Yes, Your Majesty— T’Challa/Everett [Black Panther]— Full

*A two-part commission, the first for 2K and the second for 2.5K.*

Actual Word Count: 4796

Special notes: body worship for ‘Anytime is Good for a Meeting’

Yes, Your Majesty

Everett Ross had been in tight situations before. 

Hell, he’d jumped out of the fire only to end up in an iron frying pan when he chose to become a CIA agent after his career as a pilot. Even before he’d run off to serve his country, he’d had a… tough life. But it had made him stronger, made him the agent he was today. Then why the fuck are you getting a fucking hard-on while you’re on a mission. And with him of all people. 

The “him” in question was the King of Wakanda and Black Panther, T’Challa. As for why his dick was straining against his slacks, begging to be freed… They were hiding in an armoire. An armoire that happened to be in the bedroom of their elusive target Reverend Achebe. 

They’d managed to track him all the way to the hotel he was staying at in Hong Kong, sneaking into the penthouse bedroom in search of any clues as to where he got his powers. Over the last few months, he’d broached the outside territory of Wakanda and if they didn’t turn things around soon, the Reverend would attempt to usurp T’Challa. 

So, they’d followed him to Hong Kong where he was slated to meet with some of Wakanda’s advisories both in the underworld and government. Their search had been cut short by Shuri, T’Challa’s younger sister and genius extraordinaire, warning them that the Reverend was headed their way only seconds before the key card unlocked the door. They’d had no choice but to hop into the nearest dark space to hide. 

What neither of them could have expected was that the Reverend brought home a woman. Or rather, women. Through the small sliver of space between the armoire doors, Everett could see the Reverend on the bed with two women draped over him. But that wasn’t what woke his dick up; it was T’challa’s strong arms braced beside his head and his hot, minty breath wafting over his face. 

With every inhale T’Challa took, their chests brushed and the friction made his nipples pucker and become erect under his thin shirt. He could have willed his growing erection away, he was a top CIA agent after all. But the moans and groans that now filled the room made it impossible for him to stop thinking about scenarios. The ones that he dreamed about every so often since working with T’Challa. And it didn’t help that the man in question was well endowed, something he could tell from the other man’s limp member that brushed against his stomach. Keep it together Ross. They’ll be asleep soon enough. 

But soon didn’t seem soon enough, as the sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room. The smell of musk and sweat filtered into the tiny space they shared, and Everett prayed to whatever god may exist above that his torment would end. 

“Agent Ross,” T’Challa suddenly whispered in his ear, that lilting accent sending more blood rushing to his dick. “You should try and… calm yourself, eh?”

He opened his mouth prepared with a snappy comeback, but it evaporated to thin air as T’challa brushed against him again. Idiot, I can’t calm down with you so close. 

“You know,” T’Challa continued in his ear, “Shuri says you look at me funny. I’ve always thought she was just pulling my leg but…” He trailed off as he took a hand and placed it over Everett’s chest, over his thudding heart. “It seems she may have been right.”

“We. Are. On. A mission!” The words were hard to get out, and were above a whisper, not that their target could have heard over his groans and shouts like, “You like that bitch!”

Rather than respond, T’Challa traced his chest over his shirt, his finger circling over one of Everett’s erect nipples. Against his better judgment, Everett let the other man touch him. He wouldn’t do anything to compromise the mission… right? 

Sure they’d been working as “partners” for years, but if Everett really thought about it, there were so many things he still wanted to know about the King of Wakanda. The one thing that bonded them and why they worked (mostly) well together was their sense of duty. As such, he figured that the other man’s determination to capture the single highest threat not to just his people, but the world, would prevent any shenanigans. Regardless of the circumstances. 

And yet… Here the King was, slipping a cool, dry hand under his shirt. Everett could only hold his breath as two fingers pinched at his erect nipple before pulling it gently. “Ngh!”

“Agent Ross, no, Everett. Since we will be here for a while, I shall help you with this.” He emphasized the end of his statement by purposely rubbing himself against Everett’s erection. Another hand joined the first in teasing Everett’s nipples. 

He felt his cheeks heat and knew that he was blushing scarlet. He was embarrassed at being hard, but even more so at the wet spot forming in his boxer briefs in response to T’Challa’s careful teasing of his nipples. 

“Y-you don’t have to do that.” It took all his strength to get the words out in a whisper. 

“It is distracting to have my partner in such a state.”

“I’ll just think of dead puppies or some—ssshit!” The back of Everett’s head thudded into the wall of the armoire but he hardly noticed that bite of pain, too focused on the hand that had deftly slipped into the front of his pants.

The same hands that shook hands with their allies and rained down on their enemies now caressed him gently through the fabric of his wetting underwear. Everett lifted a hand in an attempt to push the other man away but ended up gripping at the silky material of T’Challa’s shirt as the other man pulled out his straining erection from the hole in the front of his boxer briefs. 

“You must be very lonely,” T’Challa practically purred in his ear as he wrapped a large hand around him. 

“T-t-that quite frankly is none of your business.” They were just words with no bite. He felt every callous and crease in the hand that moved up and down his length slowly. 

He tried to protest again but moaned instead as the King twisted his nipple again while rubbing the head of cock with his thumb. Everett’s head fell forward onto T’Challa’s shoulder and he gripped at the other man’s shirt tighter. “S-stop it!”

“I do not think that’s possible now.” 

The hand that had been fondling him underneath his shirt and pumping his shaft were suddenly gone and Everett breathed a sigh of relief. This was short-lived though as he felt hardened flesh rub against his twitching member. Too scared to open his eyes for confirmation, Everett reached for what rubbed against his erection and gasped. 

In his occasional wet dreams, he’d always envisioned T’Challa with a massive cock, both long and with considerable girth. The hardened flesh, almost as hard as vibranium, went above what he’d dreamed over the last few years and he could feel his precum wetting T’Challa’s cock as the other men rubbed their members together. The friction alone was enough to bring Everett close to orgasming. Fuck, fuck, fuck it’s been so long

“Take them in your hands Everett.” The command had him complying before he could comprehend his actions. 

“And here, open your mouth.” He followed the other man’s directions again, finally looking up at the King in the dark as cotton filled his mouth. 

The other man had lifted his shirt up and put the bottom hem in his mouth, leaving his chest and stomach exposed. As well as their members which he gripped in both hands. Everett’s saliva wetted the cotton in his mouth in no time as he gazed at their erections rubbing against each other with each slight movement of T’Challa’s hips. 

“Try to keep your voice down, Agent Ross. Don’t want to blow our cover.”

Brat, Everett thought helplessly as T’Challa began to fondle his chest again. The friction as their members rubbed against each other combined with the feel of them in his hands liquified his lower belly and all he felt was heat. At the crook of his neck, he felt the King’s hot breath. 

His balls tightened when he felt teeth and a tongue graze the sensitive flesh there. Everett’s hands slackened from sensory overload and a sharp bite at his neck made his hips buckle from their rhythmic thrusts. 

“Don’t let go.” T’Challa suckled at his neck before finding his ear again. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes your majesty,” Everett said around his now soaked shirt hem. He could taste his own arousal in the back of his throat, sharp and sweet. 

“You’re doing a good job of staying quiet, but can you keep it up I wonder?”

Everett shuddered in response to T’challa’s throaty voice. He’s too good at this, he thought to himself while the other man covered his hand gripping them both, The other hand at his chest drifted down his stomach lightly before creeping to his lower back.

“I’m going to move faster now.”

The hand at his lower back drifted to his ass, gripping it tightly. Everett felt nails dig into the vulnerable skin and the bite of pain elicited another moan from his lips. Luckily, their target was still going out with his female friends, and their mewling whimpers drowned out his muffled groans as they both thrust against each other faster. 

Flesh slick with arousal and their muffled grunts created their own symphony inside the confined space of the armoire. Everett didn’t hear the activities of their target anymore. I’m… close! 

Suddenly, T’Challa leaned forward, pushing him flush against the back wall of the armoire so that they were closer. The hand that had wrapped over his hand gripping their erections moved to yank the shirt out of Everett’s mouth.

“I c-c-can’t keep quiet,” he whimpered unashamedly as the other man gripped his jaw. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be professional?” On the last word, T’Challa’s tongue licked the upper ridge of his ear. “You’ve never had any issues on previous missions.”

“W-with all due respect to your majesty—” The sound of a door slamming against the wall cut Everett off. 

“Reverend, we found Black Panther’s operatives and have them in the other room. Waiting for your instructions, sir!”

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” The shout was followed by a loud whimper from one of the women. 

“B-but sir, they seem to be from that unit.”

All sound ceased and Everett let go of their members and wiped his hand on his rumpled shirt.

Fuck, I wonder if that’s Shur’s unit? The Princess of Wakanda luckily was monitoring remotely as she often did, but if her people had been captured, it was only a matter of time before they were stripped of their tech. Tech that would invariably lead back to where Shuri was staying for the mission. 

“All right whore, daddy’s gotta go torture his enemies. This nice man here will take you to your rooms until I get back.” Two loud smacks were followed by giggles. “Make sure to keep it wet for me!”

Everett breathed an internal sigh of relief. Once they leave, I can finally get out of here! But as he heard the sound of their retreat, embarrassment welled within him. He couldn’t look T’Challa in the eyes after what they’d almost done. When the door closed, taking away their mark and his company, he forced himself to clear his throat. “W-we need to—”

“I do not know about you,” the King said, voice tense as he gripped their combined girths in his hand, “but I will not be satisfied until I come.”

“Y-your majesty you can’t be serious!” Even as he protested, T’Challa’s rough hands and his rock hard cock thrusting against his brought him back into the fog of lust. 

“Just… a little… more!”

The wood of the armoire dug into Everrett’s back, but the pain swirled into an intoxicating mix of sensations as the King thrust harder and faster. He gripped at the other man’s shoulders and he felt his cheeks clench as his orgasm threatened to overtake him. 

“Everett, look at me.”

The light filtering through the crack between the doors allowed him to see T’Challa’s dark gaze on him, and the desire burning there. His white teeth dug into his plush bottom lip and Everett couldn’t help but let out a moan at how unbridled his partner looked. 

“Come for me.”

Both men gasped and groaned as their orgasms rippled through them, and Everett shivered from both the intense sensation and feeling something thick and warm splatter onto his stomach before dripping into his pubic hair. 

They remained in post-orgasmic bliss, clutching at each other and Everett couldn’t resist the small smile that lighted his face. Better than any dream. 

Anytime is Good for a Meeting

To say things were awkward would be an understatement. 

But Everett Ross was a seasoned professional. He’d disabled bombs, taken down warlords, and taken his fair share of bullets. And throughout all those hairy situations he’d remained calm and levelheaded. Always finding the best solution to tackle the problem at hand. 

Yet, here he was, unable to sit still during the mission debrief. Every time he blinked he was back in that armoire, T’Challa’s cloyingly sweet scent clogging his nostrils and overriding all sense of reason. His feelings toward the King had always been… complicated. 

He admired the younger man for how he’d risen to the occasion and started a new era for his kingdom. T’Challa cared about his people, and had the utmost faith in their ability to fight off any threat while also lending a hand to those in need. 

But, as any King with the powers thrusted upon him a little too early, he could be a little rash. His confidence treaded the line of hubris more often than not, and it was a miracle quite frankly that he hadn’t been killed yet. 

But he did almost… Everett stopped himself from completing the thought because he would remember something worse. It was due to this event that he sometimes still dreamed about what colored their relationship anew in his eyes. Everett realized that it didn’t matter that his emotions were a tangled mess; they all led up to one feeling.  

“Mr. Ross!” 

Everett jumped, the mint  he’d been chewing on falling out of his mouth with bits of spit. Everyone was looking at him now, and he wished the ground would split in two and swallow him whole. Whatever the director had been saying he totally missed and he couldn’t even come up with a simple “Yes, sir?”

“I said do you have any notes to add?” The director glared at him, thick arms crossing over his chest. 

He swallowed audibly. “N-not at all, sir.” 

“With that, meeting adjourned.” All at once the room filled with the sound of murmurs and rustling paper. 

As if frozen in his seat, Everett could only watch as his colleagues filtered out of the conference room. In a daze, he watched the reason for his inner turmoil walk up to the director. Today, the King had opted for Western clothing; he wore a navy blazer over a white button-down shirt, both of which clung to his toned body with each slight movement, and navy slacks that accentuated how strong and thick his legs were. Both T’Challa and the Director had bodies that belonged in a GQ magazine, and they made quite a picture with the floor to ceiling windows letting the late afternoon sun shine through. 

It made what had happened a few days ago even more laughable. What could a man, King, like him want with me? It was the question that wound that feeling even tighter inside him.

Everett somehow managed to find his way to his feet, though his peripheral vision kept focusing on T’Challa. He just narrowly escaped colliding with the door before making a hasty getaway down the hall to his office. It was around lunch time and he wanted to make an escape for the hour if only to gain control of his faculties once more. 

Unlike the rest of the floor, his office was a comfortable temperature and the air smelled of lavender and mint. He instantly relaxed, though he felt a bead of sweat at his temple. He shrugged off his suit jacket and laid it against the back of his chair before pit stains could form. Another thing I bet he doesn’t have to worry about. 

He reached for the top drawer where he normally kept his wallet but came up empty.  Where the hell could I have put it? 

“I think you dropped this Agent Ross.”

In his haste, Everett had forgotten to shut his door all the way behind him. Making it easy for the very King he was trying to avoid to stand there, holding the very thing he was looking for. Today is not my day, is it? 

“And why does the King of Wakanda have my wallet?” It took effort, but Everett managed to sound professional, as if his heart wasn’t about to tumble out of his ass. 

“It fell out in your haste.” Everett tensed as T’Challa closed the door behind him. “Do you have a prior engagement? I’d hate to keep you.”

Everett opened his mouth, ready to lie. But all that came out was breathy stuttering. Quite frankly he was ashamed of himself. First of all, he was too old for shit. Second, T’Challa was King of an entire nation. There was no way a King as young and viral as him would be interested in anything he had to offer. 

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” T’Challa said, taking a step further into the room. 

When they stood with only the desk between them, he spoke again. Softly. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Again, Everett opened his mouth to say something, anything that would deny what the King was insinuating. But all he could come up with is, “If you say so.”

‘If you say so?’ Are you stupid? Why didn’t you just say no?! Everett resisted the urge to facepalm. 

But now that they were alone again, all he could think about was being trapped in that armoire. How taut that body was, how it flexed against him and the warmth that radiated. 

Stop it! 

“You’ve been ignoring my calls since we got back.” The King placed his wallet down on the desk. “I imagine it’s because of what happened while we were… waiting for the Reverend to finish up.”

“You mean what you did to me?” Everett hated how indignant he sounded.

“If I recall correctly, you seemed to enjoy yourself.” T’Challa placed both hands on the desk, leaning forward so that he and Everett were closer. “Well, I enjoyed myself.”

Everett rolled his eyes and took a small step back to increase the distance between them again. The King’s dizzying scent threatened to overwhelm him like before and he needed his wits about him to leave his office without letting all those feelings spill from him. 

It’d be pointless anyway, we’re from two different— Everett derailed that train of thought in favor of saying aloud, “I didn’t know you were also a comedian, your majesty. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

He should have known that someone with powers like his that T’Challa wouldn’t let him dismiss this conversation. Yet, Everett still felt shock at the King suddenly on the same side of the desk, a hand reaching toward him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His protest sounded weak as he batted away one of those hands that had gripped his shaft just a few days prior. Everett couldn’t let those hands touch him again. It’s not like I’m worthy anyway. 

“Agent Ross, are you sure you don’t have anything you wish to tell me?” T’Challa said it softly, kindly, and with those pearly white teeth shining at him. 

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

In the blink of an eye Everett found his lips occupied with supple full ones. Warmth spread through him and he could only stare helplessly at the delicate folds of the King’s closed eyelids. For whatever reason, T’Challa was seriously kissing him. 

This has to be another one of those dreams. 

But in those dreams, they never kissed; instead the King would tease his body mercilessly with those long, thick fingers. Teasing his nipples before moving to his cock. Dream T’Challa always brought him to the edge before shoving him away with a look of contempt. 

“You’re so pathetic Agent Ross, I bet you’ll cum for anyone.” 

And then one of the many women Everett had seen T’Challa with over the years would materialize. Together they would tease and taunt him by comparing his reddened, straining state to a pig. Usually the dreams ended in him watching the King and whatever woman he dreamt up fucking in front of him, laughing at him all the while. 

“I find it insulting that you are clearly thinking about something else while I’m kissing you,” the real, flesh and blood, T’Challa said against his lips, tongue flicking out to trace his bottom lip. 

“I-I-I’m just confused, your majesty.” Everett heard himself swallow. “Why are you…?”

Rather than answer right away, those hands gripped his shoulders and guided him back into his desk chair before he could brace himself. The King rested his hands on the armrests and bent down so that their eyes met. 

“I think you are a fine man, and I am attracted to you. Given how I feel, why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?” T’Challa leaned further so that his lips were at his ear. “Make a mess of you?”

“Y-you’ve taken this joke too far, your majesty. It isn’t funny” It took monumental effort to move his head away, and Everett flinched at his defeated tone. To make matters worse, his pants felt a little tighter than they should. 

“You think I’m joking?” Everett didn’t know why, but the King sounded… angry? 

He shrugged, trying to inch the chair backward. T’Challa gripped the armrests tighter preventing the movement. “Of course you are.”

“And what makes you say that?” Everett had heard this tone before it usually meant that whoever the King was talking to was in for a beating, verbal or physical. It did nothing to calm his jittery nerves, nor calm the thing in his pants growing stiffer than an iron rod. 

“Your majesty, how long have we been working together?” He didn’t know where the sudden frustration came from, but it dulled the other mess of feelings threatening to break free. 

“Five years, ten months, and three days. What does—”

Everett tried not to show his shock at the King also knowing exactly how long they’d been partners. “And during those five years, how many times do you think I’ve seen the types of women you date?”

T’Challa’s eyebrows slanted so that they met in the center of his forehead in confusion. “I think you’ve—”

“There’s no way someone as attractive as you, heck, the freaking King of Wakanda, and Black Panther, would be interested in anything someone like me has to offer.” Everett scoffed and then muttered, “Not like I have anything to offer you anyway.”

“Let me ask you something Everett.” He couldn’t help the shiver that ripples over his arms and down his back. How his heart squeezed at how T’Challa’s voice seemed to caress his name. “Have you seen me with any of these women you’re referring to recently?”

All the hot air from frustration and indignation rushed out of him and like a deflated balloon he crumpled into the back of the desk chair. Everett broke their eye contact, unable to take the growing intensity in those dark eyes. “How would I know?”

Clearly you’ve been keeping track of my whereabouts,” T’Challa started, taking a bended knee and using it to pry open Everett’s legs. “Which, I can only hope is due to this.” His knee brushed against the hard on that the older man had been trying in vain to ignore. “But even if it was for the sake of your position, you should have noticed that I haven’t… dated anyone in several months.”

“W-w-well, we’re not together every minute of every day so…” Everett trailed off weakly because the knee at his crotch kept grazing over him. 

“I think I need to make myself clearer.” As if paralyzed, Everett could only watch as T’Challa reached for where his shirt was tucked into his pants, pulling up gently. He methodically began to unbutton it. “Though Shuri brought to my attention your now clear feelings, I had already noticed some of my own.”

Even though he felt like he was sitting in a sauna, Everett felt his nipples pucker up at suddenly being exposed. And now, with his shirt undone, the stomach he painstakingly sucked in and literally tucked away came rolling out all at once. 

As if waking from a stupor, he clamored to cover himself and back away from the tempting being in front of him. “W-what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Trying to show you that what we feel is the same.” A cool, calloused hand glided over his lower stomach and Everett’s toes curled in response to the sensation. 

“I already told you to stop joking your maj—”

T’Challa’s lips cut him off and he could barely focus because the hand that had been roving over his stomach inched upward to the skin at his chest. Kneading it softly before a thumb and forefinger pinched at the aroused flesh there. 

The sharp sting went straight to his groin and Everett had to fight succumbing to how good it felt having his skin touched so delicately yet with purpose. 

“I do not say this lightly Everett, so remember it well.” T’Challa’s devilish lips were now at his throat suckling in tandem with tweaking his nipples. “I am doing this because I like you.”

“T-there’s no way someone like you—”

“Position doesn’t matter when it comes to things like this, do you agree?” He nipped at Everett’s skin before sliding down so that he was kneeling before the older man. 

Everett pushed at T’Challa’s wandering hands and in vain tried to get the King back to his feet. “Your majesty, it’s unbecoming for you to kneel before someone like me!”

“You know, I am getting tired of hearing that from you, Everett.” T’Challa went to work unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down so Everett’s straining, leaking erection was freed. “Maybe if I show my appreciation, you will understand?”

Any protest died on Everett’s tongue the minute slick warmth wrapped around him. His mind became painfully numb as the King’s throat worked around his dick. He felt pressure at his balls and he could feel precum spill out of him. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“I like how soft you are,” T’Challa said, releasing his dick with a pop. “Inside and out.” For emphasis, he took the hand that had been fondling his balls and placed it over Everett’s generous belly. The older man could only watch mouth agape as the King of Wakanda kissed at the flabby skin of his midsection.

Never in his life had someone praised him for his “softness,” much less someone kissing the thing he hated most about his appearance like it was the greatest blessing. 

“You are perfect the way you are Everett.”

“You’re just saying—”

“You should know by now I don’t say things unnecessarily.” T’Challa used the hand that wasn’t dancing across Everett’s shivering stomach to grip him once more, sliding easily due to the constant dribble from the tip of his dick. 

“I’ve dreamed about playing with her chest, making you cum from teasing alone.” He pumped Everett’s dick harder. “Then bending you over, sinking my head into your generous backside as I eat you out.”

He rubbed a finger over Everett’s slit slowly. “Grabbing the soft folds of your waist as I take you over and over again.”

The words, stimulation, and heated gazed on his face brought Everett over the edge and his orgasm spurted forth, coating T’Challa’s hand and some splashing on the King’s cheek. 

“I-I-I—” Everett could only think in German. 

“Your body is a new land, just as beautiful as my country, and I want to explore until I know it just as well as Wakanda. Do you understand me better now, Everett Ross?”

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