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

*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!”

Click here to read the rest on AO3

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