Chapter Text
Bucky looked at T’Challa’s hand, which still had his fist firmly in its grasp. “Are you going to let go?” he asked T’Challa, waiting for his next morning. He was hoping that if he allowed T’Challa to get a few hits on him, he’d make him feel better so the three of them could all talk. The scientist triad were living proof that it was possible for the three of them to all work everything out.
Bucky’s eyes widened when he felt himself being lifted into the air as if he weighed nothing, but he didn’t have time for it to sink in before he was landing flat on his back. He stared up at T’Challa, wide-eyed. He didn’t make a habit of underestimating his opponent during a fight, but he was a fully grown Alpha, and by no means was he small, and that was if the fact that his arm was made of metal was completely disregarded. T’Challa shouldn’t be able to throw him around like that. He stared up at T’Challa, speechless.
“You said you wanted to fight,” T’Challa hissed, looking down at Bucky with nothing but contempt and distaste. “Get up and fight me, then. Before I decide that you aren’t worth my time, Barnes.” He walked around to where Bucky was laying down, pressing the heel of his foot against his chest and digging in. Bucky grabbed T’Challa’s ankle with his metal hand, narrowing his eyes.
“Get your foot off of me.” He pushed the foot aside, hoping to throw T’Challa off balance. Instead, T’Challa planted his feet with ease, waiting patiently while Bucky gathered his footing and stood.
“Then stop wasting my time. You’ve done enough already.” T’Challa turned his back to Bucky, not even doing him the service of treating him like a real opponent. He clenched on of his hands into a fist, waiting. “If if weren’t for my father and Sam, you’d be dead already. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that we are friends, Barnes.”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “If you didn’t want to spar, you could’ve just said no.” He came at T’Challa full force, intending to make him treat him like he was worth fighting. Bucky wasn’t weak.
T’Challa sidestepped Bucky’s attack, kicking his feet from under him. Bucky landed flat on his ass. “I didn’t say yes because I wanted to spar. I said yes because I saw, from the very moment I looked at you, that you will never be deserving of Sam’s love. You are weak, and I’m going to show you exactly how weak you are.”
Bucky’s blood boiled as he looked T’Challa in the eye. He didn’t even seem to be fazed by the harsh words he was using against him. Bucky was already panting, yet T’Challa hadn’t broken a sweat. If Bucky hadn’t been the direct recipient of T’Challa’s attack, he would believe the man hadn’t moved at all. “I hate you,” Bucky spat out, getting to his feet.
“You have no right. I didn’t steal the man you loved from you.” T’Challa’s jaw twitched. “I have no desire to be in your presence anymore. This fight is over,” he said, heading toward the room’s exit.
“I’m not finished yet. Stop running away, coward!” Bucky shouted at him.
“Coward, huh?” T’Challa stopped mid-step. He turned around, the beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips. “I have just had my heart ripped out of my chest, and I am coward?” He looked toward the ceiling and laughed, a loud, booming sound that was like magic to Bucky’s ears.
As Bucky stared at T’Challa, watching the smooth, dark planes of his throat and the way his necklace draped over his collarbones and settled on his clothed chest, he was reminded that—coward or not—T’Challa was beautiful.
T’Challa’s laughter cut off suddenly. “Twice, I have spared your worthless life already, Barnes. Do not test me again,” he threatened, turning his back to Bucky and leaving the room. “I am done with you. I’ll ensure that you and Sam have a safe flight back to America.”
“So you’re done with Sam, too?” Bucky asked T’Challa, running to catch up with his long strides.
“I’ll never be done with Sam. The issue here isn’t that.” T’Challa shook his head. “Sam has made his choice, and he chose you. More than once, he has chosen you. So Sam is done with me.” He sped up his pace, climbing up a large staircase that branched out in two directions. He held his head high as he watched, not allowing anyone to see how much he was hurting. T’Challa kept the façade until he reached his bedroom and opened the door, letting out a breath when he saw Sam walking around the room, admiring every single detail. “Sam.”
Sam didn’t turn around to look at him. “Is it weird that, even though this is my first time in this castle and in this room, it all feels like home to me?” He sat down on T’Challa bed, turning his head to look at him. “I remember that, the day after the first time you told me you loved me, I said I wanted sheets just like these ones.” Sam chuckled. “And in a week, I had them. You always spoiled me, Kitty. You gave me everything I wanted.”
“Yet it somehow wasn’t enough.” T’Challa sucked in his bottom lip. “You still chose someone else, Sam. What are you doing in my room? You should be with the man you love.”
“I am,” Sam disagreed. “My mark is still here, Kitty.”
“And mine is as well.” T’Challa pointedly looked everywhere in the room but Sam, trying to force away the physical pull he felt toward him. It was painful to fight, but he didn’t have a choice, for now. After they left, it wouldn’t hurt anymore. “But that doesn’t matter, Sam. You made your choice already.”
“You’re right,” Sam agreed. He picked at the fabric of T’Challa’s sheets, looking directly at him even though T’Challa wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I did make my choice. But I don’t think you know what that choice is.”
“It’s that man. Barnes.” T’Challa said the name like a curse.
Sam nodded. “You’re half right.”
T’Challa’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I don’t—how can I be half right, Sam?” He finally looked at him, his eyes filled with confusion. He didn’t understand. He was a genius and the next King to rule the greatest country to exist, and yet he didn’t understand what his own soulmate, the man he was permanently bound to, was trying to say?
“You’re confused,” Sam stated. “Confusion is good, Kitty. Just hear me out and I’ll explain.” He closed his eyes. “Is there something wrong with me, Kitty? Being born the way I am, could there ever be anything wrong?” he asked.
T’Challa shook his head, still not fully comprehending. “Sam, I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. But no, you’re not wrong. You are perfect.”
Sam’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Thank you, Kitty.” He stared up at the ceiling, admiring the colors and patterns that decorated the area above T’Challa’s bed. “Because if there’s nothing wrong with the way I am, then there’s nothing wrong with the fact that I have soul bonding marks from the both of you. That my body feels incomplete without the color of yours filled in.”
“Sam, I. . .” T’Challa trailed off.
“I’ll spell it out for you, Kitty.” Sam pushed himself up and into a sitting position. “I want you both. I’ve made my choice, Kitty, and I choose you and Bucky.”