fingers already flying over her Kimoyo beads. “Are there any more experienced personnel available?” M’Baku grits his teeth. “Not at the moment, no.” She glares. “Twenty-two lives still hang in the balance thanks to your mate. He’s not in immediate danger, so you will have to deal with me, Chief M’Baku.” “How can I trust you to be professional with the recent conflict between my mate and your brother?” Okay, so disapproving or not, M’Baku is ride or die about the mate thing. It’s- it feels strange. Erik swallows. The Princess laughs, and it’s not a pretty sound, sharp and sardonic. “It was my brother who asked me to take care of N’Jadaka in the first place. I’ve never failed T’Challa, and I will not start now. I saved your mate’s life on my brother’s behalf.” She gestures, and three Kimoyo beads follow her hand-wave, bathe Erik’s torso and face in blue light. He blinks. With pursed lips, the Princess reads the results. “Are you in pain?” “You offering me meds?” “Bast knows you don’t deserve them, but yes, I am offering you pain medication.” Her voice is perfectly cool. “Nah, I’m good.” “We’ll take some in case he changes his mind.” M’Baku interjects. “I’m fine, Chief.” “Please humor me, N’Jadaka.” “Nah, fuck the meds. I’m okay.” “You might not be in a while.” “Then I’ll deal with it in a while.” “We will take some medicine for later.” “Screw that, I don’t need her help. Don’t need yours either, so don’t bother.” The Princess groans, and they both remember that she is watching. She looks ready to break something. “I am going to lose my fucking mind. Could you please save this until I am done here?” “Is there anything else you need to do?” “A blood sample.” She smiles, false sugar, and retrieves a device from the cupboard next to the bed. “Arm.” Erik holds out his arm in compliance and is rewarded by a sharp sting as she pierces the skin of his forearm. The device beeps obnoxiously, and a moment later a table of blood values glows blue from her wrist. “You can leave the hospital.” She declares. “I will send your prescription to the pharmacy. If anything comes up, message me.” She reaches into her pocket, and retrieves a Kimoyo bracelet. “Courtesy of my brother. Any questions?” “Nah, I’m cool.” She drops the Kimoyo beads on his nightstand. “Then if you excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.” The Princess leaves behind a drawn-out moment of silence between Erik and M’Baku. Finally, M’Baku hesitantly takes Erik’s hand in his. “Can you move?” “I’m not invalid.” “Forgive me.” M’Baku looks at him. “You are- it is not easy. I found you, and had to realize in the same breath that I almost lost you before I ever met you.” “Yeah, but you didn’t. We’re both here. Cause my cousin’s a stubborn idiot.” “It’s a family trait then?” Erik snorts. “Let’s get out of here.” He is clothed in nondescript, awful light blue pants, and it strikes him as ridiculous. Ugly hospital scrubs are so universal, even Wakanda has them. Then again, it’s probably the other way around. Wakanda probably invented ugly scrubs. His feet hit the floor and his vision swims and M’Baku catches his shoulders with ease. “Will you please wait for a transport?” “Nu-uh. Screw that.” Erik grits his teeth. “I ain’t leaving this place in a fucking wheelchair. I’d rather crawl.” “A pretty face and a sense for the melodramatic. What more could I ask for.” “Watch me.” Erik stands up, the pain in his chest sharpens in pulsing stabs, and his vision blacks out for a moment. His feet leave the ground and then he’s moved. Long, even steps. “You’re not carrying me bridal style. This ain’t happening.” “Of course it isn’t. You fainted, this is all a dream.” “Kill me please.” “Sorry, olufẹ.” “What language is that?” “The Jabari speak a dialect of Yoruba.” “Huh.” Erik manages to open his eyes. They’re already almost in the elevator, and he pretends he doesn’t hear the whispers of the nurses and patients in the hallway. “Where we goin’?” “Me and my warriors have been assigned quarters in the Palace.” M’Baku’s voice vibrates against Erik’s side and he refuses to enjoy that. “Better than jail I guess." "Nobody is going to lock you up." M'Baku says. "You are my mate, and by that a member of the Jabari tribe. If the King wants peace, he will respect that." "So how do the Jabari punish their criminals?" "Crime is the mold that grows on a sick tree." It sounds recited, and Erik rolls his eyes even as he shifts in M'Baku's arms to rest his forehead against his mate's neck. "They teach that in Jabari Preschool?" "They do." "You gon' answer my question?" "Not at the moment, no." "You're a fucking piece of work you know that?" "I do." "Great." And he smells good, damn it, like the most delicious pine tree ever. Erik loses himself in that scent, or maybe he blacks out a little, because the next thing he feels is a soft bed. M’Baku puts him down with absurd gentleness. “M’alright.” “Of course you are. You did drink the Panther’s magic juice, didn’t you?” “That sounds so wrong.” M’Baku chuckles, and Erik smirks, but leaves his eyes closed. “You should sleep. Give it an hour, and you will be strong enough to walk again.” “You gon’ watch me all creepy?” “For now, yes.” Come here. Join me. Erik thinks, but doesn’t say. The room is quiet except for the ever so soft sound of his mate’s calm breath. He shouldn’t trust him, it shouldn’t be so easy to relax, but it is, and Erik does. The sun is still in the sky when he wakes. He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, and finds M’Baku on a kind of couch- Wakandan furniture is wild, honestly- legs crossed, eyelids lowered. Meditating. Huh. “That door leads to the bathroom.” M’Baku points without changing his facial expression. “Thanks, honey.” He takes a whiz, and a shower, and steps out into the bedroom with his chest still wet, towel low around his hips. Before he can say anything, he is hit in the face with a bundle of cloth- pants, black, soft fabric. He looks up and smirks at M’Baku, and gets an unimpressed stare for his effort. “And here I was thinkin’ you liked the view.” “I do. You’re very good-looking. But I’m not sleeping with you until we have established ground rules.” Erik grins, drops the towel and puts on the pants, just slow enough. M’Baku watches him unabashed, and Erik finds that he likes his attention. He tilts his head and approaches his mate. M’Baku ditched the fur mantle, but other than that, he’s still basically in armor. And it’s a good look on him, gotta admit that. “What ground rules you need?” “No. We are not doing this here.” “Got somewhere else in mind?” M’Baku turns on his heel and leaves the bedroom, and Erik follows him. “Shoes and a shirt are mandatory.” “Boring.” A selection of the items in question is laid out on a table to the side. They’re in what looks like one of the Palace’s snazziest suites, which yeah. T’Challa owes Erik’s mate his victory. Giving M’Baku the best rooms available is only polite at this point. The shirts are the same soft fabric, flax-vibranium blend, black and dark blues embroidered with silver. Erik picks the one with the least girly decoration, and the simplest shoes. He draws the line at doing up the buttons, though. “Let’s take a walk.” “That serious, huh?” Erik crosses his arms. “What you gonna need witnesses for?” His mate levels him with a sober stare, and a tiny muscle in his jaw twitches. So M’Baku does have a temper. “You are the King’s cousin, second in line to the throne of Wakanda, who all but usurped T’Challa’s position. You tried and almost succeeded in revealing this country’s true power to the entire world. And now, you are a part of my tribe, you are my true mate. Do you realize the diplomatic situation this puts the Jabari in?” “I don’t want your protection, and I don’t need it.” Erik replies sharply. “I came to Wakanda with a cause, and I’mma serve that cause for the rest of my life. I ain’t ever asked for anyone’s help.” “That is irrelevant. American mateship might work like that, but you are in Wakanda now.” With that, M’Baku turns and leaves the rooms, and before Erik knows it, he follows him out the door, anger back in his bones, familiar burn in his chest. The Dora Milaje wait outside, and they cross their spears right in his face. He acts on instinct, ducks under them. When one of them grabs his shoulder he goes low, twists, and uses the opportunity to steal the blade she has hidden in her left boot. Let it not be said that Killmonger doesn’t learn from his battles. “N’Jadaka and I are going for a walk.” M’Baku interjects, a little late, well. Erik uses the distraction to hide the blade in his sleeve. It’s black-ops conditioning, but deeper than that, it’s instinct, instilled by Oakland’s streets when he was barely thirteen. Can’t ever have enough weapons on you. The Dora Milaje exchange looks, and one of them sends something via kimoyo beads. But they don’t object. M’Baku’s status weighs up the threat of Erik's presence. “If my cousin’s got beef, he’s got it with me.” Erik states quietly as he falls in step beside M’Baku. “You didn’t choose me, and he knows that.” “That is not how this works.” M’Baku looks at him, incredulous. “Do you think I could stand by and watch you fight him?” “You don’t know me.” Erik shrugs. “You just met me. What you feel, it’s hormones, nothing else.” M’Baku stares at him appalled, and Erik curls his lips into a bitter smile. “Let me ask you a thing. If you and me had met before all this went down, would you have joined me? Or would you still have shown up and nipped the culmination of my life’s work in the bud?” “I did more than that. I saved the king’s life.” M’Baku replies, voice grim. “When he washed ashore and my fishermen brought him to me, I carried him to the healers myself. I ordered them to do everything they could, and I brought his family with the heart-shaped herb to him.” There is regret in his mate’s voice, but it’s not for these actions, and Erik knows it. A memory comes to mind. The crash of the hummingbird. T’Challa as he stepped up onto the smoking remains, alive, alive, and the way he called Erik’s name across the field. “You’d do it again if you had to.” Erik says. “S’okay, you can say it. You didn’t know you were fuckin’ me over the first time, but you’d do it again. S’fine.” “I’m the Chief. I cannot put my own interests above the wellbeing of my people.” M’Baku says, fists clenched, shoulders tense. “Yeah, your people are the only ones that matter, I get it.” “You don’t. Hanuman help me, I don’t know how to explain it to you.” “Nothin’ to explain. You’re a selfish asshole, like the rest of Wakanda. Don’t gotta feel bad about that. All the rest of them don’t.” “You think yours is the right way?” M’Baku glares at him. “The bloodshed your plan would have led to would have resulted in nothing less than a genocide.” “Newsflash, Chief, genocide happens all the time, everywhere. Mostly to people that look like you and me.” “I cannot support you in this.” M’Baku says. “The way you went about this- it was wrong. You were wrong, to burn everything in your path.” “Fuck you and your high horse. No one from Wakanda’s got anything on me, you’re all complicit in everything bad that’s happening out there!” “Your plan would have cost countless innocent lives. How can you condone that?” “Everybody dies. With Wakanda in power, we could protect all the innocents that deserve it.” “And who decides that? Who judges who gets to live or die?” “Me.” Erik says. “What makes you better than anyone else? What makes you qualified to lead?” M’Baku asks him sharply. “Nothing more than what qualifies the rest of this world’s leaders. You ever really look at the people in power?” “Yes. We should strive to be better, not use the same ways.” “So help me. If you think you’re so much better, do something!” “No. I am Chief of the Jabari, before all else.” “Right. In that case, forget I asked.” Erik quickens his steps. The doors open automatically, and they’re in the council room, and it’s so ironic, Erik laughs, low and bitter. “You know, we can just forget this happened. Might be better for both of us, pretend this was just a fucked-up dream-” M’Baku catches his shoulder and turns Erik around, comes right up into Erik’s space, and Erik’s fucking furious that he has to look up to meet his mate’s eyes. “You’re mine, N’Jadaka. As much as I am yours. Try to deny it, but I won’t.” “What use is that to me if you won’t help me?” Erik spits. “I gotta keep fighting, and you’re just going to be in the way.” “You’re right.” M’Baku looks at him with cool determination. “I am going to be in your way. I can’t let you continue on the same path.” “Try and stop me.” Erik growls. His fists clench and he sinks into fighting stance, blood roaring in his ears. Hostility crackles heavy between them. “Are you sure you want to do this now?” M’Baku asks quietly. “You’re not recovered wholly.” “You gon' need that advantage, Chief.” Erik replies, and charges. M’Baku turns just enough to avoid Erik’s punch, reaches behind his back, and blocks Erik’s following kick with his club. Erik puts enough force into it to shatter ordinary wood, but right, this is Wakanda. Even the fucking trees are superior. “I will not let you destroy yourself, or anyone else for your crusade.” M’Baku says, and it's a challenge as much as a declaration. “You mean you’ll try.” Erik bares his teeth, and advances. They exchange a rapid succession of blows, and hell, at least his mate can fight. Strong, quick, confident, fucking gorgeous, he would be perfect if he weren’t such an asshole. Erik throws a chair, M’Baku dodges it, and grins. “I am beginning to wonder how you beat the king the first time.” “Fuck you!” Out of the corner of his eye, Erik sees one of the Dora Milaje speak frantically into her Kimoyo beads, but he couldn’t care less right now. “You think I haven’t heard how he beat your ass?” Erik growls. “He did. I yielded.” M’Baku shrugs, catches Erik’s kick and hurls him across the room. Erik lands on all fours and wishes he had some kind of armor. Oh well. “I’ve been wondering about something that I heard about your fight at the warrior falls.” M’Baku deflects two hurled chairs easily. “You wounded him, but you never ended it. Did the Americans not teach you how kill someone for certain?” Erik snarls, and lunges across the room with all his enhanced strength, and they crash to the floor, grappling. “You could have stabbed him fatally. You could have cut his throat.” M’Baku takes one hit to the stomach before he kicks Erik and they both roll back to stand. “Yet you threw him into the river. Why?” Before Erik can even begin to think of an answer, the doors sail open. Instead of a reply, the last untouched council seat goes to shoot at his mate in straight trajectory. “Enough!” The King is here, of course he is, and something in Erik coils tight at the sound of T’Challa’s voice. “’Sup, cuz?” Erik meets M’Baku’s eyes, and hates that his mate looks like he knows something. Fuck. But M’Baku also doesn’t stop, which in a way is almost kind. Instead of sorting out the ugly mess of emotions that is his brain right now, Erik falls into his instincts as he moves in for close combat. There’s a lot of enemies in this room, and the blade slips into his hand on its own, and before he has really decided where, what to strike with it, T’Challa is there. Right there, between them, full catsuit except the helmet. He blocks both of their movements with graceful precision, and his face is thunderous. “I said, enough.” Erik takes a deep breath, and glares at M’Baku. And then the River Tribe Bitch has her ring blades in his face, and as much as he’d like to, he can’t fight everyone at once. He hates the way she looks at him, with pity, dismay and something calculating in her eyes. “Step apart.” The General is at T’Challa’s back, where she belongs. And she looks murderous, like she’s already mapped out all the motions to wringing first M’Baku’s and then Erik’s necks with her bare hands. “Can the both of you hold a civil conversation right now?” T’Challa asks, like he’s the guidance counsellor in a school yard brawl. “We were having a conversation until you interrupted.” Erik replies with gritted teeth. Granted, it’s not one he actually wants to continue, but still. T’Challa looks at M’Baku, and his mate nods, once. “I would talk to those two alone. Leave us.” Every person in the room, even M'Baku's Jabari, comply. It’s the kind of unquestioned authority that Erik had to struggle for, the entire fucking time he sat on that goddamn throne. With that confident, confounded gentleness, T’Challa somehow gets trust from the guards, the Dora Milaje, even the General. All of Erik’s forced intimidation couldn't achieve this obedience. Wakanda is supposed to be a warrior culture. And yet, they hold an Omega’s grace in higher regard than an Alpha’s demonstrated ruthlessness. Why? T’Challa is every inch a King, the way he stands before them, but there is a brief flicker of something weary, vulnerable in his expression, gone in less than a blink. “I was afraid this would happen when I learned about your mateship.” “I will replace your tasteless furniture with even bigger, more tasteless furniture. You need not worry about your precious council seats.” M'Baku says, and Erik has to bite his tongue to suppress a snort. “Those seats were antiques.” T’Challa says mildly, like he couldn’t care less. “But they are not my source of concern. I am not about to send you a bill for property damage.” “Then what do you want from us?” Erik asks, because fuck this, M’Baku is Erik’s mate, and if they have a fight, T’Challa will stay the fuck out of it. “A true mateship is a gift of Bast. Both of you were made for each other, no matter how unlikely it seems when you fight about your ideals.” He’s really doing this, damn. No mercy. Are they both that obvious, or is his cousin simply that observant? T’Challa already saw Erik at his lowest. Now he knows that Erik can’t even manage not to come to blows with his mate within hours of meeting him, and it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t feel like this. “M’Baku is chief of his people and beholden to their protection above all. N’Jadaka has made it his goal in life to help the oppressed around the Globe with Wakandan technology. I can see how you would clash, as soon as there is a course of action to be decided on.” He says it like it’s a natural phenomenon, inevitable, but the way he words it, also like it’s manageable. It’s fucking infuriating. “I am not spending the rest of my life sitting idle on some backwater mountain!” He's immediately sorry, because M’Baku actually flinches ever so slightly, but it doesn’t deter his mate’s reply: “You ask me to risk my warriors, again, for people who are not our own, and I cannot let you do that. It is my duty-” And shit, not this again. “It is your goddamn duty to do something! I swear to god, this entire fucking nation-” “Stop.” T’Challa’s voice, low and coarse, gives Erik’s entire mind pause. “N’Jadaka.” Oh hell no. “You-” “You don’t get to call me that.” Not in that tone, not with those eyes, not while M’Baku can see Erik’s every reaction, just, fuck, no. “For your purposes, my name’s Erik.” “Erik.” Royalty, even in the fucking way he inclines his head, and then he obliterates all of Erik’s fire in two measured sentences: “You will not have to spend the rest of your life idle, if you don’t want to. Your approach was misguided, but I feel in my heart that your motivations were true.” What. Like a tide that floods glowing coals. “I plan to open Wakanda’s resources to the people who need aid, on this continent and the rest of the world. The outreach program will be coordinated by my sister and Nakia, and when the time comes, there will be a place for you. Besides that, I encourage you to visit Jabariland before you insult your mate’s home. It is a beautiful place.” Erik can only listen. It’s literally all he can do. He doesn’t, this isn’t- what? “Chief M’Baku, please be patient with my cousin. He has been wronged many times, by my family as well as by the society that raised him.” For that at least, he knows what to say. “Fuck you.” “When we discuss the outreach program in the council, I would have you here, to have the Jabari’s voice heard, in that matter as well as all others, going forward. So, if you really would like to replace the seats, I would be glad if you would send one extra.” His cousin smiles, at both of them, faint, a little pained, but fuck if it isn’t honest. And T’Challa is outrageously beautiful when he smiles, even as that peculiar painful expression returns, there and gone, but yeah, it was there. Like, what? Fuck. The silence’s gone on for a moment too long between the three of them. M’Baku isn’t done thinking about whatever he just heard and saw. Erik doesn’t even know where to start. “Zuri’s funeral will be tomorrow at noon. The first council meeting will be held afterwards. I would be glad to see both of you there.” T’Challa nods at both of them, and then he leaves, like he didn’t just cause a paradigm shift of global proportions between Erik and M’Baku. “So. I underestimated the King.” Erik says, and looks at the door T’Challa vanished through. “Again.” “It happens to the best of us.” M’Baku shrugs. “Are the Jabari Omegas like that, too?” M’Baku huffs a laugh. “All Omegas are headstrong, in my experience. But I don’t think I know any that match your cousin.” Erik takes a deep breath. “You think he’s gonna come through with this?” “Do you?” M’Baku returns the question. Fuck. Goddamnit. Yeah, T’Challa’s gonna do this. His cousin is just the right kind of sincerely forthright, the right kind of noble. “So, you gon’ let me do this, if it’s his plan?” “I don’t doubt that you know better than most in Wakanda what the outside world is capable of.” M’Baku says. “I think he will need you, if he wants to do this without compromising our safety.” “So that’s a yes.” “Did you think I would just carry you away into the mountains like a cave man?” M’Baku asks, and the corners of his mouth twitch. “Like you said, I got no goddamn clue how Wakandan mateship works.” Erik meets his eyes. And it’s like gravity, natural and easy to step close to him. His mate. “We’ll find a way for you to follow your calling while we’re together.” M’Baku says. “That is my promise to you, N’Jadaka.” “And I promise that I’ll do my best to minimize diplomatic incidents.” Erik gives back with a smirk. “Not that it’s gon-” M’Baku cuts him off with a kiss, and Erik has no complaints about that at all. He pulls M’Baku closer, and M’Baku’s hands find their way under his shirt, and the doors open again. “Oh, good, they’re both alive.” Erik breaks the kiss begrudging, and turns to glare at the intrusion. The River Tribe Bitch- Nakia, probably should start calling her by her name if they’re gonna work together- anyways. Nakia looks faintly amused. The General next to her looks immensely annoyed, while M’Baku’s guards grin openly. “Yes, General, Lady Nakia? Was there something you wanted?” M’Baku asks, casual, and never takes his hands off Erik. “The knife N’Jadaka took.” The General says frostily. “Right, sorry ‘bout all that.” Erik smirks and retrieves the weapon from where T’Challa dropped it to the floor. He suppresses the urge to throw it, despite the fact that he’s reasonably sure the General could catch it with ease. He offers the blade to her hilt-first anyways. She takes it, and then glares at both of them. “Please take any further displays of affection into the privacy of your rooms.” “Sure thing.” Erik can’t help the teeth in is smile. “Bast save us.” The General mumbles, almost too low to hear, and exchanges a look with Nakia. Then the women leave, and Erik drags M’Baku back the same way they came. As soon as the doors of the suite close behind them, they’re on each other again. “Don’t get me wrong, I dig your style.” Erik pants the words against M’Baku’s neck. “But damn, your armor’s a bitch to get off.” “You don’t ever stop talking, do you.” “If you wanna shut me up you gotta give my mouth something else to do.” “I’ll think of something.” M’Baku undoes the complicated knots that hold his armor easily, and Erik is greedy for every inch of skin that is revealed. And god, Bast, whoever, whatever made this gorgeous Alpha Erik’s mate, they have his eternal gratitude. He bites his way up from M’Baku’s shoulder to his neck, nuzzles his beard, and then kisses him, with tongue and teeth, nails sharp against the back of M’Baku’s neck. In turn, M’Baku lifts Erik, like his 185 pounds are an afterthought, and Erik tenses. It’s been a long fucking time since someone was able to carry him, and this is the second time in a day. “Don’t even think about makin’ this a habit.” He says against M’Baku’s lips, and he feels more than sees his mate’s smile. “But you’re so small.” “Not where it counts, trust me.” Erik grinds down, hot and urgent, and just two pants are still too many layers left between them. They fall on the bed together, kiss again, hungry, teeth clashing, and it’s not enough. Erik needs this so bad, he had no idea, his mate strong and warm against his own body, skin on skin. He reaches down, into M’Baku’s pants, a question.M’Baku groans, and grinds into Erik’s touch, and that’s all the yes he needs. He closes his hand around his mate’s cock, and damn, M'Baku ain't lackin’ in the size department himself. The fabric of his own pants rips softly when M'Baku shoves it down Erik's hips, and then he rolls them around, pulls Erik on top and their cocks grind together. "Fuck." Erik growls into his mate's neck, because when he grips both of them together, his fingers barely fit around. There is a hint of slippery moisture between them, spreads as Erik rocks his hips. M'Baku's hands dig into his ass, and they rut against each other, urgent frantic. No finesse, just bare need, unrestrained, fucking finally. "You know how gorgeous you are?" M'Baku growls. "Thanks, fam." Erik grins against M'Baku's neck. "Fuck, you ain't that hard on the eyes either. Wanna fuck you. Gon' let you fuck me, too. Suck your gorgeous cock, shit. Let's not leave this room, ever." “Compelling.” M’Baku hums and Erik loses himself in their movement, against, together, and they come at the same time, a gasp and Erik almost blacks out from it. Erik opens his eyes when M’Baku kisses his forehead, temple, cheekbone, jaw. “So, what kinda magic juice did you drink?” M’Baku lifts an eyebrow, and Erik shifts his weight to lie next to him, chests still touching, and he allows his hands to roam M’Baku’s broad shoulders and back. “No magic juice.” “You’re stronger than normal.” Erik points out. “If it’s some kinda Jabari secret, I’m not gonna pry, but I’ve known guys roughly your size. You’re stronger.” “You made that observation just now?” M’Baku asks, wry, but there’s a trace of possessiveness in the way he caresses Erik’s side. “Not just now, no. Just thought I’d bring it up, see what happens.” “You’re a marvel of foresight, olufẹ.” “What’s that word mean?” M’Baku smiles, and kisses the corner of Erik’s mouth. “You being cute won’t stop me finding out, you know.” “I’m sure the palace can provide you a dictionary.” “I’mma need a whole textbook. Or something. Does Wakanda have online courses?” “You wish to learn Yoruba?” “S’your language, right?” “Hmm.” M’Baku resumes the kisses, until his lips rest on the pulse point, just below Erik’s ear. “There’s a sacred spring, high in the mountains.” “You don’t gotta tell me.” “It was blessed by our God, and his chosen receives permission to drink from it.” “Great Gorilla ain’t just a title, huh?” “It’s a spiritual occupation as much as a worldly one.” M’Baku pulls back and rests his forehead against Erik’s. “I wonder what Hanuman was thinking when he picked you as my mate.” “Well, tell him thanks from me anyway. Pretty sure that was the best not-sex of my life.” “I will.” M’Baku says, and then his hands wander lower. “Would you like to try the best sex of your life next?” Like Erik’s ever gonna say no to that.