Work Text:
Everett Ross is called to the Kingdom of Wakanda at the request of the King, T’Challa. There is no official reason, and Everett doesn’t know what to pack or how much to pack or even how long to expect to be away. But he knows that if T’Challa asks then he must go.
Ross packs light, assuming that if he needs more T’Challa will provide, as he always has. When he arrives, T’Challa has a feast set out for him. No one else is in the chamber as they eat and catch up, and this should have been the moment that Everett knew something was up, but he was never particularly bright. T’Challa is never unattended, even in the bath. They catch up, the night runs smoothly, and Ross flushes at multiple points. He thinks his mind is playing tricks on him, and that T’Challa is flirting. He knows that can’t be right, but when T’Challa sees that he has finished, he rises and takes Everett by the shoulders and takes him to his bedroom. That is when Ross realizes that something is not normal.
“Your majesty, why did you take me here?” Ross asks, hopelessly oblivious. Perhaps that is what T’Challa, King of Wakanda, likes about him.
T’Challa grabs him by his shirt, and for a brief terrifying moment Everett thinks he’s mad. But it is not the case. Their lips crash into each other. Ross’s are open as he tries to apologize for whatever he has done to anger the king, but that only serves for T’Challa to deepen the kiss.
Ross freezes at first, uncertain of what is going on, unworthy of the gift that the King bestows on him. He wonders if T’Challa is possessed then wonders if he should be so ungrateful to not accept a kiss from T’Challa. Then he grabs T’Challa by whatever fabric he can reach and pulls him closer. T’Challa backs him into the door and presses his hand above him. He flexes his hand and claws rake down the door.
Ross’s knees feel like jello. He thinks he’s sinking until T’Challa scoops him in his arm and carries him into his room. T’Challa kisses him until he drops him unceremoniously onto the bed. Everett stares up at him, blinking. More wet than he’s ever been in his life. He can’t seem to find words as he stares up at King T’Challa, a man he considers his friend.
“Whoa.”
T’Challa laughs, deep and rumbling, as he climbs onto the bed beside Ross. He brushes Everett’s face with his fingers. He shivers at the way his cool claws drag against his pathetically hairless chin. He swallows.
“I want you,” T’Challa says.
Ross opens and closes his mouth, unable to untie his tongue. T’Challa doesn’t wait for him to get his wits about him. He leans in and kisses him again. Then Ross is dragged bodily on top of T’Challa and is wrapped in his long legs.
“Your majesty, I can’t-” Ross starts to say. He swallows, trying to to find his words to explain the situation. “I can’t be on top.”
T’Challa raises his chin, brows furrowed. “Why is that?”
“I don’t have… Well, I do, but it’s not very big,” Ross tries to say as clearly as he can.
“Show me,” T’Challa says.
Everett shakes as he takes his shirt off. He’s a pretty small man, and he feels even smaller compared to T’Challa as he disrobes. T’Challa reaches for him, still dressed in his clothes. He holds his hip as Everett pulls his underwear and shorts over his thighs.
“Look, I know, I haven’t gotten any surgery down here yet because I was saving,” Ross says, “Just the top. That was expensive enough and the recovery was a pain in the ass, so I just haven’t yet.”
He gasps as T’Challa reaches between his thighs and takes the small head of his cock in his fingers. He rolls it between them, careful to spare him his claws. Ross grabs for something, anything to stop the immediate build up in his body. He clutches against T’Challa’s thighs.
When Ross is fully erect, T’Challa rubs his thumb up his dick. Slowly up and down it. Everett breathes out through his nose to stop himself from crying out and then takes in a sharp breath through his mouth. He groans when T’Challa takes his dick in two fingers and gently tugs on it. He thumbs the head.
“Oh, god,” Everett moans.
Maybe because it’s T’Challa, Everett comes much faster than he ever thinks he has before. HIs body spasms. He grinds his hips into T’Challa, who quickly flattens his palm to protect him from his claws. He digs into him until he comes again.
“God,” Everett says, coming down. He’s a bit too sensitive now for more stimulation. He pants for a while before it hits him that T’Challa, King of Wakanda, just jacked him off. “Oh my God, your majesty. I shouldn’t have- I am so selfish. Please, let me.” He scrambles quickly to disrobe the King. His fingers tremble as he tries to find how it comes on and off. He thinks back to the time he wore it, but he can’t remember exactly how… T’Challa laughs at him as the suit disappears into the collar and belt.
T’Challa is a figure of a man. Perfect in every way that Everett is not. He’s muscular, tall, and handsome. Everett stares for far too long at him, never allowed to see him like this. He thinks he might be drooling. He hopes he isn’t.
Between T’Challa’s thick thighs, his cock stands erect. It’s beautiful. Everett wants nothing more than sink to his knees and take it inside his mouth. He’s never done that before, but he wants to.
“Can I suck your dick, please?” Everett asks, then kicks himself for saying please.
T’Challa takes him by the back of the neck and settles him between his legs. Everett’s mouth waters as he leans in close. He can’t take all of T’Challa in his mouth, there’s no way, but that won’t stop him from trying.
Everett rolls his thumb over the head of T’Challa’s cock. He can’t really do it like he does himself because well, its way different hardware. So he thinks about what he’s see in porn. He leans over T’Challa’s cock and tries to make enough drool to dribble over his cock. He spits on him, and then wonders if that’s disrespectful. His head shoots up to look at T’Challa’s face for anger. There is none. He simply reaches out and strokes Everett’s face.
“You are doing very well,” T’Challa says.
Everett swallows and puts his hand around T’Challa. He trails his spit up and down T’Challa’s cock. It’s a bit overwhelming to be here now, but Everett leans in and licks up the shaft like he’s seen in a hundred porn videos. He puts his lips on the head and jacks up and down his cock.
Even just having T’Challa in his mouth is turning Everett on. He tries to take T’Challa deeper but has to pull off quickly to control his gagging. He coughs a bit and covers his mouth to wipe the drool away.
T’Challa raises his red face. Everett’s eyes are streaming and his mouth is filled with thick mucusy saliva. He is still coughing. T’Challa wipes tears from his eyes.
“Breathe,” T’Challa says.
Everett takes in a shaky long breath. He feels almost like his chest is rattling. T’Challa lifts him into his lap and kisses him.
“I have another idea,” T’Challa says.
Everett almost thoughtlessly spreads his legs, but T’Challa lifts him off his lap and stands. Everett watches him go to a chest and open it. He retrieves a dildo, except it has a bulb on the end. It takes a moment or two to realize that it’s a strapless strap on. He’s never used one like it before, but when T’Challa hands it to him he’s already scrambling to finger himself to fit it inside.
T’Challa pours lube in Everett’s hand and leans back to watch him get himself prepared to put his cock in. T’Challa starts to finger himself, and he watches Everett closely as he does.
Everett eases the strap inside himself. It’s been a long time since he’s been filled up like this, but it feels good. He rocks his hips against the sheets to get used to how it feels. By now T’Challa has a third finger inside himself.
Everett grinds harder into the sheets when T’Challa lets out a moan when he brushes his prostate. He wonders why he’s never used one of these things before when he feels all of it down to his toes. T’Challa withdraws his hand and pulls Everett to him. He pours lube on Everett’s cock.
Everett is slow as he pushes into T’Challa’s hole. When he rocks back he thinks that he’s never felt anything better in his life. He pushes into T’Challa’s hole a little faster. T’Challa moans deliciously, and Everett fucks into him harder to wring more moans from him. T’Challa arches his back and angles himself so that Everett fucks into him where he needs him to.
The feeling of the bulb nudging inside of him feels so good he keeps fucking into T’Challa as hard and fast as he can. He thrusts in particularly hard and it slips out of him.
“Fuck,” Everett says, scrambling to grab the strap and put it back inside himself. He clenches around it, hoping that this time it will stay in place. T’Challa watches him with amusement on his face as he lines himself up and thrusts back in. “I swear this would be better if it were my dick. I’ve never used these muscles before.”
“It feels good,” T’Challa says, letting his legs drop further away.
Sweat beads on Everett’s forehead as he tries to control how hard he fucks into T’Challa to avoid the strap falling out. He clenches as hard as he can, but that in turn makes his orgasm draw closer. He tries to concentrate of fucking T’Challa, pushing his orgasm away, and holding the strap in place. His body almost can’t take it all. When he concentrates on one he loses the others. Warmth spread between his legs, and he thinks that he can’t stop his orgasm any longer. It rolls through him like a wave. When he thinks it’s over it keeps going, his body clenching and relaxing. His vision whites out, and when it comes back he’s laying on T’Challa with the strap laying on the bed below him.
“Shit, I swear it’s better when it’s my strap. I’ve never finished that quick in my life, your majesty,” Everett says, “Do you have another? I can fuck you with one that doesn’t penetrate me.”
T’Challa takes Everett by his cheeks and pulls him to him. He kisses the words off his lips and wraps a fist around himself. Everett sighs into the kiss. His stomach stirs as T’Challa jacks himself off against his stomach. They both shudder when T’Challa’s cum sprays against Everett’s chest. Everett couldn’t move if he wanted to. He lays against T’Challa wishing that this could never end.
“Thank you, your majesty,” Everett says.
T’Challa runs his fingers through Everett’s hair. “You have pleased me, my friend,” he says. He has an almost mock royal voice that Everett clocks as joking.
“I was being genuine,” Everett says, “Thank you. I’ve never felt like that.”
T’Challa lifts the much smaller man’s chin. “You are beloved to a King. Remember that well,” he says.
Everett swallows. “Yes, your majesty.”