Work Text:
Now
The sun is almost fully down by the time that Erik steps into the waterfall.
T’Challa is bruised and bloodied. His mask is gone, cracked from several fights earlier, when a challenger from the water tribe managed to grab him when he was down and slammed a knee to his face.
Deeming it useless, T’Challa had thrown away the mask for the following fights. A decision he came to regret when M’Baku caught him around the temples with a blow that caused T’Challa’s ears to ring and sent him sprawling into the water.
For a second, with M’Baku’s calloused hand curling over his neck, T’Challa wondered if he should stay down.
It wasn’t the first time he thought about it.
There were few alphas of T’Challa’s station, fewer still who had a legitimate chance of besting him in combat so naturally, after he presented as an omega, the council had subtly hinted at M’Baku as a potential candidate.
The logical part of T’Challa understood why the council thought it would be a wise decision for him to allow the leader of the Mountain tribe to win the right to be his alpha and finally unite the tribes as one.
But it didn’t feel right.
He didn’t want to submit to M’Baku, who, despite his friendly overtures since T’Challa presented as an omega, was still a virtual stranger. What’s more, T’Challa knows deep down that even if M’Baku wasn’t a stranger, he would still reject the other man’s claim.
He has only ever been interested in one alpha.
He has only ever been interested in Erik, who sobbed loudly into his neck when they were young and grieved quietly with him when T’Chaka died. Erik, who tentatively gave T’Challa his first kiss when he was eleven, and caused T’Challa’s heart to skip a beat when he stood proudly in front of the council and demanded that Wakanda do more for the world.
But Erik is also of his blood.
Though mating bonds between cousins are not prohibited, it is not actively encouraged either, especially not when the omega in question is the King. Rumours of nepotism and unwillingness to share the throne will ignite in the tribes, and T’Challa cannot risk the potential dissent just for an unrequited fling.
And if T’Challa is being honest, he is also afraid of losing Erik.
Because Erik has never showed any romantic interest in T'Challa. Never lingered a moment too long, voiced an objection against those who flirted with T'Challa or touched him with any affection more than what is appropriate for a favourite cousin.
This did little to discourage T’Challa’s ill-fated crush and every once in a while, he would have to take himself aside and remind himself firmly that Erik and he are cousins, confidants and friends.
Nothing more.
And whilst he is not happy, T’Challa is content with the current dynamic. He does not want a mate he does not love or one who would try to make him bow, make Wakanda bow.
This is the thought that forces him to shrug off M’Baku’s hand and stand.
He is not surprised when M’Baku forfeits his challenge immediately after T’Challa shakily stands. For all his blustering, the Great Gorilla is a good man at heart, and has no interest in forcing himself on an uninterested omega.
The two other suitors after M’Baku are not as skilled, but they were fiercer and with his wounds, T’Challa could not afford to be lax. He fights with the same tenacity and concentration as he always did, so much so that he does not see the furtive whispers Shuri murmurs into her kimoyo beads.
So he is woefully unprepared for Erik’s entrance.
In fact, tired and suffering from the nasty head wound, it takes T’Challa a few seconds to even register that it is Erik who stepped into the waterfall. Then he stares a bit longer, convinced that he was hallucinating and that his injuries were affecting his vision.
Slowly, he tunes back into his senses and realized that a ripple of murmurs had arisen from the tribes.
Erik is here.
Erik had stepped into the waterfall just before the sun had set on the challenge day.
“Erik?” he says, unable to sort through his jumbled thoughts fast enough to parse it into an actual question.
“My king,” Erik calls back, raising an arm lazily in salute, as if he hadn’t just entered the ring to challenge for the rights to be T’Challa’s mate.
T’Challa opens his mouth, then closes it and tries not to look actively befuddled while casting a glance at crowd.
Some of the lesser nobles in the tribes look just as bewildered by the turn of events but to T’Challa’s mounting confusion, most of the tribe leaders and council members look amused or expectant.
He catches his mother’s gaze, hoping for a clue but she merely offers a serene smile and a nod, which explains nothing.
Shuri is less composed and offers a whoop of excitement when T’Challa looks over. She also offers him two thumbs up and a sly head tilt towards Erik, which serves to explain just as little as his mother’s nod.
Thoroughly thrown by the situation, T’Challa turns his attention back to his new challenger.
“The sun has almost set,” Zuri says solemnly, “you will be the last challenger. Declare your intentions.”
“I am N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu of the Golden Tribe” says Erik, eyes intent upon T’Challa, “and I am here to challenge for the right to be the king’s alpha.”
—-
Then
Erik was a wisp of a boy when he first arrived at Wakanda, tear stained and too thin frame harbouring a deep rooted hurt that threatened to swallow him whole.
He had spent three months in the United States foster care system before the man he called Uncle James had taken him out, three months too long, spent in homes that either cared too much and had too little or cared too little and gave even less.
It was a learning experience.
After a bigger boy had ripped one of his father’s books in retaliation for Erik’s mockery during dinner, Erik took to sleeping with his few meager possessions tucked under his pillow.
There wasn’t much anyway.
His father and he never had much, just a few grandiose dreams, a couple of books and a ring.
The dreams of a better tomorrow and of the sunsets in Wakanda died when Erik got placed into the system.
The books were written in Xhosa and after the first one got torn, Erik made sure to hide them when he was out of the house. Hidden behind the canned vegetables in the cupboard or beneath a loose floorboard by the attic, whatever helped to keep the other kids’ grubby hands away from the delicate pages.
Erik took to wearing his father’s ring around his neck, hidden beneath layers of clothing, secure by his heart. He had seen what happened to the book and would take no chance on the ring being pawned off or stolen.
There is a great big world out there and none of it is friendly.
This suited Erik perfectly fine.
He didn’t need kindness or compassion, or time to grieve. In fact, Erik hasn’t felt much of anything since he cradled his father’s dead body in his arms and sobbed his heart out. After the shock and anger had faded and the grief had wrung out all his tears, Erik had just felt numb.
Stupid even.
He felt like the child that he was, hopeless and helpless against the injustice of the world and unable to rectify the wrongs.
But that is going to change.
Erik promised himself that.
He will not be helpless.
He will not be kind.
He will not rest until he fulfills his father’s mission.
So when James (and it is James now, uncles wouldn’t have disappeared the same night Erik’s father is killed) had taken him out of the system and offered to bring him home, Erik had just smiled like his insides weren’t hollowed out caverns where emotions used to reside and where his heart used to beat.
Instead, he followed the man to the flying carrier, and felt nothing still when he stepped into the impossibly advanced aircraft. He nodded when James told him they were going home.
He bit down on the questions of why now, how are you here, and what happened to my father.
He suspected James was not ready to reveal the truth anymore than he was ready to hear it. In lieu of conversation, Erik sat quietly by the windows of the aircraft and peered out at the passing scenery, trying to summon the tiniest amount of excitement at the impossibly fast speed and stunning view.
He does not succeed.
Instead, Erik was left with a bitter taste in his mouth at the discovery of the impossibly advanced technology that his father enthused about in his stories, and he wondered darkly if all of his father’s fairytales had been real, if the heart shaped herb had been real.
(If his father could have been saved.)
James stopped trying to make conversation after the first couple of tries, defeated by Erik’s stubborn silence, a quietness that he maintained even after they passed what appeared to be the tree covering and entered a world straight of his father’s stories.
Erik watched as the aircraft passed steep cliffs, rushing waterfalls and fields of wild grass and knew, without a doubt, where they were headed.
He was not surprised when James announced their arrival in Wakanda.
But he was surprised by the strange greeting party who awaited them once they left the plane.
There was a broad shouldered man, flanked by two fiercely dressed women, a regally dressed woman and, Erik squinted, a boy with the softest eyes he’s ever seen.
The boy would never have lasted a second back in Oakland.
“My king.”
Erik stared as Zuri affected a slight bow and crossed his arms over his chest, but made no move to mimic the actions.
This man wasn’t his king.
“N’Jadaka,” began the the king solemnly, stepping forward.
“Erik.”
There was a pause.
Erik ignored the hard look that Zuri gave him and the bemused looks he got from the rest of the welcoming party. Erik was the name his parents had given him and he would be damned if he let these oddly dressed royals take that away from him.
“Erik,” conceded the king with a hint of a smile, “welcome to Wakanda.”
“Thanks,” Erik mumbled back, because as numb as he was, his parents still raised him right and the pampered folks in front of him did him a favour by taking him out of the system, “for y’know, all this.”
“You are welcome,” said the woman by the king’s side, who would later introduce herself as Ramonda, “welcome home Erik.”
Erik smiled.
The others smiled back.
All but the boy, who studied him with furrowed brows, like Erik was a particularly confounding puzzle.
After a moment of mutual observation, Erik looked away.
He didn’t want to be solved but he has a feeling this quiet, wide eyed boy was going to do it whether he liked it or not.
—-
Now
Out of habit, T’Challa raises his shield and readjusts his stance as Zuri steps out of the waters and takes his place with the priestesses on the side.
He swallows thickly when Erik strip offs his shirt and leans over to grab a spear from the multitude of weapons made available to the challengers. The movement made the muscles in his back flex and T’Challa feels his mouth go slightly dry at the sight.
“Erik,” T’Challa calls out when the other man turns back, a training spear in his hands and a trademark smirk on his face, “what are you doing?”
He internally sighs when Erik makes a show of looking down at the weapon in his hand then around the waterfall, already anticipating the other man’s insouciance. “Huh,” remarks Erik after his facetious perusal, “I don’t know about you cuz, but it looks like I’m about to win this fight.”
There is a badly muffled laugh from the assembled crowd.
“It does not sound like the others agrees,” quips T’Challa, suppressing a reluctant smile even as Erik drops carefully into a ready position.
The other man shrugs carelessly, “all good, I’ll prove to the haters that I’m worthy.”
T’Challa frowns at the last part
“You are worthy,” he affirms sternly, holding Erik’s gaze to better convey how sincerely he means that sentiment and raises an eyebrow when Erik stops in the middle of circling closer to just stare at him.
He has never made his confidence and trust in the other man a secret, but perhaps he ought to say it more often if his verbal confirmation has so obviously stupefied Erik. T’Challa’s brows knits in a frown when Erik calls out, after a beat and with a vague hand motion in his general direction, “that’s cheating man.”
“Cheating?”
“Ignore him!” chimes Shuri from the side, “take him down brother, keep that up!”
“What?” says T’Challa at the same time Erik turns around to incredulously demands, “I thought you were on my side?”
“What is happening?” T’Challa asks the world in general, feeling very much like his head injury was worsening by the second and was impacting his cognitive abilities. “What sides?”
“I dunno cuz,” Erik replies easily then lunges abruptly, “but you better keep your head in the game.”
T’Challa dodges the attack at the last moment, and uses his shield to block the next jab, wincing slightly when the force of the impact reverberated through his arm. “Why are you here Erik?”
“To challenge you.”
“Yes,” agrees T’Challa and dodges another jab, “but what I want to know is why.”
“If you don’t wanna fight, we can have a staring match instead,” suggests Erik as he feints to the left and tries to sweep T’Challa’s feet out from under him, “whatever floats your boat cuz.”
“No,” sighs T’Challa as he lowers his shield and comes to stop, unwilling to continue without understanding the situation. “I do not wish to fight you, when you are not aware of the consequences-”
“What?”
T’Challa quirks an eyebrow at Erik, then repeats carefully, “you cannot be aware of what your challenge means.”
He returns the face that Erik makes at him, aware that it was unbecoming but refusing to care given the ridiculous situation.
“Are you serious man?”
“Yes…?” confirms T’Challa, taken aback by the vehemence in Erik’s voice then stops when the other cuts him off.
“Okay, Imma stop you right there,” Erik turns and points his spear in Zuri’s direction, “you hear what we were talking about earlier? When I said I was entering the sacred grounds to challenge for the right to be your alpha?”
“Yes, but surely-”
“No,” Erik interrupts again, “I mean it, I’m going to prove myself worthy.”
Oh, thinks T’Challa, feeling something warm blossom in his chest as Erik’s earlier words came rushing back. “You want to be worthy of-” he stops, hope and fear warring inside him and causing his words to stick in his throat, but Erik seems to understand.
“Yeah,” Erik says quietly, so softly that T’Challa knows their observers cannot hear it over the distant roar of the waterfalls, “I’m gonna prove I deserve to be your alpha.”
T’Challa swallows hard but Erik is not done, having apparently broken the dam, the words come out in a rush as his voice gets progressively louder.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” confesses Erik, eyes intent upon T’Challa’s own wide-eyed gaze, “I trained, I fought and I killed, just to get here. I took missions in America, Afghanistan, Iraq and in remote places on this continent. And all this, just so I can prove my capabilities.”
“You did not have to,” says T’Challa, as his mind reels and tries to readjust to the new information. He thinks of the times he has caught sight of Erik training with one of the Dora Milaje until he was too bruised and sore to continue, of him curled around a history book on Wakandan civil unrests, of him coming back from a mission with blood on his knuckles and a darkness in his eyes. All this time, T’Challa had simply attributed the dedication to Erik wanting to honor his father, he has never suspected that there was another reason, that T’Challa was another motivation.
All this time, T’Challa has never even known that Erik was interested.
T’Challa closes his eyes and breaths out, “you have always been worthy.”
“Have I?” challenges Erik immediately, the small downturn of his lips the only indicator of his lingering resentment of the past. “The orphaned foreigner with nothing to his name but a ring and some books? Who knew nothing of Wakandan culture and could not even properly speak Xhosa?”
“You learned.”
“Yeah, I did,” Erik readily agrees, “I did all this, just for the chance to fight today.”
T’Challa opens his eyes to meet Erik’s gaze.
“So are we going to do this or what?”
In lieu of answering, T’Challa drops into a defensive position.
Erik’s returning smile is as blinding as the sun.
---
Then
Erik had been right, T’Challa was a menace to his plans.
The older boy had a way about him that got under Erik’s skin like no other. Everything about him was too soft, too kind, too naive and the combination set Erik’s teeth on edge.
“Y’all need to back off,” he snapped when he opened the door to T’Challa’s calmly smiling face.
“Y’all?” questioned T’Challa, even as the Dora Milaje behind him frowned.
“Why you gotta bother me,” Erik gripped, “don’t you have lessons?”
“Don’t you?” T’Challa asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.
Erik glared at him suspiciously. “No,” he lied.
“Excellent, neither do I.”
“Great,” Erik said, “but I ain’t gonna be your friend so you can shove-” He cut himself with a cough when the woman behind T’Challa shifted, radiating silent disapproval. “I mean yay,” he revised with a roll of his eyes, “where we gonna go today.”
Which was how he ended walking up to the Panther Rock with T’Challa, the Dora Milaje waiting silently by the entrance at the latter’s insistence.
“You wanna show me a rock?” muttered Erik.
T’Challa gave him a side glance. “No, I wish to show you Wakanda,” he refuted gently.
“Right, yeah, seen and experienced thanks,” replied Erik, he sped up when he caught sight of light streaming through the opening they were making their way to, “how about you show me-”
He trailed off into silence.
For a moment, he was frozen by the sight of the sunset, bathing the untamed beauty that is Wakanda in a fiery orange glow.
“What…” he managed to get out, unable to look away from the sight in front of him.
“Zuri mentioned that your father promised to show you the sunset in Wakanda,” said T’Challa, “I did not think anyone has shown you.”
Erik wanted to laugh, cry, and punch something (preferably T’Challa’s stupid face) all at once, because of course no one has shown him. He has spent the past month being as reticent as he could possibly get away with without being actively rude.
He turned down offers of companionship in favour of studying and training on his own, driven by the need to avenge his father.
Too focused on his goals to let fleeting things like friendship and familial obligations to lead him astray.
And everyone had gotten the message.
Except T’Challa.
“Fuck,” said Erik, feeling something desperate and vile claw up his throat. “What the fuck is wrong wit’you man.”
T’Challa shuffled closer but did not look or make any move to touch Erik. “I guess that would depend on who you ask.”
“No, just, fuck you man,” Erik was horrified to realize that he was shaking, “why can’t you just leave me be.”
He still can’t look away from the sunset.
“Because,” T’Challa sounded sad, “I think you have already been left to your own devices for too long.”
“And whose fault is that,” said Erik flatly, then again, louder and with the full force of all the frustration and fear and panic that he had thought gone, “whose fault is it that I was left alone?”
He whirled angrily on T’Challa, with his dumb eyes and soft words, “it’s your daddy’s fault.” He smiled nastily when T’Challa’s eyes widened, “your pops is a fucking murderer, and y’all can pretend what you like and sit on your throne of lies but I’m going to make all of you pay.”
T’Challa just stared at him with those ridiculous brown eyes.
With a scream of fury, he launched himself at T’Challa and tried to punch the older boy but the asshole didn’t even have the decency to let him land a hit. T’Challa kept side stepping his hits, never throwing a punch back, but also not allowing himself to be a punching bag.
Like all things T’Challa did, this served to infuriate Erik even more.
It prompted Erik to keep going, yelling as he did so, trying to get his hands or feet or teeth into T’Challa, to make the older boy bleed and feel a modicum of the same pain that Erik has felt.
“Fucking claws,” he screamed as he finally got his hands on T’Challa’s shirt, and spun around quickly, causing both of them to fall to the ground with a hard thump.
He stared down at T’Challa and tried to slow down his laboured breathing. “Tell me why,” Erik demanded, “tell me why my pops had to die.”
He shook T’Challa roughly when the older boy said nothing. “Did you fucking hear me,” he snarled, “why?!”
But T’Challa just looked sad.
“I am sorry N’Jadaka.”
“My name is Erik,” Erik spat out and, with the full knowledge that he will come to regret this, he reared back then head butted T’Challa in the face.
He heard the cry of pain and leaned back to see the bloodied nose T’Challa was sporting. He expected to feel pride or vindicated, but looking down at the older boy’s pained face, Erik just felt tired.
Erik reared back again, then hesitated when he saw T’Challa wince and instead of head butting the other for a second time, Erik found himself tucking his face into the other boy’s neck.
“Why were there claws,” he asked, realizing belatedly that he was crying, harsh, loud sobs into T’Challa’s neck.
“Why,” he croaked out, “dad was just tryna help.”
Erik felt himself shake when a hand cautiously crept up to cradle his neck, holding him against T’Challa.
“I do not know,” said the other in that same soft voice. “But I promise you that I will find out.”
There was a hint of steel in T’Challa’s voice and for a moment, Erik could almost believe it was the truth, could believe that his sweet faced cousin would go against his own father for him.
He allowed himself to cry a bit harder and sprawl unceremoniously on top of T’Challa, burying his wet face into the other’s neck in order to better hide his weakness.
“I hate you,” he said, “I hate all of you.”
“I know.”
It took an embarrassingly long time for Erik to calm down, but T’Challa was a solid presence beneath him, pliant and soothing.
Eventually he pulled himself up and scooted away so he could wipe angrily at his face. After a beat, T’Challa moved so he was sitting beside him, close enough that their arms brushed.
“Go away,” Erik muttered.
T’Challa made huffing noise, like he was trying not to laugh. “No.”
“I’m gonna punch you again.”
“Head-butt,” T’Challa corrected, but there was no hint of anger.
“Yeah,” Erik agreed, “I’m dangerous.”
T’Challa outright laughed at that, throwing his head back and-
Erik was mesmerized.
In the last fading glimmers of the Wakanda sunset, T’Challa looked surreally handsome, even more so with his broken nose and crinkled eyes. The imperfections made him human, made the odd boy with the kind eyes seem impossibly warmer, and Erik realized he wanted to get closer to that warmth.
“Shut up,” he snapped instead, feeling a flush of heat creep up his neck at his ridiculous thoughts.
They sat in silence until the sun had fully set and Erik cautiously noted that the silence was more companionable than awkward. He should get up right now and move, he should head back to his room and sleep, forget all that happened.
He does not move.
“I am sorry,” repeated T’Challa in the twilight.
“Yeah,” said Erik.
He flinched when T’Challa suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I meant my promise,” T’Challa said, brown eyes wide with sincerity, “I will find out what happened.”
“Sure,” Erik nodded, “whatever you say cuz.”
He was used to being told lies, he didn’t mind one more, at least T’Challa was better at pretending to be genuine.
T’Challa frowned at him but does not push.
Instead, they sat quietly on the edge of the Panther Rock until the Dora Milaje came up to quietly escort them to dinner. She raised an eye at T’Challa’s bloody nose and at Erik’s red eyes, but to her credit, she said nothing.
Erik followed them to the dining room, feeling beyond drained by the day’s events and looked down when Ramonda fussed over T’Challa’s nose, telling himself that it wasn’t guilt that twisted his insides.
He would have excused himself if T’Challa hadn’t grabbed his hand.
T’Challa dismissed his mother’s concerns with a simple ‘Erik and I were sparring’, leaving Erik no choice but to follow T’Challa to the table lest he wished to cause a scene.
Ramonda does not appear appeased with the answer, but she merely gave T’Challa and him a hard look. Erik mentally made a note to avoid his aunt for the next few days.
He kept to himself during dinner, answering when spoken to but otherwise content to pick at his food for the most part.
They were on desserts when T’Challa finally asked his question, and for a moment, Erik does not believe his ears.
He glanced up at T’Chaka’s furrowed expression and T’Challa’s determined one.
“What?”
“I asked how uncle N’Jobu died father.”
“T’Challa,” scolded Ramonda, throwing a glance at Erik, “this is hardly the time-”
“Erik said there were claw marks in his chest,” said T’Challa quietly.
For the first time, Erik realized that the softness and quietness he mistook for weakness was anything but an indication of his fortitude.
“T’Challa,” said T’Chaka, “you do not understand what you speak of.”
“So explain it to me father.”
Erik watched as the king of Wakanda falter, reveling in the man’s discomfit.
“Yeah,” he found his voice in time to chime in, “explain it to me too uncle.”
From across the table, T’Challa shot him surprised glance, then grinned at him.
Erik hesitated for the briefest second before he smiled back.
Oddly enough, this felt like vindication.
—-
Now
T’Challa hisses when he dodges Erik’s punch and immediately has his feet swept out from under him. For a moment, all he sees is Erik’s blurry form through the water, looking impossibly tall and poised.
He pushes himself up on aching limbs and thinks that this fight may not last as long as he thought it would.
Belatedly, he realizes that in order for Erik to be here, and for him to be the last challenger, he had to have participated in the warriors challenge the week before. Per tradition, the ranking obtained in the warriors challenge goes on to determine the order for the fights with T’Challa, with higher ranked alphas set to challenge him last.
It explains why the council members and the high priests and priestesses did not look surprised at Erik’s entrance, if they were privy to the results of the challenge the week prior.
In between blows, T’Challa takes careful stock of the other man’s body, noting with a sinking heart the numerous bruises and scabs that had previously been hidden under well worn shirts. “You participated in the warriors challenge?”
Erik eyes him for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah,” he says with an irreverent smirk, “wasn’t too bad.”
T’Challa frowns and thinks of the brutal ferocity displayed by the alphas in the fights he has witnessed in the past, of the way they went at each other with everything and anything in their disposal and thought he might disagree.
He says nothing though, still reeling from the revelation that Erik wants to be his alpha, still thrown by the knowledge that Erik has done so much and worked so long to get to where they are now.
“I did not know,” he eventually forces himself to say the next time they clash weapons, his arms shaking with the force of Erik’s blow.
To his credit, Erik does not play dumb. “Yeah,” he says, deliberately light, “kinda figured you wouldn’t have bedded others if you knew.”
T’Challa flushes hotly, “yes, I mean no, no I would not have.”
“S’fine,” Erik grunts out as they break apart, “s’all good cuz.”
T’Challa watches him curiously, because something in Erik’s tone conveys that it is not as fine as the other claims. He is not ashamed of his past relations per say, but he can't quite fathom how Erik must have felt over the years.
“I thought,” he starts as he tries for a blow to Erik’s side, only for his spear to be caught. He allows himself to be pulled forward, until he is flush against Erik’s chest. T’Challa swallows and manages to drag his eyes up from the tempting sight, “you always seemed to prefer alphas.”
For a second, Erik is silent and T’Challa’s heart gives a panicked thump.
He realizes that he is still unable to believe the events that have just occurred are real, worried that any moment now, Erik will laugh and say ‘gotcha cuz, guess I fooled ya good.’
As much as he wants Erik, there is too much riding on this for T’Challa to simply accept things at face value.
What’s more, T’Challa does not think he will be able to recover fully if this was all a cruel prank or the first step towards a long term plan to exact revenge. He shakes off the last thought immediately, feeling ill at the fact that he would suspect Erik of such a thing.
But the fear of all this being a fevered dream is still there, threatening to overcome the hope for a requited love.
“I thought you disinterested.”
“You really gotta make a brother say it?” questions Erik, but it appears to be rhetorical because the other man continues without waiting for a reply.
“I’ve wanted you before I knew what it means to want someone,” Erik confesses readily, “since that moment I saw you sitting in the light of the first sunset I ever seen in Wakanda. The one you went out of your way to show me because for some reason, you wanted to try and befriend a shitty kid from Oakland with nothing but a false title to his name.”
T’Challa’s heart is beating so loudly he is surprised that it has not beat out of his chest yet.
“I wanted you since before you presented as an omega, and I would have wanted you regardless of your status,” Erik continues. “Also cuz, I don’t like alphas, but man, those fuckers? They smart as shit, they knew you were a catch. So I had to do what I gotta do to discourage them.”
Erik lets go of the spear and places a possessive hand on T’Challa’s back, moving it up until it is curled lightly around T’Challa’s neck.
“Besides, none of them knew you,” Erik frowns, the ‘like I do’ went unspoken but not unheard, “they just want a fuck.”
T’Challa does not ask, but Erik appears to understand because the other man preemptively says, “I want more than that. I want you.”
Despite the burst of happiness in his heart at Erik’s words, T’Challa can’t help but point out, “I will always put Wakanda first.”
“I know,” Erik huffs out a laugh, “why you think I did all this?”
T’Challa shivers when he feels Erik’s hands caresse his neck lightly.
“You’re a good man and a great king, and I would never want you any other way. I will support you, in whatever capacity you need me. Bodyguard, diplomat,” Erik waggles his eyebrows slyly, “sex slave. You know, whatever.”
T’Challa bites back a smile. “That is a very generous offer just for a chance to be my alpha.”
“No,” refutes Erik, “it’s not.”
T’Challa allows the smile he’s been holding to break through.
This will not be the end of this conversation, not by a long shot, there are too many sentiments which have been hidden for too long for it to be resolved by this quick discussion.
But for now, the fear that had been clamouring in the back of T’Challa’s mind has gone quiet.
For now, this is enough.
---
Then
T’Challa was supposed to be an alpha.
Not only because it was what everyone had expected of the newly crowned king, but also because then, Erik wouldn’t have a reason to want him.
And Erik does.
Want T’Challa that is.
He wanted T’Challa in the same way that birds wanted to fly, because he honestly can no longer remember a time when he did not.
It mattered little to Erik’s heart that T’Challa was a man, was his cousin and was a king.
He just wanted.
And now, the desire had intensified.
Erik frowned darkly, and gave another vicious jab at the punching bag, feeling little pleasure when it broke off the chain and onto the floor.
“You are in a mood,” commented Shuri.
Instead of immediately acknowledging her entrance, Erik ran a hand over his face and tried not to breathe.
The gym smelt like T’Challa, the hallways smelt like T’Challa, hell, it felt like the whole of Wakanda smelt like him.
This faint but omnipresent smell of freesias and honey.
“I’m not,” he managed to get out, trying not to let his frustrations show.
Shuri rolled her eyes at him. “You big baby,” she said pitilessly, “just say something.”
“Nothing to say,” Erik muttered as he made his way over to the side benches and grabbed his water.
“Sure,” agreed Shuri in a slow drawl, “so it is just coincidence that your moods always happen to line up against brother’s heats.” She eyed him, then continued deliberately, “which he spends, with other alphas, all the time-”
The bottle crumpled under his grip.
Shuri’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she breathed out, “you really have it bad.” She gave a delighted laugh, “and I thought brother had a habit of freezing, but this is much better!”
Erik sighed. “This ain’t really helping,” he said.
She shrugged. “Good, I was not trying to help.”
“Menace,” Erik replied with a helpless grin, amused despite himself.
“Well,” she said with a sly gleam to her eyes, “I guess you don’t want to hear the news then.”
“News?”
She grinned cheekily at him, “I thought I was a menace?”
“You are a menace, but you’re also my favourite female cousin.”
“I am your only female cousin,” commented Shuri drily.
Erik winked at her, feeling some of the tension he’d been carrying around since T’Challa went into heat dissipate.
“I do not know why I like you,” she said, shaking her head at him in a faux sad manner, “but as I am gracious above all else, I shall inform you of the news.”
She looked around her shoulders, as if they were not the only ones in the gym at this hour of the night.
“There is to be a challenge for brother’s hand.”
Erik froze.
“What,” he croaked out, “like for marriage?” He raked his brain for a second, thinking back to the history books he forced himself to read, “but he just inherited the throne? Don’t challenges typically happen after the king’s throne has stabilized?”
“Usually,” Shuri agreed, her brows furrowed, “I do not know more, only that the council is restless.”
Erik swallowed hard. It felt like his world was narrowing down to one focus point.
He has stood by for the past few years, gritting his teeth in silence as alpha after alpha graced T’Challa’s bed and reveled in the honour of being the prince’s, and recently, the king’s chosen heat mate.
But to lose T’Challa forever.
It was unthinkable.
“Fuck,” he said out loud, “oh fuck. I need a-”
“A plan?”
Erik stared at Shuri.
“I need to request a hearing with the council,” he said.
She nodded at him.
“I also need a mask,” he said faintly, “and a backer.”
“You have one,” she interrupted him gently.
“I do?”
“Yes,” Shuri said, “did you think I only came by to deliver news?” She stepped closer and held out her hand.
Erik hesitated for a moment before he held out his hand in turn, only to find himself catching a clawed necklace, not unlike T’Challa’s, as Shuri dropped it gently into his care.
“What?”
“Try it on.”
Erik put on the necklace carefully and took a moment to admire the brilliance of Shuri’s design when the gold and black suit cascaded on without additional prompting.
“Why are you giving me this?” he asked quietly.
“Because you make him happy and I am not blind,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, “and neither is mother.” She smiled at him, “no one is.”
“Except your brother,” Erik muttered with a scowl.
“Yes,” she agreed readily, “but we both agree he freezes around pretty faces.” Shuri gave him a surprisingly sharp look, “but you are equally terrible at this so it is fairly entertaining to watch.”
“So this?”
Erik raised the necklace with a clawed hand.
“This is a token,” Shuri said firmly, “from the princess of the Golden tribe to express her support of your challenge.”
Erik swallowed hard. “Thank you,” he managed to say.
Shuri laughed at him, “Are you about to cry?”
He swatted her hand off his arm. “Whose been teaching you all this sass?”
She smiled at him, gentle and sweet, like the little sister he never deserved but somehow had.
“Mother will probably accost you sometime tomorrow to provide you with her token.” She eyed him and the state of the exercise equipment, “so I suggest you stop for the night and get some rest. Lest you embarrass yourself by actually crying when mother hands you her favour.”
“I liked you better when you couldn’t talk,” Erik said, in lieu of all the sappy sentiments running through his mind.
“Lies,” she shot back as she made her way out the door. “Good luck!”
Erik stood in the gym long after Shuri had left, staring down at the necklace, his thoughts running wild.
Eventually, he was able to conclude on a few truths.
He wants T’Challa (maybe even loves him) for his kind heart and quiet strength.
T’Challa will potentially be mated, forever, should one of the challengers succeed.
He had originally planned to do a couple more years of service for Wakanda before he sought for the king’s hand, but it looks like time has run out and he cannot let T’Challa go without at least trying once.
And most importantly, somehow, by some small blessing from Bast, his efforts thus far has been enough and he has been deemed worthy by those near and dear to T’Challa.
He breathed in deeply and allowed the scent of freesias and honey to envelop him.
He is going to fight.
---
Now
The sun is almost gone now, casting the world in a dim orange glow.
The challenge will be over soon.
“You sure you don’t need a break?” Erik asks, a teasing smirk about his lips.
T’Challa gives him an unimpressed look, which is remarkably hard to do when pressed flush against someone, so he disentangles himself from Erik.
“Suit yourself,” he hears just before Erik all but tackles him.
They fall to the water with a loud splash, but thankfully, T’Challa does not hit his head again against the smooth rocks, cradled as it was by Erik’s hands.
He splutters for a second and tries to get up, only to find himself pinned down by Erik’s bulkier frame.
“Yield,” Erik asks softly.
T’Challa, propped on his elbows with Erik laying on top of him, makes a plaintive noise.
“Please.”
T’Challa hesitates, few alphas would be willing to openly plead with an omega, even if said omega was the king, but Erik has always broken the mould.
“Unfair,” T’Challa mutters with a helpless grin.
“You think I’m cheating?”
“Perhaps.”
“Just kiss already!”
They both turn towards Shuri, who flaps her hands at them, as if rushing them along. Beside her, Ramonda hides a demure smile behind her hand. The rest of the crowd look no less amused, and hide their grins with various degrees of success.
“I mean,” Erik says as he turns back, “she is the princess.”
T’Challa’s laugh is swallowed by the soft kiss Erik presses against his lips, so gentle that T’Challa feels a little more of his doubts fade.
It is over far too quickly.
“I yield,” T’Challa says, loud enough that the others can hear.
As the congregated crowd explode into cheers and rhythmic stomps, T’Challa ducks his head against Erik’s neck and whispers, “you are the only alpha I have ever wanted.”
He sighs when Erik smirks down at him and answers with a cocky ‘of course’, only to smile when the other man turns his head to murmur conspiratorially in his ear, “and you are the only one I have and will ever want.”
“My alpha,” T’Challa says, even as Zuri’s voice rings across the clearing and declares the challenge over.
A smile breaks across Erik’s face.
“My king.”