Spoils

Erik gradually became aware of a tiny itch at the back of his mind.

The itch intensified as he drew closer to the royal family's quarters in the palace. An uncomfortable grating presence, a strange intrusion in the back of his head.

T'Challa.

Erik gritted his teeth in annoyance. He hadn't expected to see T'Challa again so soon, though he now realized that of course the servants would have placed T'Challa in the same quarters as him. Great.

Erik fought down his reflexive upswell of irritation at the thought of his cousin. He quickened his steps, eager to get back to his quarters and kick T'Challa out so that he could sleep properly. It had been a very long and tiring day.

But as Erik drew closer, he could sense T'Challa's emotions bleeding even more strongly across their shared mental bond, growing in intensity with each step that he took.

Frustration.

Exhaustion.

Pain.

Something wasn't right.

A deep growl rose in Erik's chest, and his hands unconsciously clenched into fists. Adrenaline sparked through his nerves, heightening his aggression, his protectiveness.

Erik made a beeline for the room at the end of the hall, knowing without needing to be told that his mate was behind those doors. He threw the doors open without bothering to knock.

There was a soft, startled gasp from somewhere within the darkness.

“Lights on!” Erik snapped.

A soft yellow light filled the room, illuminating a lavishly decorated room. Erik's attention immediately focused on the dark figure curled up on a ball on the centre of the large canopy bed.  

“T'Challa?”

Erik automatically pitched his voice low, keeping it soft and soothing as he approached the bed.

T'Challa's mind was a screaming storm of fatigue and pain, but it quietened as Erik sat down on the edge of the bed. He rolled over to face Erik, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Erik? You came.” T'Challa’s voice was soft and confused, but he sounded relieved to see Erik here. Sweat was beaded on his brow, and he looked completely exhausted. Erik's heart clenched.

“You all right? Why the fuck are you alone? I thought I told the doctor to stay with you. I'm gonna kill that bitch!”

“Don't!” T'Challa protested immediately, sounding distressed. “It's my fault. I asked her to leave. I…I just wanted to be alone.”

“That was dumb,” Erik snapped. “You're not a doctor! What if something happened?”

“Dr Sabra said that I had already stabilized,” T'Challa protested. “I just wanted to get some sleep. I can't do that with another person hovering around me.”

That explanation still wasn't enough to satisfy Erik's overprotective side. “You know you should have asked me first.”

“I -” T'Challa sounded like he wanted to argue further, but then he paused and visibly restrained himself. “...I'm sorry, alpha,” T'Challa murmured, his eyes downcast.

Erik took a deep breath to calm himself and then exhaled slowly. He really ought to discipline T’Challa for going against his express orders. If he wasn't firm with T'Challa from the beginning, T'Challa would just take advantage of it and try and push his boundaries… but T’Challa looked so pathetic right now that Erik didn't even have the heart to continue telling him off, much less kick him out of bed as Erik had originally intended.

“Forget it,” Erik muttered. “Where does it hurt?”

“Stomach,” T'Challa admitted, through gritted teeth.

“Pull up your robe.”

T'Challa blinked up at him in astonishment. Erik looked back expressionlessly and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for T'Challa to comply.

Slowly, hesitantly, T'Challa tugged up the hem of his sleeping robe, revealing his firm, toned abdomen above the waistband of his pajama pants.

Erik reached out and placed the flat of his palm against T'Challa's belly. His skin was warm and smooth, and a pleasant internal frisson ran up Erik's spine at the physical contact with his mate. Erik did his best to ignore it.

There was a sharp inhale of breath from T'Challa, before his eyelids slowly fluttered shut and the furrow on his brow smoothened out.

Erik began to rub gentle circles against T'Challa's bare stomach. Gradually, he could feel T'Challa begin to relax under him, the tension in his body melting away. Their bond thrummed steadily at the back of Erik's mind, radiating contentment and satisfaction.

Petting T'Challa was strangely satisfying. Erik almost, almost let himself get caught up in it, before he came back to his senses.

“Better?” he asked T'Challa.

“Mmmm. Yes.” T'Challa sounded drowsy and sated, his voice an almost-purr.

Erik yanked his hand back, then stood up abruptly, making his way to the other side of the bed.

T'Challa's eyelids flew open. He sat up and turned to look at Erik, looking confused and somewhat annoyed. Displeasure filtered across his side of the mental bond.

Erik determinedly ignored it all. He grabbed two pillows from the empty side of the bed, and a soft blanket which felt so silky in his hands that Erik knew immediately that it was probably made out of some ridiculous high-tech luxury fibre. Erik couldn't resist giving it a pat before tucking it under his arm.

“What on earth are you doing?” T'Challa asked, frowning.

“I thought you said you could only sleep alone?” Erik said, raising an eyebrow. “I'm gonna go sleep on the couch.”

“…You can stay,” T'Challa muttered.

Erik shrugged. “Nah, it's fine. Really. I'm used to sleeping anywhere. You just go back to bed.”

T'Challa swallowed. “Erik. Please stay with me?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Erik scowled, internally weighing a lifetime of hatred and enmity towards his cousin against the instinctive desire to keep his sick mate company.

T'Challa widened his eyes appealingly at Erik.

Damn it.

Instinct won out. Erik gritted his teeth and tossed his pillows and blanket back onto the bed.

“Lights out,” Erik said brusquely.

The lights on the room dimmed, then flickered off.

Erik got into bed gingerly, deliberately taking care not to make any physical contact with T'Challa. He sank back against the ridiculously soft bed, pulled the blanket up to his chest and closed his eyes.

They lay together in silence for a few minutes.

Just as Erik had relaxed enough to begin drifting off to sleep, T'Challa shifted and spoke up. “Erik?”

Erik stifled a sigh. He had really hoped that T'Challa would just go to bed instead of trying to have a heart-to-heart conversation with him.  “What?”

T'Challa chose his words carefully. “I know that neither of us expected this to happen. But now that we're bound to each other, we'll have to work together. You have been good to me so far. I appreciate it. In turn, I will strive to be a good omega and a dutiful husband to you.”

Yeah, right.

Erik's first reaction was deep scepticism. It cost T'Challa nothing to make all sorts of promises now, but he really doubted that T'Challa would be so submissive the minute that he was faced with an order which he didn't want to obey.

Erik turned to face T'Challa and propped himself up on one elbow. In the dark, neither of them could see each other clearly, but he still leaned into T'Challa's personal space anyway, just close enough to be discomfiting.

“So you want to be a good omega, huh?” Erik purred, voice silky. “You're gonna be sweet and respectful? Do whatever I tell you to do? Bend over and spread your legs whenever I want?”

T'Challa swallowed audibly. “I… Yes.” His voice wavered.

In the dark, Erik couldn't make out T'Challa's facial expression, but the fear and anxiety and that radiated across their mating bond was all too clear.

Erik snorted. “You know I can tell what you're feeling, right? You're terrified. I don't expect you to be a good, dutiful omega - we both know that you're going to be horrible at that. Now stop bullshitting me and go to sleep.”

“Erik -” T'Challa protested.

“Did you know that my father was an omega?”

The mention of Prince N'Jobu immediately shut T'Challa up.

“No,” T'Challa finally admitted, after a long pause. “My father didn't talk about his brother much.”

“Yeah. Ma was the alpha, Dad was the omega. It's very unusual back in America, and omega men aren't treated very well there. Ma was the exception, though. Everyone used to joke that she really spoiled Dad. They loved each other so much. She killed herself the week after he was murdered. I never blamed her, though. She just couldn't live without her mate.”

“...I'm sorry,” T'Challa said quietly, sounding wretched.

“No, you're not,” Erik said. “Your father killed my parents. Ruined my life. But he just didn’t give a fuck. It’s the same with you. Back in the throne room, you already knew who I was, but you wanted to cover everything up. Just like your father.”

“Erik, I’m so sorry,” T'Challa whispered, his voice breaking. “I should never have done that. I just… back then, I didn’t want to face the truth of what my father had done. I was afraid. You were right. I was hoping to speak to you and persuade you not to publicly pursue the matter, until you forced my hand before the council. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

The infuriating thing was, Erik could tell that T'Challa meant it. Shame and guilt filled T'Challa's mind, echoing across the mental bond.

Erik sighed, somewhat mollified by T'Challa's sincere contrition. “Look, stop fretting. Just go to bed. We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning.”

He turned away, putting his back towards T'Challa, and closed his eyes again.

But sleep didn't come as easily this time. T'Challa was upset, and although he was trying to keep it quiet, Erik knew that he was holding back sobs. His guilt and distress grated in Erik's mind.

Erik gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it.

Minutes passed. Erik evened out his breathing and pretended to be asleep, but T'Challa still wouldn't calm down.

Finally, after a long period of suffering in silence, Erik gave up. He rolled over to face T'Challa again and slung his arm over T'Challa's shoulder, drawing him close so that his back was to Erik's chest.

T'Challa froze in his embrace.

“Oh, just shut up,” Erik muttered into T'Challa's shoulder. “I told you to stop fretting. You're driving me nuts. I can’t sleep if you’re going to carry on like this.”

“Erik -”

“Shhhh.”

“Erik -”

“You're not well. Just get some rest.”

“Erik, I'm really sorry.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I'm not that mad, okay? Now be quiet. Go to sleep.”

He tightened his arms around T'Challa, and T'Challa finally fell silent, the tension beginning to drain from his body.

Erik closed his eyes.