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The sun shines warm and golden, directly into M’Baku’s face. After the city’s noises and the filtered air of the Palace, this is the third sign that he is not at home. There’s also someone asleep, pressed close to him, warm and steady breaths, face against M’Baku’s neck. His braids tickle M’Baku’s cheek, and his beard scratches against his collarbone.
N’Jadaka. Olufẹ. Mine. Erik. My mate.
M’Baku turns, presses a kiss to the top of N’Jadaka’s head, caresses his sides. The scars reach all the way down his mate’s back, the sides of his thighs, down his legs. Leopard spots, but Leopards are small. N’Jadaka is not small. Jaguar spots then. His mate is an American, and a Panther. It fits. “Thinking way too loud over there, chief.” “Good morning, olufẹ.” "You up early," N'Jadaka mumbles. The movement of his lips against M'Baku's skin, the vibration of his voice, the warmth of his breath. M'Baku is aware of every last detail of the moment. All of it is perfection. "We have a long day before us." "Think I'm gonna stay in bed." "I can't force you to go to the funeral," M'Baku says. "But I think you should." "Why?" N'Jadaka looks up, props his chin on M'Baku's chest so their eyes meet. "Do you want to stay in Wakanda?" "I ain't gonna leave Wakanda if you're here, and you won't leave Wakanda, period." "And you said that you don't want to spend the rest of your life on some backwater mountain." N'Jadaka flinches, miniscule, but pressed against each other as they are there is no hiding it. "Sorry about that. I wasn't- yeah no. I'm sorry." "I did not take it to heart. It's not the worst Jabariland has been called in this city, trust me." N'Jadaka's eyes narrow, but then his expression smooths out. "Don't matter. Shouldn't have said it, cause it’s not true." "I know." M'Baku strokes N'Jadaka's back, slow, firm and gentle. He enjoys the noise his mate makes in return, half grumble, half purr. "You need to make peace with your family, the council and the flatland tribes. The first step to that is to attend the priest's funeral." "Wasn't just a priest." N'Jadaka's voice turns into a mumble, and there is a carefully crafted neutral expression on his face. "Uncle James- Zuri was my father's friend, in the states. He vanished the night my father died. I thought the King..." "You thought T'Chaka had killed him as well." "Or took him, to torture him or some shit. When I saw him, realized he was living it up here the whole time, I just-" The facade cracks, only for a moment, fury and grief in equal measure in N'Jadaka's eyes. "You killed him." "I don't- I wish I hadn't. Not cause he didn't deserve it, though." "You want to know what happened that day." "Yeah. I need- I found my father. With claw marks in his chest." "I am sorry." "You didn't do it." "How old were you when- How old?" "Eleven." M'Baku swallows the first word that comes to mind. And the second, and the third. More anger is not what N'Jadaka needs right now. Something occurs to him. "Do you think your cousin knew?" "Back then? He'da been like, what, fifteen?" N'Jadaka hesitates, then he shakes his head. "Na-ah. He knew when I arrived, but not for long, I don’t think." "That is a relief." M'Baku releases the breath he held. He could not accept a king who would condone abandoning a fatherless child in an utterly uncivilized place. No matter what else that king had accomplished. “Me showing up at the funeral’s gonna make some trouble for you, though,” N’Jadaka says. “Promised I wouldn’t do that, didn’t I?” “You promised to do your best to avoid it,” M’Baku clarifies with a soft smile. “Thank you for that, but if I say that I think you should go, then I mean that. Besides.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Some of the flatlanders will be insulted if the chief’s mate does not show up.” “So someone’s insulted either way. Why even bother?” “Your cousin looked at me with big brown eyes and asked me to join his council. You were there, I remember it very clearly.” N’Jadaka snorts and hides his smile against M’Baku’s chest. “T’Challa’s face is goddamn ridiculous, isn’t it.” “Agreed.” M’Baku huffs a soft laugh. “And he has uttered his express wish to see both of us at the funeral.” “Impolite to ignore the king’s wishes?” “In Jabariland, it would be considered high treason and punishable by death.” “No it wouldn’t.” M’Baku chuckles, and commits N’Jadaka’s glorious smirk to memory. “You look beautiful this morning, by the way.” “Get used to it,” N’Jadaka replies with a cocky lift of his eyebrows. M’Baku pulls him in for a kiss, and revels in the joy of having his mate so close. “Touching you’s like some kind of drug,” N’Jadaka says and nips on M’Baku’s bottom lip. “’Cept that I can’t avoid you. Don't even want to. Not happening.” “It’s hormones. I believe it is normal,” M’Baku mumbles the words into the tiny space where their breath is one. “You’re my mate, N’Jadaka.” “Yeah I am.” N’Jadaka straddles him entirely. “And you’re mine. M’Baku.” It’s the last words they exchange for some time. N’Jadaka is breathtaking, addictive, and the way they fit together is entirely intuitive. Almost, almost perfect, and will get there in time, M’Baku feels it. They take their showers, not together, because funerals require punctuality. M’Baku is already dressed in his formal armor when N’Jadaka steps out of the bathroom. “What do I wear?” “I have no idea about the current trends of flatlander fashion,” M’Baku gives back. “That said, the king’s tailor arrived this morning and left a selection of garments with my guards.” “Great. I’m not wearing anything embroidered.” M’Baku snorts, then looks down on what he holds in his hand, and swallows his hesitation. “Everything alright?” “Yes. I would like to give you something.” He crosses the room. N’Jadaka looks up at him with an easy, curious expression. M’Baku reminds himself not to let his eyes trail down to where a towel is slung, low and teasing, around his mate’s hips.This is a serious moment, if only by Jabari standards. “This belonged to my alpha mother. It was given to her by my omega mother on their wedding day.” He presents N’Jadaka with the armlet. Almost two fingers wide, intricately carved Jabari wood, it is one of the most precious things that he owns. A fitting first gift for his mate. N’Jadaka stares at him, wide-eyed and still as a statue. M’Baku clears his throat through the sudden, overwhelming nervousness. “My omega mother enjoyed carving pieces of wood that others deemed unworkable. She made this as a gift especially for my alpha mother, who worked as a huntress. The symbols on it invoke Hanuman's blessing for hunters.” “Are you- you sure you wanna give this to me?” N’Jadaka swallows heavily. “Yes I am.” “I got nothing to give back,” N'Jadaka says, and meets M’Baku’s eyes, beseeching. “This is-” “You don’t have to give anything back,” M’Baku says, and follows the impulse to press a light kiss to the corner of his mate's mouth. “It is a gift, freely given and without conditions.” “Is this a part of Jabari courtship?” “Don’t worry about that now. We are mates, the rest can come later,” M’Baku reassures him. He takes N’Jadaka’s hand and puts the armlet into it. “I would be honored if you would wear it.” N’Jadaka looks at him for a moment longer, then he smiles, ever so faintly, and nods. He puts on the armlet. It rests in the middle of his forearm, where it fits perfectly between two rows of scars. Then he steps in, and kisses M’Baku, and then a while later, they are almost late for the funeral regardless. They stand through the ceremony, and M'Baku watches N'Jadaka talk to his cousin with an odd, muted sensation of concern. T'Challa asks them to trust him with a challenge in his eyes. M'Baku finds, to his surprise, that he is ready to do as he is asked. He is not disappointed. The princess presents her arguments. She wears that inherent Golden Tribe arrogance with a sparkling smile, not entirely tempered by her charisma. In contrast, her brother is graceful and his final words carry an innate confidence. That, too, is Golden Tribe, and he is undoubtedly a king. Their king.M'Baku admits as much, and N'Jadaka grins at him, short and glinting-sharp. He shares his cousins' blood, obvious after all. After a long and tiring meeting, they retreat to their rooms. It seems that now that the final dust has settled after the battle, the cooks are determined to prove themselves to the palace's guests. They take their meal together with M'Baku's guards. It is the first time since the battle that M'Baku has spent time with them. For the first five minutes, it is awkward. Then Shoyebi, the captain of the chief’s guard, interrupts the quiet eating noises to address N'Jadaka: "So, what are we supposed to call you. Highness? Igbimọ? Killmonger is a little theatrical, but it will probably impress the kids.” N’Jadaka stares at him, then looks at M’Baku. M’Baku, for his part, is busy glaring at Shoyebi, who grins in return. The other four guards around the table wear their stoicism with the ever steady Jabari stubbornness, but M’Baku grew up with all of them. The corner of Ezuedo’s mouth twitches, Madu huffs a breath, while Ganu and Ndidi exchange a glance. “Erik is fine,” N’Jadaka answers slowly. “I should have introduced you before,” M’Baku says. All five of his tribespeople are grinning now. “Eh, we don’t blame you for losing your head over this one,” Ndidi says. She tilts her head at N’Jadaka. “He is very pretty.” “Excuse you, I am handsome as fuck,” N’Jadaka mocks and flips his hair. Ganu snorts. “Yeah, you’re going to fit right in.” “Are you sure you want to go with Erik?” Ezuedo asks, somewhat more serious. “Using your foreigner name won’t endear you to a lot of people.” “Ha, let him.” Ndidi grins. “I can’t wait to see him scandalize the council.” “I am sorry,” M’Baku says to N’Jadaka. “I won’t lie and say that they ever get less annoying, but at least they like you.” “S’fine.” N’Jadaka smiles at him, and it’s not as tense as M’Baku had feared. To see his mate at ease with his most trusted guards brings an unexpected, light feeling to his chest. N’Jadaka is even more beautiful when he smiles, his dimples and the tiny crinkles around his eyes entirely enchanting- “Oh Hanuman, they’re doing it again,” Ganu groans. “By the ancestors M’Baku, can’t you tone this down?” “No.” M’Baku says, steadfast. N’Jadaka smirks at him, leans in, and presses a quick kiss to M’Baku’s cheek. “This is disgusting.” Ndidi declares. The next moment, a peanut hits M’Baku’s forehead. “We already had to watch you two all day, M’Baku!” “Sorry ‘bout that” N’Jadaka says, not sorry at all. M’Baku winks at his mate. “Now that you have been introduced to my people, I may officially begin the sacred Jabari ritual of praising my mate in front of an audience,” he intones. “Alright, I am sorry.” Shoyebi throws up his hands in surrender. “I shall never question your lovestruck judgement again, oh great Gorilla-” “Are you making this up?” N’Jadaka asks with raised eyebrows. M’Baku continues without paying the comments any heed: “My beloved mate, whose beauty does outshine the brightness of the midday sun-” “I told you to leave it alone, Shoyebi,” Ezuedo rolls his eyes. “His warrior’s prowess unquestioned, the strength of his arms like strong branches of Jabari trees-” “The only subject M’Baku never mastered in school was poetry,” Madu explains to N’Jadaka. “He has turned it into a skill for cruel and unusual punishment.” “Jesus, chief.” N’Jadaka’s shoulders shake. He is laughing, quiet, but real, right beside M’Baku, and M’Baku forgets what he meant to say next. “There is no winning this, is there,” Shoyebi says. They manage to finish their meal, eventually. M’Baku and N’Jadaka retreat into the ridiculously luxurious living room their suite is equipped with. M’Baku selects one of the tomes from the shelves to read, while N’Jadaka switches through the settings on the kimoyo beads the princess left for him. It is unexpectedly easy to share this quiet space with each other, and M’Baku sends a silent prayer of thanks to Hanuman for it. “So, what are we exactly, speaking in a legal sense?” N’Jadaka asks a while later. M’Baku looks up from his book on flatland flora. He glances at the hovering text above his mate’s wrist. “Why this question? Are you reading up on Jabari courtship?” “T’Challa came through with some book recommendations.” N’Jadaka shrugs. “But these accounts are all over fifty years old. What’s the difference between fifunni and alaafia?” “Is it really that important to you right now?” “Wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t.” “The Jabari differentiate between mateships that can result in children and mateships that cannot,” M’Baku explains. “Ours falls under the latter category, and has much fewer rules.” “So what does it take for two alpha mates to marry?” N’Jadaka asks. M’Baku clears his throat. “That depends mostly on the couple’s definition.” “Okay, so what’s the minimum requirement?” “The very bare minimum would be one courtship gift, and then the official introduction as husbands.” N’Jadaka leans back. “I accepted your gift and called you ‘hubby’ in front of my cousin. Who happens to be king.” He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Did you marry me without telling me?” “It was you who introduced me as your husband,” M’Baku defends. N’Jadaka’s smirk only gets bigger. “So you telling me you proposed to me, roughly eighteen hours after meeting me.” “I am never going to hear the end of this, am I?” “Guessed that one right, chief.” M’Baku covers his eyes with one hand, but he can’t help his own smile. “I am sorry. Like I said, it depends on both mates’ definition.” He looks up when he recognizes N’Jadaka’s movements. Surprised, he puts the book aside just in time for N’Jadaka to climb into his lap. “Don’t worry. I think I’m pretty okay with marrying you.” “Only after Jabari customs.” M’Baku warns. “Your family will probably have different notions about this matter. As will the council.” “They don’t get to decide who and how I marry.” “Prepare yourself to argue that point, olufẹ.” “One question though.” “Anything.” “Don’t you need an heir or something? We can’t have kids, how do Wakandans- how do Jabari usually solve this?” “I don’t need to personally produce an heir.” M’Baku says. “The Great Gorilla is Hanuman’s avatar, and Hanuman chooses them anew every time.” “What if something happens to you?” “In each generation, Hanuman selects a number of children among the tribespeople. Most times they’re orphans, or possess a special gift. There is a ceremony every year where the chosen are selected. When the former Great Gorilla dies or gives up his mantle due to old age, Hanuman sends a dream to the new Great Gorilla.” “And that system works?” “Well enough, for four thousand years now.” “What if someone who didn’t get a dream claims to have gotten one?” “Then there would be a fight, and Hanuman would decide the outcome of the battle.” “Did you have to fight when you became chief?” “No. My siblings liked me well enough.” “Siblings?” “All of Hanuman’s chosen are raised together as family. They are educated in leadership, warfare, and prepared for government duties. After the Great Gorilla is chosen, he assigns his chief's guard from them, and the rest take up positions that suit them. And it is the chief’s duty to teach the next generation of chosen in turn.” “Your duty.” “Yes.” “So, you got like a bunch of kids waiting for you in the mountains?” “My brother is currently overseeing their lessons. Does that alleviate your worries?” “S’not worries in that sense. But yeah, that’s good.” “Do you want to have children?” “Can we talk about that in, let’s say, ten years or so?” M’Baku laughs softly, and pulls his mate in for a kiss. “Yes. I look forward to passing the time until then.”