Chapter Text
Oh, me
I don't deserve it (at least you fuckin' know)
She's just a little too perfect
She's just a little too worth it
I don't deserve her at all, no, not at all
I only text her, man, I never call
I'm still a canine at heart, I'm a dog
Yeah, that's why you gotta come through quick, quick
I'm posted at the Derek up on Westheimer
Hit me when you're done your shift, yeah
I need some company, I need some company
I need you to take my mind off being in my prime
Some company
I'm a dog, I'm in heat, baby, heat, baby
I'm a dog, I'm in heat, baby
- “Company” by Drake
Erik Stevens has a horrible smile. The thought flashes through T’Challa’s mind as the man glances his way from the front of their short procession. The procession of five, composed of two elite guards, two war dogs and Erik are his only accompaniment on his fourteenth survey for the month. If T’Challa tries hard enough he might remember the name of the city they’re in but truth be told they’re starting to blur together; especially with how many of them have chosen to rename themselves. He thinks back to the months he spent as a child memorizing capitals and cities all for half of them to no longer exist, and grins wryly.
They’ve been moving from city state, to satellite city, to small town, acting not just as observers, but also providing guidance to the leaders and newly formed coalitions they meet. They were visible proof of Wakanda’s commitment to their allies. While they’re in public, Erik wears the mask of his Golden Jaguar suit, but in private the grim gold armor peels away to reveal a face that’s almost identical to Wakanda’s leader and the earth’s unofficial emperor. Erik is not N’Jadaka however.
Erik is a visitor, an anomaly from another timeline and up until 5 weeks ago, T’Challa liked him.
“Hotel’s clear.” A remote agent confirms over their comms and T’Challa blinks wearily. Security wasn’t truly an issue, not this close to Wakanda’s core territory but those tasked to protect him refused to cut corners. So even when it was unnecessary they followed the same security protocols to the letter, and T’Challa pretended he didn’t want to throttle the overzealous bunch for making him wait an *hour* to shower and lay down.
“Come on.” Erik’s voice startles T’Challa out of his daze.
“I’m coming,” He responds casually and starts to walk once more. The wind picks up as they near the building and T’Challa’s loose gray head scarf whips in the wind. He had kept it tied properly all morning but by mid evening it was merely laying over his head and shoulders. Now, that decision comes back to bite him and the edges lift, threatening to drift away. T’Challa raises a hand to draw it back but someone else gets there first.
“Thank you.” T’Challa murmurs as Erik hands him back the scarf.
The younger man in typical fashion doesn’t respond.
Inside the hotel a front desk attendant stands waiting, obviously nervous but there is no further conversation as they file into the elevator. T’Challa counts the seconds, eyes dancing over the chromatic surfaces all while avoiding looking too closely at any of the others in the elevator. They were all tired, he was just more obvious about it.
His suite has no windows, T’Challa immediately dislikes it. He steps into the room and is stripping off his tunic and tossing the scarf aside before the door slides completely shut. With his top off he feels a little better, some of the grime and dust of the day gone with the clothes. He walks through the room looking from the bathroom to the small connecting office. Tonight, his only plans were to shower and sleep. He’s interrupted during this process by a knock on the door.
At this point he’s succeeded in the shower portion but not yet made it to laying in bed. With a sigh he walks over to the door and waits. Tendrils of water drip down his back and he adjusts the towel around his waist. It takes a moment for his sensors to confirm who was at the door. When they do, he reluctantly opens it, “Yes?”
Erik’s face, uncovered, stares back at him. T’Challa wishes it was less jarring. “Everything ok?”
The question is routine but the way Erik asks…
“I’m fine.” T’Challa reassures. He doesn’t make room for Erik to enter.
He’s been careful these last few weeks to maintain some distance. It was harder out in the field but not impossible. Making sure there was always someone else in the room, or that the two of them were never alone for long was easy when T’Challa had a detail 24/7.
“Can I come in?” Erik asks.
“Has something happened?” T’Challa refuses to budge, it was either bad news or just more minutiae, both could wait till the morning.
“No. I want to talk to you.” Erik has the audacity to look hurt.
With that clarification, T’Challa hardens his heart.
“Please don’t make things difficult. We both need rest.” Erik’s expression just worsens and for the first time he advances, taking one step closer.
The two of them are the same height and so the motion isn’t so much intimidating as—
“For Bast sake—“ T’Challa’s voice sinks down to a whisper, aware that others might be listening and is interrupted.
“Let me in.” Erik’s voice matches his in volume and the steel of his demand makes T’Challa want to throat punch him. He sounds almost like N’Jadaka. The tone is too familiar, a promise to fight and cause a scene if the demand wasn’t met.
T’Challa retreats just enough for Erik to enter and slides the door shut.
“Speak.” He prompts Erik.
In lieu of a response Erik’s gaze looks him up and down. T’Challa is reminded that he hadn’t yet dressed and the only thing between his bare skin and the air was a large white towel.
When the silence goes on for longer than a few seconds and starts to grow with suggestion T’Challa says, “I haven’t changed my mind. Unless you have something new to report, leave.”
At the time he hadn’t known what would happen when Erik approached him on that balcony in Birnin Zana. His memories of the afternoon have turned bitter, but he remembers thinking how *lovely* their outing had been. Right up till Erik kissed him.
“Why? We’re the same.” Erik questions and lies in the same breath.
T’Challa shakes his head. “You are not my husband. You are a separate and genetically different individual.” He doesn’t want to get drawn into an argument.
“He got to live with you and I didn’t, so what?” Erik doesn’t back down and his insistence leaves T’Challa flabbergasted. He hid the infraction that day, a stolen kiss, a misguided confession was nothing to make a fuss about. But surely Erik knew the kind of man N’Jadaka was? This wasn’t a matter of T’Challa liking a double that looked like his husband, any affection he felt wasn’t enough to endanger his life and marriage.
“He. Will. Kill. You.” T’Challa enunciates carefully.
“No he won’t.” Erik takes another step.
This time when Erik advances T’Challa backs away. He interprets the denial as Erik thinking he could kill his senior in age and position, N’Jadaka. It was an Erik, sort of delusion and T’Challa wants no part in it.
As he moves he considers his options, obviously Erik intended to do something very foolish. T’Challa could incapacitate him or he could allow Erik enough rope to hang himself.
He’s still deciding when Erik says, “I talked to him. I told him already. He said it’s ok.”
Like that evening weeks ago, T’Challa is thrown for a loop.
“What?” Surely Erik hadn’t told N’Jadaka what happened? He must mean something else.
“I told him. That week, I told him I wanted you. I told him he should share. He agreed. I thought you would too.”
T’Challa listens but the words don’t quite compute. N’Jadaka didn’t “share”, he didn’t even like the idea of them having children and now—“You’re lying.” Erik had to be.
For the first time since he stepped in the room, Erik smiles. There is a dark predatory gleam in his eyes.
“I can call him.” Erik offers and T’Challa immediately agrees.
“Call him.”
Erik reaches for his camouflaged kimoyo beads and T’Challa tightens the tied knot of his towel. He needed to put on clothes. He should have waited till after he was wearing clothes to answer. Not unlike the first time Erik kissed him he feels wrong footed, guilty from crimes he would never commit in the first place. Lust wasn’t a crime, action was and he knew his limits. The soft hum of an outgoing call mixes in with his spiral of emotions. Together they wait.
N’Jadaka answers the call in Farsi and Erik responds in English. T’Challa doesn’t understand the short code that passes between them and he doesn’t need to.
“N’Jadaka.” T’Challa greets his husband, making his presence known. Without the usual video he has only N’Jadaka’s voice to follow.
Erik prompts N’Jadaka before T’Challa can preface, “I told him but he doesn’t believe me. Talk to him.”
T’Challa’s eyebrow rises but he waits patiently for how his husband would respond.
Instead of explaining, N’Jadaka asks Erik: “You’re doing it now?”The timber of his tone carries a level of incredulity and irritation. T’Challa doesn’t know what ‘it’ refers to but a suspicious feeling starts to rise in his chest.
“What is he talking about, N’Jadaka? What do you mean by ‘it’?”
Erik ignores T’Challa to reply to N’Jadaka, “Yeah, why not?”
“You can’t wait?” N’Jadaka continues Erik’s trend of ignoring him and T’Challa loses the last of his patience.
“What. Did you discuss? N’Jadaka, explain now.” He doesn’t need to raise his volume to communicate his ire and both men go oddly silent. Erik looks uneasy, previous confidence gone.
“We talked about you…” N’Jadaka starts to explain and T’Challa waits impatiently for whatever was going on to make sense. It still doesn’t even after N’Jadaka stops talking. The whole time Erik listens his eyes are glued to T’Challa’s face.
In the beginning when Erik first arrived, N’Jadaka hated him. Now almost a year and a half after the fact, they were brothers in arms and before this moment T’Challa thought that was a good thing. When Erik kissed him that day, his only thought was his husband. The strongest deterrent T’Challa had was that N’Jadaka would never stand for it. That… wasn’t true anymore and T’Challa was apparently the last to know.
“When were you going to tell me?” T’Challa isn’t sure how to feel. This is not what he expected at all. Anger mixes with confusion and then sick anticipation. This wasn’t right, he wasn’t a possession N’Jadaka could just hand off to anyone. He wasn’t even sure of how he felt about Erik and they were making decisions?
“When all of us were home. It’s not like I’ve been free lately.” N’Jadaka complains in his usual way and the familiarity isn’t soothing. Because his husband just admitted to giving another man—his counterpart from another timeline—“permission” to fuck him. Not just for one time, but indefinitely and T’Challa hadn’t been part of the conversation at all.