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They call him Kan. It means the type of transparent sand you find some places in the desert. They don’t have a real name for him; one day he just washes up on the Wakandan side of the Twisted Visions Lake with no memories. He doesn’t remember that; apparently it took a long time for him to wake up from his sleep.

Kan doesn’t know why they accepted him; he learns that Wakandans have isolated themselves from the rest of the world, and the few encounters they’ve had, have not been pleasant. Still they nurse him back to health and let him stay. He lives with the tribe of the Twisted Visions Lake for a while, before the old horse keeper in the Royal Barn calls for help. He’s up in his years, and the tribe is looking for something to make Kan do. The Lake tribe lives around six miles away from the Barn, and the Barn is half a mile away from the palace and its people. This makes the Barn pretty isolated, and still not very far away from civilization.

Kan soon figures, that all of this wasn’t without chieftain T’Chaka’s permission. It’s probably only his word that has kept Kan welcome so far. Kan is fully aware that he doesn’t really belong in Wakanda or any country near it. If not because he can’t speak any language they try to communicate with, then obviously because his skin is transparent, his blood and blue veins visible, and their skin is as rich as the darkest soil. Prolonged stays in the sun only make his skin pink and burning.

His chieftain has ruled the country for decades, and Kan doubts that if it hadn’t been for his kindness, Kan would have been thrown right back into the lake.

He is assigned to the horse stable, where he follows the old horse keeper, Anasa, around. What usually takes a day for Anasa to do, only takes Kan a few hours. Soon Kan has taken over most of the work, and Anasa gets to rest his dry and old bones. Besides Anasa, the stable is otherwise filled with kids, their age ranging from 8-16 years old. As far as Kan has encountered, child labor isn’t a thing. But soon Anasa is able to explain him that the “stable kids are troublemakers”. They’re criminals of minor offences such as theft, tobacco trading, physical assault, vandalism, and working at the Barn is basically community service. They go to a school in the Lake-tribe and come home at noon, cleaning the surrounding area outside while Kan keeps all the stable booths clean, hurls around manure and hay, keeps the cobblestone areas clean, takes care of the horses and their food, lets them out in the field at morning time and lures them inside again in the evening.

He has a small room, and a bed where his feet hang out. That feels familiar though. Most nights the bed still feels too soft to rest in. Those nights he spends filling papers with the view and the people surrounding him with black pencils.

It has been four months since his first workday at the Barn, when Anasa packs his stuff. He’s going home to his tribe and his family; it’s a long journey and Anasa expects to be away for a while. A month later Anasa still isn’t back, but the Panther Guard has started dropping by more often. Kan suspects that Anasa usually reported to them, but because of his absence, the guards need to drop by themselves.

One of them is a newly returned scholar. Lan, who’s a tall person with bird bones, finds that Kan speaks the following languages: French, Russian, Japanese, German, Spanish, some Italian and English. When the scholar finds out about this, Kan is sent directly to the king for the first time.He is awed and slightly afraid to talk to this brilliant man everyone seems to love and respect without fear.

Women wearing spare armor surround Chieftain T’Chaka. Side slit skirts, very obvious undergarments and very dangerous-looking weapons, mostly composes their clothing. Most of them are bald and have face tattoos, but they are all also very beautiful. He figures they’re the Dora Milaje. The chieftain himself converses in English, but when he finds that Kan’s Wakandan and Yoruba are both fluid, he switches. He communicates slowly and accompanied with hand signs, but Kan has been a fast learner. T’Chaka explains how they found him, took care of him and in return the chieftain expects him to be on his best behavior. Kan will try not to speak to strangers and try to stay out of sight. Kan knows about Wakanda’s history with kan people, and figures it’s because the chieftain doesn’t want Kan’s existence to cause a ruckus.

It’s two months since Anasa left, when Kan starts to notice one of the many things that make him different from the Wakandans. He walks with a straight back, chin tipped up and strength and robustness radiating from his muscled body. Idly he observes the younger adolescents he works with; the soft, almost slow way they move, the graceful flexibility and fluid way they motion. He tries to imitate this.

As the chieftain’s son, T’Challa, returns from England, more and more travellers pass by the barn. He communicates with them, gets them to tell their personal recipes as he uses the Barn’s budget to fill up the food stock, which Kan rearranges and sorts into rations. Normally the kids just take what they want from the kitchen, but most of them don’t even eat very much and mostly in the night. It means that the stable never really quiets, and the cuisine is almost always dirty.

So he starts baking enough bread and cook enough stew for everyone to eat and lets the kids cook rice and vegetables on the sides. And since his body gets up with sun, he gets used to preparing breakfast and lunch as well. Of course that means that Kan can take the liberty of making the kids clean the cuisine with him. After a while, he figures out that kitchen duties don’t fit so well with his schedule – he’s the only heavy lifter in the stable – so he assigns some children to kitchen duty and soon the snacks in-between meals become their sole responsibility.

There’s a party for T’Challa, and the music can be heard from the barn. Most of the stable kids go, but Kan enjoys listening to the echoes of melodies in his bed. At this point his skin has acclimated to the sun, his skin finally getting a bit of color and lying down on the sheets doesn’t hurt everywhere anymore. Either way the stinging sensations is always gone by sunrise.

It’s good living there. Kan loves the routine, the hard work, and the way his head quiets when he turns off the light.


After a year in Wakanda, T’Chaka is murdered. Kan sits with his arms around his knees as the low, deep bass music resounds from the palace. It’s supposed to be music of grief, but also a reminder of a new beginning. Tribes are wandering in from all over the country to surround the palace in support, but there are so many of them that they’re practically camping outside the Barn’s territory, which means guards are there to uphold order. They’re harsher with him now, meaner, and he knows better than attending the ceremony which all of the Wakandans are invited to. A week passes by, where Kan hasn’t retrieved any budget money. He’s considering leaving the stable and the country, as his stay is obviously no longer welcome. He feels worried for the kids; he recognizes that he has provided a routine that has been healthy for them.

But then T’Challa, the new chieftain, calls for him. The Dora Milaje are present but with a reasonable distance, all scowling at him. He wonders if a kan man killed the chieftain. Kan can’t imagine an actual Wakandan murder the chieftain; not without a formal challenge and a duel. And people have been rougher with him than usual; he is almost sure that it was a kan man who has made even more bad blood with the Wakandans.

“It’s been over a year,” T’Challa says as the first thing when Kan is standing in front of him. His eyes are almost black, with a thin ring of black tea around it. “Have you been considering what to do?”

Kan shrugs and doesn’t meet the chieftain’s eyes. “No, my king. But I will not hesitate to leave, if you want me to. I am grateful for what has been given me so far.”

T’Challa sighs as if this is what he feared and leans back in his chair. Looks at Kan like he’s one of the many problems, he doesn’t know what to do with.

“You’re staying,” a second voice breaks in and Kan looks up. A young woman in casual clothing has entered the hall and is gracefully nearing the new chieftain.

“And why is he staying,” T’Challa asks the woman, not protesting, just thoughtful.

The woman bends over and whispers: “Father saw him as a sign of the Panther God.” Kan is not sure whether the woman is aware that he can hear her. “All those days floating in poisonous vibranium water, only to be brought unharmed to us – it’s a sign of something bigger.”

“Is it,” T’Challa says, more skeptically.

“Father wanted him to stay with us.” the woman says stubbornly and Kan is starting to figure out whom she is. She looks up at him and calls out in a louder voice: “Unless you want to leave, Kan.”

Kan looks up at them. He doesn’t want to impose on them, beg them to let him stay, even if staying is what he wants. “I can do whatever you want me to, your Highness.”

“But do you wish to stay?” she asks as bit sharper.

“I am content and happy with my life,” Kan says neutrally.

“Then so be it,” Shuri decides and T’Challa sighs.

“We can’t condemn him a life as a peasant,” T’Challa says in a low voice. “Father only placed him in the stable until he could figure out what to do with him.”

“Until the Panther God lets us know,” she assures gently, “what role he is to play.”

T’Challa stares at her for a full minute, before saying to Kan: “Anasa have still not come back to the Royal Barn. There you will be attending lessons in agriculture and veterinary medicine, so you can permanently take his place.”

Shuri frowns at him. “And history, religion and literature of course.”

T’Challa turns sharply towards her. “You don’t think that’s too much? Remember why we are grieving, my sister.”

“It’s essential,” she defends. “You just said you don’t want to let him live as a peasant, and so far you only intend to make him a skilled one. Let him learn something about the place he’s living in. We’ve hidden him away enough as it is. Kan!”

He looks up.

“You are free to leave the Royal Barn,” she informs and T’Challa abruptly looks a few moments away from killing her.

“You can leave,” T’Challa dismisses after having stared at Shuri for a long time. “I expect you in class at dawn in the Lake tribe. Make sure to have finished your assignments in the stable before then.”

Kan nods gratefully and leaves. He confirms that his hearing might be better than they know as he hears every detail of the argument break out as he leaves. Apparently T’Challa is sure that Kan is a spy or a “sleeping assassin” just waiting for his move, and that they shouldn’t have given him even more knowledge. Shuri, on the other hand, is convinced that he’s the Panther God’s tool and that they should mobilize him properly.

Kan hopes that he is neither, but as long as he gets to stay, he’s not sure that he cares about their speculation.


Lessons of technology are prohibited, but the history lessons tell of its general development. Of how Wakanda’s technology has been inspired by the rest of the world’s, but has been otherwise created from the bottom by the Wakandans. He’s not quite sure if he cares about all the technology yet, despite how the stable kids often mourns its lack in the Barn. He gets by. Besides the history lessons are what he finds most interesting. After each lesson he understands more about the place he lives in and the people he lives with, even if details of the tribes are also censured.

Meanwhile T’Challa passes the ceremony of the Heart-shaped Herb and comes back as the new Black Panther. Shuri is proud despite having tried to become the queen herself and the country gets past its mourning of the last Black Panther and into celebration of the new one. By the time the beginning of T’Challa’s rule is done being celebrated, Kan has finished his classes and gone back to working full time. He has found other things he enjoys now that he’s allowed out; reading at the library, hiking in the forestland, walks on the savanna, and looking down at the blinking lights that is the Golden City from the heights of the rock mountains surrounding the country like a wall. He has even started taking swims in the lake at night, since the sun is usually too sharp with the water when he has time during the day. It’s good. He likes his life.


After two years of T’Challa’s reign, a jet is flown in and for the first time since Kan got here, other foreigners than Kan are welcomed by the chieftain. Kan doesn’t know what it’s about, doesn’t really care much for it either, but guards are sent to the stable, which means he probably is going to soon. He has gotten a more relaxed relationship with the Panther Guard these days. They get to wash and eat with them during their travels, and in return they bring him groceries from tribes he isn’t allowed to visit yet. Him and Lan share meals and tea the most.

“Clean up,” they say.

Kan baths, and at the guards’ instructions, ties up his hair as well. They lead him to the flower tribe. It’s called that because it faces the driest part of Wakanda, where the bloom is the most intense after rainfall. It’s also in the most outer part of the Golden City, and he is arranged there to live, because the Barn is apparently too close to the palace. It’s weird being that close to other people all of the time, and he feels more than ever how distrustful they are of him. The guards have made it clear that no one should try to push him around, but the tenseness between they and him isn’t even violent, just awkward. But, it’s not too long before an old man pulls him aside and teaches him how to pick caraway properly. His dialect is hard to understand, but it’s interesting to hear him talk nonetheless.

“You are not the first kan person our deceased king took in,” the man, Utan, tells him. “White Wolf. Hunter was his real name, filth more like it. Led secret law enforcement, called Dogs of War, very brutal, very abusive. His dogs are still running around for him from time to time, even though our king, Panther God’s eyes be on him, threw him out last year. But kan person left bad impression. Bitterness, that man, deep bitterness. Why old king and now new king keeps you hidden.”

“But why has he brought me here now?” Kan asks.

The man points to the sky, where the jet had flown by earlier. “Foreigners. He’s testing them.”

It’s good to be in the city as soon as he gets used to it. Kan gets to talk to people that aren’t children or guards. For the first time in years, more sophisticated life pulses around him. It’s almost scary because it activates his own emotional life and he feels exhausted by the end of the day, despite not doing as much work as he usually does. When his stay at the tribe is prolonged, he signs up to help the people who arrange the official celebrations and parties. It is usually the elder people who arranges for the food and musicians, and the day after the celebration it’s the children that help cleaning up. He spends his workdays being sent from house to house to gather food and exchange information. When itøs time for a second tribe to come and celebrate with the flower one, he is usually kept out of sight. Kan is oddly okay with him being treated as a dirty secret. Because it’s not shame, it’s just an odd wariness, a trait that characterizes the Wakandan people so well.

At one party an older woman strides through the dancing floor and pulls him out in the open to dance with her. Kan is scared and watches for people’s reaction, but several of them cheer and soon he stops feeling like a pimple on smooth skin and starts melting in. Pink drinks are being passed around, but he doesn’t feel affected by that, only by the euphoria of the dancing mass, the music, the nearness of others. Kan watches them mix the red alcohol and the white sweetener, and soon the drinks passed to him are almost solely red. Soon he feels dizzy and foggy and sluggishly the older woman pulls him aside. They walk around the dry desert, still laughing and joking, until Kan has burned off the alcohol. Then the woman leads him to her house and into her room.

Everything starts burning as she undresses him, and her sweat makes him feel hot. She pulls off her own clothes and bites his skin, makes him prickly everywhere. He feels himself get hard, but the arousal is even rawer and more powerful than simply that: he’s a pulsing ball of lust and desire and she rides him until he comes and then she keeps going and keeps going.

He wakes the following morning to an empty bed. The house residents grin at him. His head hurts and he goes.


It repeats itself. The parties are thrumming and hypnotizing and he doesn’t need to seek anyone out. Someone is always willing to try him out. He’s an experiment, a kan man, and he doesn’t mind. The sex makes him feel more awake and aware in his body than ever, and he loves throbbing with the life it gives him. And the more partners he gains, the less weird it gets. People stop talking about it and Kan feels as normal as someone of different origin and no history can feel.

Soon, men seek him out as well. The intimacy, the sensibility they bare is different from the women who had a tendency of using him until he ran out, and somehow the men still are more proud. When the question of penetration comes up, all of them refuse to bottom. Kan doesn’t really enjoy bottoming at first, the pleasure too bordering on pain, but then he meets Swi.

Vinskulu is a 2,15 m tall man, which means a head taller than Kan (and Kan is quite tall, probably one of the tallest in the tribe). Vinskulu is a broad-chested man on top of that with monolids that becomes slick when he loses himself in his fucking, and the thickness of his dick almost makes Kan say no, even though he knows he theoretically would be able to take it with enough prep. Vinskulu sweet-talks him into it anyway, and they spend almost half an hour with the man’s fingers in Kan’s ass. Kan’s sure that Vinskulu, unlike many of Kan’s partners, have tried this before, because he does something with his fingers that makes Kan arch his back and claw at the linen. When Vinskulu finally pushes in, Kan feels it everywhere, his whole body feeling electric and every thrust is a burst of heat going up his back and through his dick, until he comes on the sheets without being touched.

All is good and well, and then the dreams – the nightmares begin. He dreams of a woman with skin the same as his, with pouty, dark red lips and fierce eyes. Richly pigmented hair that flows like waves down her shoulders, smooth and yet curly, shiny. She uses a lot of time reprimanding him in the dreams, sometimes crying, and he keeps getting this desperate want to go to her, to find her. And the pain is deep, because he doesn’t understand who she is, but he knows that he will never see her again. Those nightmares upset him, but not as much as nightmares of the man falling. There’s a man falling, always falling into an abyss of white and blue, the sounds of screaming metal and wind loud, but not loud enough to deafen the falling man’s scream. He’s always slipping right out of Kan’s hand, his face twisted in terror as he falls into the void, a void made out of bluish, raw cotton, black rock and a blue river looking like one of Kan’s own veins in all the white.

He wakes from the nightmares sweating. Throwing up. He loses appetite. His head hurts all the time. He can’t attend the celebrations anymore. A doctor comes to see him after this has gone on for weeks, and he says Kan isn’t drinking enough water. Kan does drink water, he doesn’t – doesn’t understand anything. He’s confused all the time, and sometimes he doesn’t even remember what he is doing here, why he is here. He has never wondered of this before. After taking samples and looking at Kan’s blood, the doctor concludes that he’s suffering from some kind of deficiency. After long conversations, they conclude that the only change the move has given him is the change of water. Kan prepares to ask the guards to let him go back to the stable, but neighbors bring him containers of water from the lake without being asked to. He starts to get better. The water makes the dreams and nightmares disappear. He stops feeling confused and restless, and instead feels at ease again and for that, he is so grateful to the tribe he lives with.

Finally the chieftain’s visitors leave. Kan knows he’ll miss the flower tribe, but he is relieved to get back to the stable and the lake, realizing his dependency on the water. He has barely arrived and said hello to the horses, when T’Challa enters the stable in his Black Panther armor. It hides his face, and seems to suck in all the sunlight. Kan wonders if T’Challa feels hot or if the armor keeps his body temperature cooled.

Kan turns towards him and the stable boys and girls fleet the place. Kan considers bailing too; maybe the chieftain is here for the horses. They’re his property after all, despite how he has always preferred electronic transportation methods instead.

But T’Challa closes the door and says: “Sit.”

Carefully Kan sits.

“How much do you remember?” T’Challa directly asks.

“I don’t remember anything, your Highness,” Kan replies.

T’Challa sighs and Kan tries not to squirm.

“I need you to teach me how to lay with a man,” T’Challa says.

For about a minute Kan is trying to comprehend what just happened, and wonders if he understands the Wakandan language as well as he thought he did.

“Excuse me?” he finally stutters.

“I’d feel better if you had a bigger sense of self,” T’Challa clarifies. “But this will have to do for now.”

Kan clears his throat. And sinks.

“You can say no,” T’Challa reminds him. “My authority holds no ownership of your body in that manner.”

Kan frowns. “There are plenty of more worthy partners, your Highness.“

T’Challa nods. “I was merely given the impression that you enjoyed being passed around,” he replies and Kan flinches. Something about T’Challa’s eyes soften, and his eyes get distant as he looks away. “It’s funny how complicated a relationship people of the west have with sexuality. Even not remembering, your body still feels shame.”

Kan looks down and reminds himself that he can say no. It’s not like he’s afraid of sleeping with T’Challa. The man is attractive and probably a fast learning. Kan’s just afraid of the weight, the knowledge of having slept with his king. What that will make him.

“One of my guests,” T’Challa says, while nonchalantly leaning into a stall, reaching his hand towards a horse that completely ignores him, “made me realize what power seduction really has and the role of sexual attraction. But being royal…” He waves his hand like he can’t be bothered. “I’m afraid the distance between the people and the king is too big. My Dora Milaje are all women, and besides… sleeping with one of them would make my words, about their purely ceremonial value, transparent.”

Kan tilts his head. “You’re… a virgin?” he asks. Because maybe then. Kan doesn’t feel very safe in knowing that someone else, someone careless, might be T’Challa’s first. He has surely had his own fair share of boring, bordering on uncomfortable intercourses with men. Kan’d rather do it himself then.

“I lived in Europe and North America for several years,” T’Challa reminds him, not unkindly. “But I must admit, I’ve never sought out a man. A man has never sought out me.”

Kan looks at his feet. “I’ve only ever been with Wakandans, your Highness. There’s nothing about Western sexuality that I can teach you.”

T’Challa leans forwards, his eyes glinting with interest. “And how was it with the Wakandans? What surprised you and what did you find pleasurable?”

Kan exhales and forces himself to look up again, reminding himself that he’s just helping the king. “Perhaps… the question of gender. The women are very dominant. And the men are very needy of – of touch and caress. Intimacy. And at flower tribe they didn’t show hints of desire throughout the working day. Whoever the partner was that sought me out at the celebrations were always a surprise, because flirting isn’t really a thing in broad daylight. And. And the alcohol, I guess. It’s odd to me how we always need to be intoxicated for something to take place.” He pauses and then hurries to say: “But no one ever pulled me aside while I was still drunk. Maybe when I was slightly tipsy, but I’m still in control when I. Am. That.”

T’Challa looks at him thoughtfully, his finger tapping the wood of the stall. Kan tries not to look at the play, and keep his eyes on those golden, feral eyes that were brown the last time Kan saw him. “When I was in Europe, I was surprised to learn that the women often take a passive role and men the more active one.”

Kan gets T’Challa’s point: His body and some part of his mind still remembers the old customs. “I trust your judgment, Sir.” He stops. Why is he referring to his king as a soldier would to his higher ranking officer? “But I think…” He stops himself and flushes. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.

“You think?” T’Challa asks, slightly encouraging.

“There will be understanding if you can’t compensate in that area,” Kan slowly says. “There are soldiers and police that are better suited, my King.”

“It’s not about what the people think,” T’Challa makes it clear. “It’s about my level of expertise, the quality of my competences. It’s about my skillset. I need to be reliant and capable in every imaginable and possible area. It’s my duty as a king, my duty to the country and the people.”

Kan thinks of this and hesitantly nods. Even if he privately almost opposes this sense of ownership the country has to its king, the lack of… independency, he supposes that it is T’Challa’s own choice and wish. And he can respect that. “You’re an excellent speaker of various languages,” he says after a while. “I’m sure a short trip to either Europe or the States won’t worry anyone.”

T’Challa waves his hand. “It’s not the same,” he says. “I need guidance, explicit explanations and directions. I can’t – even anonymously – trust outsiders with that. But that isn’t your problem. Dismissed.”

Kan escapes and he tries very hard not to think about how what T’Challa said, means that Kan is not considered an outsider in his eyes.


As Kan goes to the lake to take a swim, he thinks about the interaction. He thinks about the way his king slowly tapped his finger, the way his eyes glow. Kan hasn’t seen him fight, but he bets the man is flexible and probably sensitive with all those heightened senses.

He thinks about T’Challa’s body and the scent of a man.

After an hour of swimming, Kan makes up his mind. He washes, and makes sure he neither smells of the stable or of sweat. For the first time he goes to the palace by free will and only when he is faced with the chains of guards and soldiers on the platform road leading to the palace, does he realize that he might not be welcome. But the guards nod him through.

Three skyscrapers compose the palace. They look like trees, cylinder-shaped with dome-shaped, bulging crowns of glass, their tops cut open for trees to grow out like green hair. The broadest skyscraper even has several waterfalls flowing out of its middle floors. They’re all colored white and gold, and large stripes expand down their sides, the stones shaped in geometric patterns. The main skyscraper, where Kan knows T’Challa does his royal business, has the most rectangular of shape and the two twin towers attached both decrease in height. As Kan gets closer, he notices that the triangular sculptures holding the buildings are chimneys, releasing golden smoke into the night air.

A servant is waiting for him at the fountain in the foyer. She leads him to levels of the palace he has never visited before, where the bronze, tree and gold are exchanged with glassy black and brass gold.

Finally she leaves him in front of a door. Kan knocks and after a slight pause, he hears T’Challa call out for him. Kan pushes the door open.

T’Challa is lying on his bed, naked and bare to the cool evening temperature getting through the open windows. The lighting in the room is very dimmed, only made up small candles here and there. Kan has heard that the Black Panthers see in darkness; perhaps this is T’Challa wanting the upper hand if Kan turns out to really be a spy.

T’Challa’s eyes are reflecting the light right back. He sits up as he surveys Kan, his body slightly scarred, and just as muscled as Kan’s.

T’Challa nods at him, removing the blanket from his body, bearing shiny, muscular thighs, hairy shins and a half-hard cock. His balls are small and tight, his cock thick and long. The lasting tint of doubt disappears as Kan feels himself get aroused by the sight.

Kan bites his lip, and takes off his shirt, shrugs off his pants and his underwear. T’Challa looks at him, scrutinizing, before laying back in a submissive gesture. Kan interprets it as acceptance and crawls over the side of the bed, and doesn’t quite lie on top of him; just starts out simply tilting his head over T’Challa’s stomach and pressing his face into his king’s abdomen, breathing in the smell of musk that is sharper and stronger with T’Challa than Kan has so far experienced it.

Kan nuzzles the thin trail of hair underneath his face, kisses the soft skin on his hipbones and sucks on it, closes his mouth around the bone and nips. He breathes on his king’s cockhead, before slowly moving up, gradually covering the body with his own. He kisses T’Challa’s abs, licks them shiny and laps the end of his ribcage, his chest bone, fleetingly bites T’Challa’s nipple before pressing his face into the man’s neck and trailing it with his tongue. T’Challa quivers and Kan takes his sweet time finding the sensitive spots located beneath his collarbones, in the hollow between collarbone and shoulder, behind his ears, his ear lobes and temple and the softest parts of his neck around his Adams apple. Every time his king shivers, and Kan confirms his idea that T’Challa is sensitive.

Kan sits up and tries his best not to rub up against him. “You want to be dominant or passive?” he asks.

T’Challa considers this and finally replies: “Passive.”

Kan nods and leans down again, slowly rubbing their hips together, trapping T’Challa’s hardening cock in-between his hipbone and stomach, the inside of Kan’s thighs rubbing around T’Challa’s left leg. He leans his head down to suck in T’Challa’s nipple and when his king doesn’t react immediately, his nipples not even hardening, Kan closes his teeth around it. This makes his king jolt, his hands closing around Kan’s ears and sliding down to his neck, as Kan continues playing between the border of pain and pleasure, ending up intensely licking and flicking the nipple with his tongue. The play makes his king rub his hips up against Kan’s, almost slow and unnoticeable movements and Kan reaches up to his mouth, wets his fingers and uses them to pinch the other nipple as he bites hard on the one he has in his mouth. T’Challa is starting to squirm, make small panting noises and Kan moves on to the other nipple, keeping the former one sensitive by chafing it with his fingertips. When T’Challa is gasping and clenching Kan’s hair in his fists, Kan goes on to peck and lick and kisses the skin around the nipples, cover it with love bites that don’t show, to make the area tight and sensitive.

When he feels the glide of T’Challa’s pre-cum in between their bodies, he finally dares to put his arms around T’Challa’s head and take his mouth. For minutes the kiss is only desperate, a relieving meeting point that makes Kan dizzy, until T’Challa tries to take control over the kiss. Kan remembers his purpose and puts his hand on T’Challa’s cheek, tilts it to get a better angle to invade T’Challa’s mouth. Every time T’Challa tries to meet him, Kan changes his way of kissing until T’Challa is forced to come along. T’Challa keeps meeting him with equal strength, but Kan uses T’Challa’s liking of pain against him and bites at his lips with his corner teeth until T’Challa lets go, gasping, and Kan very firmly takes T’Challa’s face in his palms, keeps it place and reclaims his mouth, while rubbing his thumb harshly into T’Challa’s neck.

When T’Challa comes up for air again, Kan digs his hand in between the bed and the king’s back and presses his hips up against Kan’s, takes control of when T’Challa is allowed to grind up against him, controls the pressure and the amount of pleasure T’Challa is allowed to feel. Kan’s mouth almost automatically revisits his king’s sensitive spots on his neck and for the first time since they began, his king moans. The sound makes the blood rush into Kan’s cock and he assaults the soreness of T’Challa’s nipples and chest again. A louder groan escapes the man, and Kan becomes aware that T’Challa has already noticed what making noises does to Kan.

So Kan slips down his body and takes T’Challa’s cock into his mouth. The moan that escapes him is surprised and then needy when Kan grips his knees, spreading them out while digging in his fingers.

T’Challa is a big guy and Kan sticks out his tongue to cover his lower row of teeth and opens his mouth extra wide to get him inside. T’Challa’s thighs are shaking and sweating now, and Kan takes as much as he can until he gets used to the feeling, and then promptly downs T’Challa’s cock in his throat. He forces its hard hotness down and focuses on swallowing around it instead of choking. T’Challa’s legs won’t be still now and Kan closes his mouth extra tight around the root of his cock and sucks so hard his cheeks hollow. T’Challa cries out, his breathing unsteady and chest pooling small drops of sweat. Kan watches his face, learns that T’Challa almost blacks out when he flicks his tongue in his slit, when he scrapes the girth of his cock with his bottom teeth, learns that the popping sound when Kan lets go of him doesn’t work so well, but that a tight fist with intense sucking around the head will make him come.

The taste is strong but surprisingly alright. Kan strokes T’Challa until his last few drops, makes sure T’Challa feels it when Kan swallows at the same time. He keeps sucking until there is nothing left and then starts licking the oversensitive flesh. T’Challa’s cock never goes soft, and Kan keeps his hand around it, feeling it twitch against him, as he focuses on licking the sweat that has pooled in the rims of T’Challa’s abs and midsection.

“Lube?” Kan mutters, his voice hoarse from the deep throating and T’Challa nods towards the other side of the bed. Kan searches the blanket and finds the lube chap. Wetting his fingers with it, he goes back to the large figure and gently taps the bruised knees. T’Challa obediently spreads them, and Kan strokes his cock a couple of times, can’t resists sucking on it again just to see T’Challa’s low, drawn-out moan before sliding his mouth lower and sucking on his balls. A surprised gasp comes out of T’Challa as Kan moves down to his perineum, rubs it with his wet fingers, and an almost frightened groan comes out of T’Challa as Kan lowers his mouth and licks against his rim. T’Challa’s legs jolt up, pull back and hit his own waist to give Kan more space. Kan uses it to shake his head and thrust his tongue against the rim until it finally breaches. As he does it, he reaches up to stroke T’Challa and the man shouts, his balls tightening, his thighs sweating. God, the way the man becomes wet everywhere makes Kan hot.

As Kan pushes his finger in with his tongue, T’Challa comes on his stomach. Kan continues when his partner locks a firm hand into his hair, and keeps focus on slowly fucking T’Challa with his tongue and finger, watching the way T’Challa’s eyes are becoming dazed and more incoherent, his body more honest and Kan feels – feels powerful, intoxicated but in a whole other way than with alcohol. There is something about serving, providing and giving pleasure that frankly makes him euphoric. He gets a second finger inside of T’Challa and T’Challa’s softened cock starts paying attention again, his brows frowning and mouth spilling sounds of confusion and pleasure out. Soon Kan replaces his tongue with a third finger and pulls T’Challa’s cock into his mouth, tasting the drying cum on its head, licking it clean and lightly sucking it back to hardness. T’Challa’s shoulders and knees are pulling towards each other, his whole figure curling as Kan thoroughly preps him.

When T’Challa is fully hard and his hole properly loose, Kan sits up and reaches for the condoms he sighted beside the lube. He pulls on the condom and looks down on his king, who’s no longer panting. His eyes meet Kan’s, aware and sharp. After a second he spreads his legs further in invitation. Kan reaches forwards and thoughtfully looks at T’Challa’s figure, until the man can no longer hide his impatience. He is starting to sweat again. Kan slowly reaches forwards and puts his hands on his partner’s pectorals, pressing gently and rubbing at the nipples, circling them with his thumbs, before sliding them down, massaging the semen and sweat fully into the pubic hair and skin, putting his hands on T’Challa’s inner thighs and stroking them reassuringly. Soon he lets them wander down to T’Challa’s ass cheeks, clenching them in his hands. T’Challa groans, his toes curling. Kan leans forwards and pecks him lightly on the cheek, not knowing how T’Challa feels about tasting himself.

T’Challa immediately grabs his hair and pulls him down, invading Kan’s mouth with his tongue, seeking out and tasting Kan’s mouth for himself. Kan lets him, grinding his cock against T’Challa’s balls, before decidedly taking back control by grabbing T’Challa’s legs and arranging them on his shoulders. He grips his cock, meets T’Challa’s eyes one last time and nudges in.

T’Challa’s mouth falls open, his hole clenching around Kan. Kan rubs at T’Challa’s knees, frowning himself as he struggles to not come with the weight of pleasure he had been too focused to notice before. But T’Challa opens for him and pulls him in, and Kan lays himself over his body, fucks T’Challa’s mouth with his tongue while holding his head and letting his own hips move into a quicker and deeper pace, T’Challa’s arms closing around his back and his legs clenching around Kan’s waist.

Kan feels T’Challa meet his thrusts, so he keeps their bodies near, the thrusts close and deep as his thrusts make his king’s whole body slide with the covers. Kan keeps them close, plays on the intimacy, but it’s when he angles his hips and pulls up T’Challa’s ass to thrust into his prostrate that T’Challa starts making noise again, almost shouting as Kan pulls his hips further back so his king can feel the full force of Kan’s cock slamming into him.

He sits back and pounds T’Challa’s muscular, tight ass, rams into him while considering how many times T’Challa is able to come. He doesn’t dare ask because he doesn’t want to sound needy – he does, however, reach down and spread T’Challa’s cheeks apart to watch his own pink cock disappear into that hot, dark flesh, and T’Challa comes again, this time almost no semen coming with the orgasm. Kan keeps going, wondering if he should start pushing his king directly into another orgasm or if this is all T’Challa’s got. Kan leans in and grinds his hips in circles, and he feels a spurt of pre-cum. Okay, hopefully T’Challa could go for at least one more.

Kan pulls out and turns his king around, which briefly makes T’Challa yelp (which is not funny at all) and pushes into him again. T’Challa grabs a pillow and clenches it, the side of his face resting on the bed with lines of looseness and openness on his open-mouthed face, his moans coming out louder and faster.

Kan groans, slowing and then pauses as he tries to back away from orgasm. He pulls out and focuses his sight. T’Challa’s behind carries marks and bruises of Kan’s hands. The king growls into the pillow as Kan watches how his hole flutters without Kan’s hot cock inside. Kan gets the chap again, rubs it on his fingers and spreads its slickness onto T’Challa’s rim. The coldness makes T’Challa bark something, but Kan just focuses on rubbing it into the skin, sliding in his fingers. T’Challa lets out a low sigh, bordering on a purr.

“Fuck me,” the man then says. “Please.”

Again, Kan wonders if T’Challa is saying that out of earnestness or if it’s because he’s testing Kan’s reaction. Either way Kan needs to give him what he wants, so he slides in again, groaning at the feeling. He grabs a cheek and kneads it, not moving at first. T’Challa groans and starts pushing back on him. But Kan can feel that T’Challa is slow about his orgasm this time.

“You’re so good,” Kan growls into his ear as he lowers himself down on T’Challa’s back. He takes a hold of T’Challa’s hips and starts again in a slower pace. “You’re so beautiful.”

When Kan lowers his mouth to kiss his neck, his back and his shoulders, T’Challa almost flinches with every soft touch. Kan reaches around for his cock and strokes it a couple of times, but it’s not giving.

Time after that flows slowly. Kan carefully fucks T’Challa for what must almost be 30 minutes, and the king’s body temperature only rises and rises, until sweat is dripping down his back and his cock is leaving wet spots on the bed. At last, Kan roughly pulls T’Challa up on his knees. T’Challa sways; his body shaking and jerking with every little touch Kan gives him, as if there are attacks. Kan gets up on his knees too, rests his ass on his feet and lowers T’Challa down on his lap, so the man is resting his back against Kan’s chest.

T’Challa whines, and Kan encourages him to move for himself, lets T’Challa fuck down on him in a relaxed, sensing pace and grinds into Kan’s lap for that intruding feeling of cock deep inside of him. When the whimpers are becoming high-pitched and needy, Kan grabs T’Challa around the waist and fucks up into him, draping T’Challa’s body over his so his head is resting on Kan’s shoulder and Kan is hitting that spot with every thrust.

The last orgasm of T’Challa is long and maddening. T’Challa is whining more than moaning as a few drops of seed drip down from his slit. The orgasm is drawn out, igniting and Kan reaches up to spreads T’Challa’s semen with his thumb. T’Challa hisses, his whole body twitching, which makes Kan hold him still and keep stroking him until, for the first time, T’Challa’s body becomes loose and unresponsive.

T’Challa’s stays on his cock though, panting and breathing irregularly, his whole body shaking and shining with sweat. Kan is waiting for the opportunity to slip out and lay the king down so he can bring himself off, but as he pulls out his cock, T’Challa tabs the fine linen with a finger like he had tapped the wood stall.

“Finish with me,” he says, the command clear.

Kan doubts for a second and then leans forwards, rubbing his cock in between T’Challa’s cheeks.

“Inside,” T’Challa orders and with relief, Kan slips in again. It’s odd and a totally different feeling to chase orgasm after all this time and he finds it almost hard to come, even if T’Challa is hot and loose on his dick.

It’s only when he accidently hits T’Challa’s spot and T’Challa’s back arch with an oversensitive cry that Kan empties himself, the whole nether area of his body becoming the only thing he can feel, the intensity of the orgasm whitening everything out for a second.

When Kan wakes, he is draped on T’Challa’s back. Their hands are knotted together, and T’Challa is sleeping. Kan closes his eyes again and succumbs.


Kan wakes up just before dawn. Underneath him, T’Challa’s asleep, but lightly, likely accustomed to the same cycle as well, and Kan gently untangles. The room looks bigger when it’s illuminated, and Kan finds his way to the bathroom, where he quickly cleans himself. He wets a cloth with warm water and lurks into the bedroom again.

T’Challa is lying on his back now, eyes open and considering. Kan kneels over him, puts a reassuring hand on his already healed knees and cleans up his king’s stomach and chest. Kan hesitates at the V of T’Challa’s body, but the king opens his legs and allows Kan to clean him in between his cheeks and his cock.

“You’re a natural,” Kan says, his voice hoarse as he gently kisses T’Challa on his inner thigh. “You’ll do great.”

T’Challa breathes slowly, his eyes softening. “Thank you. Come back to my chambers, if you wish to, same time tomorrow.”

Kan nods and gets up, gathers his clothes, because he sees it as the dismissal it is.