Chapter Text
Wet season in Wakanda, gives the gifts of heat and humidity. N’Jadaka is uncomfortably aware of that as he makes his way through the capital. It’s evening time and while the air is cooler the humidity is omnipresent. He’s dressed light in one of his favorite dhoti-style pants and not much else. He’s already been warned that whatever he wears probably wouldn’t survive the night and he's running late.
As he walks, some of the people he passes greet him. He doesn’t pay them much mind beyond a nod or a look. One of the vendors selling sweet things yells an innuendo his way. Something about his outfit and he walks faster. He wouldn’t full on run till he’s out of the main district. He had his pride. This time of year, everyone it seems already know his intent and destination. It makes the fact he’s running late a bit more embarrassing. His reason for being late is unsurprisingly tradition. His aunt had insisted on last minute preparation that had eaten up time and left him panicking... silently.
He’s only been in Wakanda for 4 years yet it’s hard now, to remember his life before. Shuri said it might be due to his literal resurrection, memories affected, world shift etc. He figures it's because he is finally doing what he’d worked towards his whole life. Maybe not the way he’d originally planned but he’s rolling with it.
When he reaches the edge of the merchant district he starts to run. Up till then he’s been speed walking, it feels freeing to let his own panic show. Silently he curses Wakandan ritual and tradition. He should have known, when he’d agreed it’d be some fuckshit. Though to be honest when his cousin had approached him, he’d been flattered more than anything. Aroused too, the Omega is a wet dream. His age only making him more attractive to the younger Alpha.
He hadn’t fortunately for the older Omega known what went into a ‘traditional’ breeding. Otherwise he probably would have said no. Now two months, four trials and an embarrassing physical later, what he’d agreed to is finally happening.
If he made it to the clearing in time. Because taking a transport is for people not currently proving, repeatedly, their virility to Wakanda’s King Omega.
He sees the ceremonial flag before anything else. His lungs are burning but he powers through it. His run is approximately 5 kilometers not counting his embarrassing speed walk through the capital. He sprints the last 100 meters entering the clearing.
He’s breathing hard and doesn’t even try to hide it. He can feel eyes on him. Waiting. Still heaving he takes a knee, he hasn’t caught sight of his aunt or baby cousin, but he picks out the River Tribe Council Elder and his Alpha among the crowd. Everyone who was anyone had really shown out for this glorified fuckfest. The thought makes him want to laugh, even as a voice in his mind that sounds suspiciously like his aunt tells him to be serious.
When he feels like he can talk without throwing up his guts, he gives the greeting he’s spent the last 2 weeks crafting, in Wakandan.
There’s a long moment after, and he starts to sweat. Even more than he already is after his sprint. His greeting isn’t the traditional one, he’d tweaked it a bit. Finally, a voice responds, his aunt. She sounds ... amused. He knows that now, after spending more time than he’s ever done before with her in the past few months.
When she bids him to, He stands, rolling his shoulders settling into the warrior’s stance. This part is gonna suck. His aunt speaks one more time and then it’s free for all. Two Dora Milaje come straight for him, the third flanking.
He thinks, weaving around their frontal assault, this had been a lot easier with the herb. The fight goes on for minutes. He gets a particularly hard hit to the side of his face but gets one of the Dora in the gut.
She gets up but it’s shaky. He remembers her from a training simulation a year ago, she’d been bad at guarding her right then too.
The fight ends not long after, the goal being to restrain not kill. Though If the Dora’s attacks carry extra venom, he doesn’t fault them. His position as the Golden Jaguar is reliant on his ability as a trained operative and his cousin’s good will. He doesn’t expect to be well liked. Even now he knows his cousin's decision aren’t ... uncontested. But he is who he is, royal blood and all. He’s had time to come to terms with being a tool. His cousin makes it easy, most days.
When the Dora fall back, he lets his guard drop again. There’s some more ceremony to be done he knows, and he tunes out for most of it. Says the words his aunt had drilled into him the past month and goes through the motions. He gets why Wakanda did what they did. The rituals were good for reinforcing the rhetoric of their culture, structure and all that. Comforting especially in times of unrest. Like now.
T’Challa joins them during the hand-fasting portion. The Alpha immediately homes in on the older Omega’s scent. It’s strong, ridiculously so. The Omega is dangerously close to his heat, and he looks dazed. Whatever tools they’ve been using to cover his scent earlier had to have been working overtime. The Omega sits across from him, and the Alphas’ eyes focus intently on the man’s face. Going any lower would be unwise, especially when the Omega is wearing less than he is, and his scent so enticingly close.
Internally N’Jadaka also breathes a sigh of relief. There had been the possibility that they would not be compatible or react badly to each other’s heat scents. Thankfully that did not seem to be the case. Not if his growing arousal and his cousin’s covert scenting is any indication. His cousin looks tired but the smile he gives N’Jadaka is warm.
He isn’t the only being put through the ringer of tradition and ritual. He returns the gesture with his own, all teeth and signature smirk, watching the Omega’s reaction. The exasperation is familiar, but the older man’s scent flares up in response and N’Jadaka looks away grinning.
The ceremony continues, more words are said and then T’Challa is handed a cup. The Omega’s large hands could probably hold it in one hand, but tradition says two, so he holds it with both hands. The Alpha moves closer and waits. The Omega speaks first, a contract in blood. The request to sire and protect. The Alpha responds, affirming the agreement. His cousin’s hands are shaking minutely as he holds the cup to his lips. The concoction tastes disgusting, like the herb had. Some herb is probably in the drink too.
Then it’s over, and they are alone.
The heat in his belly rises and It gets harder to breathe. Definitely some sort of aphrodisiac in that cup. T’Challa speaks and it takes N’Jadaka a moment to understand what he’s saying.
“I heard your greeting, very inspired.”
The Alpha hadn’t seen the Omega during his introduction, though he supposed it made sense that the Omega wherever he is heard his greeting. T’Challa is teasing him he knows, but the man had chosen him, not the other way around.
“I didn’t like the traditional one. Didn’t really fit.”
T’Challa nods, and N’Jadaka watches the way the Omega’s head tilts, gaze drifting unbidden to the man’s neck. The Omega stands up, turning towards the corner of the large room. Which makes N’Jadaka realize there’s a bed, in said corner. Belatedly he stands to follow the Omega, his mind feels cloudy but it’s a good kind. He takes his vest shirt off as he moves, his skin feels too tight and the room, too hot. It was cooler when he came in but now, he can’t tell.
When N’Jadaka reaches the bed, the older man has settled into a pre-made cocoon of blankets and pillows. T’Challa is wearing a sheer shift, ending at his knees and nothing else. The way he sits is reminiscent of how he’d sit on the throne. The thought doesn’t annoy the Alpha the way it would have before.
The Omega speaks again, expression playful. “The Queen was late as well to her introduction. It’s part of the tradition.” The Alpha hums in acknowledgment, getting on the bed.
-:-
N’Jadaka is looking at him like he is a piece of meat. It’s both irritating and arousing, his cousin’s fascination. He’s used to being desired, responding to that raw desire with his own especially from his unruly cousin is… new. The young Alpha is not who the council would have chosen for this. But he is who T’Challa wants and that is enough.
His body feels too hot, though he knows his temperature is dropping, preparing. If they were lucky his heat would break in a day or two, if not it could go on for 4 or 5 days. His cousin draws closer, then stops a short distance away from where T’Challa is settled. N’Jadaka is still wearing the pants he arrived in. It displeases T’Challa. He wants the Alpha naked, he can smell the man’s arousal. He wants to see it.
“Strip.” He commands, eyes going from the man’s lower regions and back to his face. This is familiar. For all their history the younger Alpha took direction well. Flourished under it really. Whether it was his military background or his temperament, T’Challa could only guess.
The young Alpha’s hands go to his hips, and then he shimmies out of his pants.
N’Jadaka isn’t wearing any underwear. Probably for the best, T’Challa is beginning to grow impatient and he doesn’t think the Alpha would move any closer unless he took the lead. The man isn’t shy... just wary.
A thought comes to him and T’Challa sighs, he could only imagine what type of wild things his mother had told the younger Alpha. He pulls at the flimsy cloth he’s been wearing for the past few hours, up and over. There, now they were on more equal footing.
Still the Omega can’t help but tease the younger man. “Where is that arrogant Alpha who promised to breed me properly?”
The Alphas eyes narrow, and T’Challa feels a soft gush of slick, as his scent flares in response.
“Here. You ready? Or you want me to show off some more for you?”
T’Challa fights a laugh, that is one way to describe the two months of trials before the actual breeding.
“Was it hard for you, ‘showing off’ for me?” He puts emphasis on the words ‘showing off’, watching as the Alpha crawls closer.
“Nah. Win-Win, got to make the old farts on your council uncomfortable, and— “N’Jadaka pauses when their bodies meet.
T’Challa uses the opportunity to grab a handful of his locs, tugging him downwards. To his credit N’Jadaka follows easily, till his head rests in T’Challa’s lap. Where the scent is strongest. The Alphas arms wrap around his torso, and his current position gives T’Challa a great view of his ass. When the man’s hands trail lower T’Challa tugs his hair in warning.
“And?” The Omega prompts, massaging the Alpha’s scalp in consolation. N’Jadaka doesn’t answer immediately and T’Challa can hear him breathing slowly, inhaling the Omega’s scent. When he finally speaks, it’s less composed, baser.
“Get to breed you.” That’s the only warning T’Challa gets before the man surges up, arms wrapping firmly around his waist and turning them over. Their new position has T’Challa lying atop the Alpha, the man’s face still in his crotch area, till he pushes up, lifting the older Omega and prompting T’Challa to release his hair. N’Jadaka pulls him lower till they’re face to face.
T’Challa leans down to scent the man properly, he smells like sweat and jasmine. So, he’d gone with a traditional perfumed bath. The Omega wanted to know what he smelled like after. This time when the Alpha’s hands travel lower, he doesn’t pull away. The younger man is like a furnace under him, his touch burns but the Omega wants more.