Spoils

The wedding dress was a beautiful silvery-white gown made of silk and vibranium. The outermost layer of the gown was made of silk crepeline, a fine, lightweight silk woven through with threads of vibranium to give it an iridescent sheen. Underneath it were various layers of synthetic yumissima thread, a light, silky fabric which gave the gown a floaty, layered appearance that made T'Challa look as if he were gliding on water when he moved.

The top half of the gown had a low scalloped neckline studded with exquisite jewels. It was daringly low-cut by Wakandan standards, but Erik had insisted upon it and T'Challa hadn't cared enough to argue. He didn't mind showing a bit of skin - it was the concept of wearing a dress that T'Challa hated.

Still, T'Challa had to admit that the wedding dress was, objectively, gorgeous.

He hated it.

He stared at the gown in trepidation, then turned to face the bed. His servants had set out his underwear on it. It was nothing like the practical briefs which he usually wore - this was lingerie. A set of lingerie that matched the silvery-white colours of his gown. The panties set out for him were lewdly cut and made of sheer, thin lace that was so flimsy that T'Challa would have been surprised if it could even cover him properly. Lying beside the panties was a pair of sheer, thigh-high white stockings and lace garters. There was no bra accompanying the panties, but there was a corset that looked like it would be extremely uncomfortable if he wore it for more than five minutes.

T'Challa's mouth hung open in horror as he stared at the lingerie. He had never worn anything quite so sexy before. Especially the flimsy scrap of fabric which was just a pathetic excuse for panties.

Bast.

T'Challa gritted his teeth and began to strip, tossing his clothes away from him in a fit of pique. Usually he would have folded them neatly away to make it easier for the servants to clean up, but he was too annoyed right now  internally cursing his bad luck at having to wear something so - so distinctly omegan.

The panties barely covered T'Challa's cock and his ass as he pulled them up over his hips. The lacy edges of the panties cut into the lower centre half of his cheeks, framing it perfectly but leaving the most voluptuous part of his ass bare. It wasn't any better in the front. His cock strained against the fabric, barely kept in place by the flimsy scrap of cloth.

T'Challa could feel a blush rising in his face at the realization of how exposed he was. He tried to put the thought from his mind and began pulling up the stockings. He fumbled with the garters before managing to clip them on properly. The white lace garters stood out starkly against his dark skin, and also felt uncomfortably constrictive around his upper thighs.

T'Challa glanced at his reflection in the floor-length mirror. To his chagrin, he looked like the very picture of a bashful omega bride.

He gritted his teeth and called in the rest of the servants. He didn't want anyone else to see him in this state, but there was no way that he would be able to put on the corset and gown by himself.

Erik raised an eyebrow at T'Challa as T'Challa approached him. T'Challa was wearing an exquisite white gown with a long diaphanous train trailing behind him, held up by a pair of servants. He had been all dolled up, his face made up to accentuate his natural features like his long, dark lashes and curving bow of a mouth. Eyes bright and shiny with embarrassment, T'Challa looked every inch the demure omega bride.

A slow smile spread across Erik's face. "Fuck, baby, you look gorgeous."

T'Challa squirmed in discomfort and dropped his gaze to the floor. Erik could tell he didn't like the attention.

"You look really hot," Erik assured him again, partly out of a desire to make him feel less self-conscious, but mainly because it was just the truth. As sexy as T'Challa looked in the long silky gown, he couldn't wait to get him out of it and fuck him till he was a flushed, sobbing wreck. Impulsively, Erik reached behind to give T'Challa's ass a squeeze, admiring the way the gown clung to his omega's shapely ass and thighs.

T'Challa squeaked and flushed as his ass was groped. "Keep your hands to yourself," he protested. "We're in public."

"It's no big deal. We're already mated, the wedding is just a formality." Erik moved his hand up to T'Challa's hip, then scooped T'Challa closer to him in one swift motion. T'Challa stumbled on his high heels, momentarily thrown off-balance, and practically fell into Erik's arms.

Erik seized the opportunity to nuzzle his nose against T'Challa's hair. He even smelled good too - some sort of light floral fragrance that accentuated his natural omega scent. He couldn't get enough of T'Challa when he was all dressed up like this. Erik knew that he would have to find a way to talk T'Challa into dressing fancy more often.

T'Challa gave him a light shove. "Stop that, you'll mess up my hair and makeup! It took hours to do and I'm not going to sit through that again," he protested.

"But you're so irresistible," Erik purred. It was a real effort to keep his hands off his sexy omega.

"We're going to enter the hall soon," T'Challa said, stepping away from him. He didn't seem angry, just fondly exasperated. "Just - just try and control yourself for one night."

The wedding flew by almost in a blur.

Their entrance into the hall was greeted by cheers and applause from the assembled crowd. T'Challa's heart was pounding hard, his body tense with nervous energy as he approached the stage, extremely conscious of all the eyes on them. Having been born the Crown Prince and heir to the throne, T'Challa was quite accustomed to being the centre of attention, but this was an entirely different sort of regard. This was the first time after the Challenge that he had appeared so publicly as Erik's omega mate. Now everyone would be looking at him, trying to see if he measured up. Even a small mistake would be enough to fuel gossip for weeks.

He spotted his mother and sister seated at the front, dressed in their finest ceremonial clothes. Neither of them looked very happy, considering the circumstances behind this wedding. Both of them were too polite to appear visibly displeased, although T'Challa knew them well enough to tell that their smiles were strained. Shuri in particular seemed as if she was just barely holding back an angry snarl.

T'Challa's spirits dipped slightly. He would have to talk to them again. Hopefully, they would also learn to get along with Erik in time like he had.

After getting on the stage, Erik and T'Challa intertwined their arms and recited the customary toast to the gods, to their ancestors and to each other. They locked eyes as they each raised a shallow bowl of spiced rice wine to their lips, then drank from their bowls in unison. Thunderous applause rang out through the hall as their union was sealed.

“Let the feast begin!”

In the end, T’Challa opted to wear his gown for the rest of the feast. Erik had given him permission to change out to trousers after the ceremony itself, but T’Challa didn’t fancy going through the entire routine of getting dressed again. It had been excruciating enough the first time around.

Instead, he sat by Erik’s side for most of the feast, at the high table reserved for the royal couple. The food was magnificent, but T’Challa had been laced so tightly into the uncomfortable corset that he could barely stomach the appetite to take more than a few bites. He nibbled at a few bites of each course as it was served up - braised jellyfish, roasted suckling pig, butterflied chicken in spicy sauce, steamed sweet cakes and so on - while Erik did the lion’s share of the work entertaining their wedding guests, high-ranking officials and courtiers who would stop by one after another to give their congratulations to the newlywed couple.

At first Erik was charming and gracious, but as the feast dragged on late into the night, his voice was starting to become hoarse and his smile strained.

“How long do we have to keep doing this?” Erik asked T’Challa in an undertone as midnight approached. “This is killing me.”

T’Challa shrugged. “I think we’ve entertained enough. We can retire to our room if you like.”

Erik’s eyes glinted, and T’Challa stiffened in surprise as Erik placed his hand on T’Challa’s thigh, dangerously high up and close to his groin. He barely managed to stifle a moan as Erik’s fingers began to trace circles in his inner thigh, the soft, yielding fabric offering barely any resistance against his wandering hand.

“Good, because I’ve been looking forward to this all night,” Erik purred in his ear.

T’Challa felt his face grow hot as he hastily crossed his legs together, trapping Erik’s hand between his thighs. He had intended it to be a deterrent to prevent Erik from further molesting him, but Erik seemed to take it in a completely different way. He merely let out a soft, delighted huff of breath, saying teasingly, "Feeling horny too, huh?"

“I - no!” T’Challa denied immediately, although it was a lie. He had been sneaking glances at Erik throughout the entire evening, unable to tear his eyes away from his handsome alpha. The tux that Erik was wearing showed off his broad chest and muscles perfectly. Erik had even made time between conversations to check on how he was doing, and leaned over to feed him whenever he felt that T’Challa wasn’t eating enough - all of which made his heart flutter. He had been nervous about what would happen after the wedding feast, knowing that he would be expected to consummate the marriage, but as the night passed, his worries faded, leaving behind nothing except burning anticipation.

Erik stood up suddenly, pushing his chair away from the table. “Let’s go.”