Rough
There was nothing wrong with T'Challa and Everett's sex life. They knew how to make each other happy and release oxytocin an appropriate number of times a month. T'Challa might be a busy man, but he made time.
There was just something about T'Challa today that was making Everett so hot and bothered. Maybe it was how he haggled with the surrounding countries for trade deals. Or perhaps the way he got down and dirty and helped his people build a dam. Or maybe, it was simply the way he strode through the halls of the palace. Everett wasn't sure, but he just knew he needed a piece of that. Now.
He dragged T'Challa into their bedroom at the end of the day, practically feral.
"What's wrong, dear?"
"God, T'Challa, I want you so bad." Everett pressed up against him, nosing along his neck. T'Challa's eyebrows rose, and he played a sly smile.
"What are you feeling tonight, love?"
"Mmm, rough."
The King came alive at that, grabbing his husband's neck to turn him around and push him against the wall. Everett was startled and moaned immediately. T'Challa pushed his clothed and hardening dick between the blonde's asscheeks, grinding up and down. He pulled back mere inches to crash back into the other man, mock-fucking him.
Everett panted, hands splayed on the wall. His partner pulled at his loose jeans, shoving them down to the start of his thighs, exposing his tight briefs. T'Challa pulled out the belt from its loops, folding it in half and then smacking a cheek lightly.
He hit twice before pulling off his overshirt. The younger man was left with his boxers and grey long-sleeve. T'Challa's cock sprung up into its former place. Everett sucked in a breath at feeling T'Challa's erection at his entrance, only boundary their underwear.
He shoved at Everett again, imitating a hard fuck sure to come. Moaning at every thrust, Everett relished in this side of his partner. Still having clothes on made it much more erotic, it had Everett on edge already.
T'Challa was biting at his neck as they stumbled into the bedroom, with the brunette still rubbing along Everett's crack. He pushed the shorter onto the bed, pulling him up onto his knees. Standing behind, he grabbed at Everett's reaching hands and pulled them behind himself.
Finally latching onto his husband's lips, their kiss was pure filth, the awkward angle making it easy for T'Challa to lick into Everett's mouth. They stayed like that for several minutes, letting the blonde back away from the cliff he was close to jumping off, even just a few inches.
Soon enough, though, T'Challa forced him back onto his hands and knees, and, belt in hand, hit his butt several times with increasing force. Between cracks of the belt, the chocolate man would thrust forward, the glide between his cheeks easier now they have spread apart.
Everett shoved his face into the bedspread, continuing to moan and whimper. T'Challa paused, pulling down the other's jeans, the denim having ridden up. After a few more pokes of the taller's dick along the seam of his ass, T'Challa pulled Everett's briefs down, too, uncovering his ass to the cold air. He shivered, crying out as he felt sticky spit plop down on his hole.
T'Challa chuckled softly, running a finger along the other's rim, gathering the saliva on the digit to push it in. He leaned to Everett's ear when he breached the first knuckle, whispering, "Are you okay?"
Everett nodded, turning his head to the side and looking into his husband's eyes.
"Speak, entle." (beautiful)
Everett managed to croak out a small, "Great."
T'Challa eased more of his finger in, "Color?"
The blonde's eyes had closed, mouth slack against the sheets. He tapped once against the King's face, signaling green. T'Challa rose back up, pushing all the way in to start fingering him.
He picked up the pace, pulling Everett up to his chest, locking their lips together once more. Everett groaned into his mouth as the King quirked his finger, brushing against his prostate.
Eventually, T'Challa pressed down the other onto the bed yet again, flattening him out. He reached across his partner into the nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube and uncapping it. Dribbling it on two more of his long digits, the brunette plunged them in along with his pointer.
Everett gasped at that, bouncing twice on the bed as his cock let out a spurt of pre-come onto the sheets. T'Challa stretched him open for what felt like hours, walking him to the edge, and then, when he was just about to fall, catching him and running him back.
"T, T, please. I'm ready. I'm- urgg- ready."
T'Challa hummed, taking his fingers out. "One more thing." He grasped Everett's hips, hoisting him on his hands and knees. He started to rub his still boxer-clad dick against the blonde's entrance, repeating the grinding act against his asscheeks.
Everett whined at the last barrier between them, pushing back onto the rigid member, tantalizing his partner. God, it felt so good, but he wanted more. He wanted T'Challa inside him, filling him up.
"'Challa- Fuck. Stop teasing. Come on~."
Finally, finally, T'Challa stopped and pulled his underwear off. He stood up, shifting Everett back on the bed for a bed position. Slowly, he pushed in, reveling in the stretch and heat of the hole welcoming him in. He would give anything to stay here forever, buried to the hilt in his husband.
But Everett, oh so impatient, rocked his hips back, silently asking him to move. So, he did—brutal, hard, rough. Just like Everett wanted. T'Challa had a bruising grip on his hips, driving him deeper on every thrust.
Everett could do nothing but moan, his head empty, and his body on fire everywhere T'Challa's skin touched his own. He almost forgot how to breathe, too caught up in the snap of his partner's hips. He was so hard it was almost painful, but he didn't want to come yet, he didn't want this ever to end.
T'Challa hit the sweet spot in his cavern, over and over. He thrust forward so hard, that it would have sent him across the room if not for his grip.
"God, yes. Fill me up. Yes, yes yes yes!"
A sudden burst of liquid caught him off guard as T'Challa came into his asshole. He didn't stop, his strength allowing him to keep going, the new substance easing the glide even more. Slowing down, T'Challa shifted to a mild roll of his hips, teasing Everett again.
His back arched beautifully as the brunette pulled at his hair, picking up the pace as his cock came back alive.
T'Challa's cock slammed and slammed into him, filling some desperate need of his. And Everett, Everett was hungry, starved like he'd never been taken, dominated, devoured in his life. They fucked with no end in sight, but Everett was reaching the end of his rope.
"Shit, shit, 'Challa- Close."
The other groaned in agreement, also nearing his orgasm. Everett reached a hand down to start stroking himself, in time with T'Challa's thrusts.
Soon, he was spilling, into the sheets, on his stomach, bobbing up and down as he shook with the force of it. T'Challa came again soon after, the tightening of his partner's rim around the base of his cock setting him off.
They collapsed on the bed together, sweaty and sated. Too tired to get up and change the sheets, they lay in their mess, content. As T'Challa moved to pull out, Everett snaked a hand back, pulling him back in.
"Don't. I want you in me while we're sleeping."
T'Challa pushed back in, cum dripping out between them. He slipped an arm around his husband's middle, closing his eyes and drifting off, smiling happily.