Chapter 6
Erik took a deep breath before stepping into the throne room.
Heads turned towards them as they entered. Erik kept his head up and his face haughty and expressionless, showing no trace of his inner turmoil. He would never back down in front of them, no matter what they thought about him, or what they thought about omegas.
The room was much the same as he remembered, centred around a curved vibranium throne surrounded by a ring of low seats for the representatives of the other tribes. Flanking the throne were rows of Dora Milaje, none of whom seemed very happy to see Erik. Well, they weren't usually very expressive when they were on duty, but behind their looks of disinterested professionalism, Erik could see the fires of rage burning in their eyes. No doubt the Dora Milaje were still sore about Erik killing one of their own less than a week ago.
Erik hid a smirk. There were some perks to being under T'Challa's guardianship after all, chief of which was that he was now untouchable by his old enemies. Served them right. Traitors, the lot of them, turning against him even after he'd won the kingship fair and square. Their oaths weren't worth the paper they were written on.
T'Challa sat down gracefully on the throne, and Erik took the empty seat to his right. It set his teeth on edge, this very visible, very galling reminder that he was no longer the king, and definitely no longer T'Challa's equal - just his omega ward. In the eyes of the public, he was practically T'Challa's bitch. Erik could feel the weight of everyone's stares on him: judgmental, condescending, calculating. At a glance, It was immediately apparent that the councillors who had been most supportive of him during his short reign had all been purged from the council. W'Kabi, in particular, was nowhere to be seen, and the new Border Tribe representative was someone that Erik had never even met before. All the people in the throne room were loyalists to T'Challa's regime. Erik knew that he had no friends here. He shifted irritably in his seat.
He was already in a bad mood before T'Challa called for the meeting to begin. As they launched into a discussion of the rebuilding and outreach efforts, Erik rolled his eyes and leaned back against his seat, slouching in a manner which he knew would get on the nerves of those stuffy old councillors.
True enough, one of them wrinkled their nose in Erik's direction and shot him a dirty look. Erik stretched lazily and grinned openly at the offended man until he turned away.
Erik sneaked a glance at T'Challa out of the corner of his eyes, watching for his reaction. There was none.
Emboldened by the lack of remonstration, Erik kept alert for the next opportunity to piss them off.
--
T'Challa had a good temper, Erik would give him that. Or perhaps he was just reluctant to call Erik out on his insubordination in public. Either way, Erik managed to get in a full five minutes of sneers, sarcastic laughs and snide remarks before T'Challa finally snapped.
"Excuse us, please," T'Challa said, as he stood up from the throne. Erik followed him out of the room, smirking, feeling extremely pleased with himself at finally getting a rise out of T'Challa.
The heavy doors swung shut behind them soundlessly, the noise dampened by the sound-absorbent properties of vibranium. T'Challa motioned for the Dora Milaje guards to leave.
"Erik," T'Challa said, once they were alone. He sounded a touch exasperated, and that made Erik feel even more smug. "What's wrong?"
Erik shrugged, showing no trace of how gleeful he was. "Nothing."
"You've been fidgeting for the last five minutes," T'Challa said. "You know, you don't have to sit in for meetings if you're bored. I know some alphas require their omegas to be by their side at all times, but I'm not one of them. I don't intend to keep you on a leash. If you're bored, you can just leave the room. Go out for a walk and stretch your legs - "
"I'm not bored," Erik cut in, annoyance beginning to burn within his chest. He didn't like the insinuation that he was fidgeting because he had nothing better to do, acting out like a dog that needed to be walked. And the reminder of just how much power T'Challa had over him grated. T'Challa might have him on a long leash, but he was still leashed all the same.
T'Challa folded his arms across his chest. "Then behave."
He hadn't used the Voice, but still, the snapped command hit Erik with the force of a whiplash. Erik's breath hitched. Oh, Bast. Immediately, he ducked his head, instinctively cowering in the face of T'Challa's dominance. That ringing note of authority in the alpha's voice echoed through every nerve in his body, literally making his legs go weak. The biological urge to drop to his knees and bare his neck was so overwhelming that for a moment, the room spun about him. It took all of Erik's efforts merely to remain standing upright.
The moment passed. The biological impulse faded back into the recesses of Erik's mind, leaving behind hot shame and fury.
"Fuck you," Erik snarled. "Don't tell me what to do! Scared I'll make you look bad? Too bad. I'll do whatever the fuck I want -"
His breath left his lungs in a gasp as T'Challa advanced upon him, his expression darkening. Fuck. Erik was familiar with that look on T'Challa's face. He was about to get spanked.
Panic seized within Erik’s chest. Fight or flight? It wasn’t even a difficult choice. He would lose against T’Challa in a straight fight - Erik knew that from painful experience. He tried to leap back, but somehow T'Challa had already backed him up against the wall. Erik’s heart sank as his back made contact with the cold surface of the vibranium walls. There was nowhere to run.
Even though he knew that it was a lost cause, Erik gritted his teeth, balled his hands into fists and lunged at T’Challa, fists up. But when he swung a fist at T’Challa, T’Challa simply seized hold of his wrist, taking hold of it in a grip bordering on painful, and somehow Erik found himself pressed flat against the wall, his wrists pinned above his head.
He struggled, testing at T'Challa's hold against him, but there was absolutely no give, and the more he struggled, the darker the look on T'Challa's face became.
“Turn around and put your hands out. Brace yourself against the wall.”
“Here?” Erik looked around in disbelief. The corridor was deserted right now, but anyone could walk by at any minute. “Someone might see!”
“Now. Here. You'll do as I say, or suffer the consequences. This will go much worse for you if you don’t cooperate.”
Erik had never heard T'Challa speak in this tone of voice to him before - cold, sharp and cutting. The sound of it made the omega in him quail. Why was T’Challa so angry at him this time? It wasn’t like he had never sassed T’Challa before. But until then, all of his fights with his alpha had been in private. Apparently that made all the difference.
Erik’s throat felt like it was closing up. It was getting difficult to breathe. He felt sick. The thought of someone coming by, of people watching him be publicly humiliated for something so inconsequential as arguing with his alpha was crushing. Tears of indignation pricked the edges of Erik's eyes at the unfairness of it all.
“Don't.” Erik couldn’t remember the last time his voice had sounded like this, so breathless, so weak and shaky that he could barely make out his own words. “Not out here, T'Challa, please - Alpha. Please.”
He had never addressed T'Challa as alpha before, never begged for T’Challa’s mercy like this. Erik's face burned with humiliation, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, unable to even look T'Challa in the eyes.
At the sight of Erik’s obvious distress, the look on T'Challa's face softened somewhat. "Shh. It's all right. I'll stop if anyone gets too close. I'll be able to hear them coming, you know that. Now turn around."
Erik was frozen. He knew, intellectually, that the risk of anyone happening across them would only increase the longer he delayed, but he just couldn’t force himself to comply.
T'Challa, evidently losing patience Erik still wasn't listening to him, took him by the shoulders and manhandled him around so that he was facing the wall. Erik let out a choked, horrified gasp as T'Challa leaned over him, forcing his palms flat against the wall.
T'Challa's hand came to rest against the curve of Erik's ass.
"No," Erik choked out, his voice soft and frightened. He had never been less aroused before in his life.
There was a long pause. Then, from somewhere over his shoulder, T'Challa sighed. "We can finish this in private. But there will be consequences for this."
Erik seized onto that like a drowning man clasping onto a lifeline, the threat of more dire punishment completely outweighed by his relief at being offered a way out. “Yes! Yes, anything, whatever you want, just - just not out here."
The pressure on his wrists was abruptly lifted. Erik whipped around to face T'Challa, his cheeks flushed as he hastily smoothed his palms over the front of his robes. His heart was still pounding forcefully in panic at how narrowly he'd escaped this very public discipline.
T'Challa stepped back from him. "Remember, you asked for it," he said.