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ax_mainA whole lot of dancing, a whole lot of flirting, in a couple of different combinations.
This was a high school party, after a fashion, but Ororo had still spent entirely too much time trying to decide whether she would dress up or not. She really should be able to attend in her usual jeans and henley shirts. But she was attending it with T'Challa, and for all that they had now been 'hanging out', as the Americans would put it, for a couple of months, she still wanted to impress him. She couldn't get enough of the way he looked at her sometimes, like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It took her breath every time, and it made her feel powerful. He made her feel powerful.
Still, she wasn't going to go overboard for a party where most guests would likely be in jeans. She'd opted for a simple floral print mini dress, which she wore with her usual boots. She shrugged out of her leather jacket when they walked into Kitty's apartment, and grinned at the layout, looking past the party stuff to see the place Kitty had chosen to live in. Not that the party stuff was anything to scoff at.
And she laughed as she spotted the karaoke set. Shinobi's obsession must clearly be contagious. "How do you feel about karaoke?" Ororo asked T'Challa, turning her smile on him as she naturally curled a hand in the crook of his arm.
"I feel there are good reasons to pay professional performers to entertain," T'Challa told her with amusement on his face as he glanced to the karaoke equipment. He was similarly dressed in something fashionable, but not too ambitious for a relatively casual party. A smart short-sleeved shirt with midnight blue blazer worn open and dark denim, finished with black Armando Cabral loafers. "But I would not try to stop you from singing."
T'Challa considered Ororo in the short, breezy dress as she slid out of her jacket and fit her hand around his arm, enjoying the contrast of the flirty floral print with her bold hair and boots. He gestured that he would take her coat if she liked, but made no hurry to collect it from her. He had learned that was the best way, with strong women: to offer them appreciative courtesies, but not assume that they would choose to take them. (And she may well be using her jacket as a purse.)
"I have no plans for that stage," Ororo assured him, surrendering the jacket to him. She didn't need anything inside her pockets, not even her cell phone. She wasn't much of one for them; the most she had made of it had been to text T'Challa, all that time they had been apart. Now there was no need. "Shinobi is a big fan, though. I guess his fondness for it is catching. Want a drink, while you figure out where to drop that off?" she asked with a nod at the jacket in his hand.
"One of whatever you are having," he agreed, collecting the coat and giving her a smile. T'Challa thought very seriously about leaning in and kissing Ororo before they parted. But then he was thinking about doing it instead of actually kissing her, he hesitated, and he felt he had missed his moment by the time he reminded himself that he had set himself to do something else. There would certainly be other opportunities this evening.
So he turned, off in search of the inevitable rack, closet, or bed that would act as Kitty's coat check.
Ororo watched him go, a small smile playing on her lips, then turned and headed for the drinks. Ginger beer and a wedge of lime went wonderfully with a splash of rum, just enough to loosen up a little, maybe work up a nice, warm buzz. Ororo did not like drinking to excess, but she liked a lowkey buzz.
A hand on her waist as she finished fixing the drinks signaled T'Challa's return, and she looked over her shoulder to check that it was him, then turned around with a smile to hand him his drink. "Rum," she warned him. She liked how close they were standing, how familiar and comfortable they were in each other's space. It had come so naturally. "And when we're done with these, we're dancing."
He could turn her down, of course; she wouldn't force him. But she really hoped he wouldn't.
"If we danced before we had finished, things could get messy," he took the drink and tapped his glass gently to hers before trying a sip. A drink or two was polite and even expected at a party such as this; it was a prop that proved he was here to relax and be sociable. But beyond that, T'Challa was still acutely aware of not only the embarrassment but also the potential security risk he could be argued to pose for Wakanda if it could be proven he would allow himself to be drunk in public. He'd switch to ginger beer and club soda before he would allow that to happen.
But this... The clamor of kids, the drink, the easy way Ororo fit at his side, and the promise of dancing with her... This was nice.
He tipped his head closer to speak privately with her in the middle of the noise. "Do you think they will lose their minds if we play music they haven't heard on the radio?"
Ororo laughed. "They haven't before," she assured him, happy to lean into his hand as they moved away from the drinks table. Her hand naturally came to rest on his chest, a familiar gesture born of their interactions in the past couple of months. Most things felt natural with T'Challa. Wonderfully so. "Were you thinking of anything in particular?" She was curious what he wanted to dance to with her.
"I have a few ideas," T'Challa confirmed. He was already mentally thumbing through the music on his phone for the best option. He was feeling something afrobeat, highly danceable, but clean enough not to put anyone off. Burna Boy was good, but he felt too moody for here and now. There was that StarBoy hit, Soco, or some MajorLazer, like RunUp, with the guest from Nicki, that was a fun one. But to dance with Ororo... More like Particula. She'd like that. Or... Jidenna felt right. And then he knew what it should be.
He wet his lips from his glass, steering them gradually to one side of the space cleared for dancing. He listened to the white-girl-hip-hop-pop top 40 hit that was already playing, gamely nodding to the beat and shifting into a playful sway with Ororo. It was...fine. The sort of things popular with American teens. But definitely not his style, his slightly impatient look told her. "We should finish our drinks."
Ororo's eyes twinkled with amusement as she swayed with him, hand sliding up to his shoulder. He would have to lose the jacket, and, she suspected, would fairly quickly once they really started dancing. This did not count as dancing.
"Next song," she told him, the soft glint of promise in her eyes. "A little patience."
The truth was, she liked seeing him like this, with that nearly imperial look in his eyes. It always shot a little thrill down her spine, which she worked effortlessly into their sway, now, a shift of her body towards his. She took a sip from her drink, unhurried, perfectly content in the moment.
"I have patience," T'Challa insisted with a smile in the words. His heart beat a bit harder already, for the easy way they moved together, their closeness, and how Ororo looked at him. She was so self-sufficient and self-possessed, nothing in her clinging or cloying for his approval. But when she looked at him the way that she was looking just now - engaged, intense, and undeniably attractive - it did things to him that made him wonder how he could have let her go. "Are you suggesting I should not look forward to dancing with you?"
"I'm suggesting you savor looking forward to it," Ororo replied, eyes shining warmly, serenely, an invitation that was couched in the steadiness of her feelings for him. She took another drink from her glass, doing her own fair share of savoring. The way they moved together already, the crinkle of his jacket against her, his heady proximity, and the usual, wonderful challenge of conversation with him. It was nothing demanding, but as natural as the curve of her fingers over his shoulder, and the slow, deep beat of her heart when they moved together, so close. It was the sort of challenge that gave, instead of taking.
T'Challa did consider himself to be a patient, mindful person, in many regards, but neither did he hesitate when the time for action came. He did not want to hesitate when it came to Ororo - or to rush into anything rashly. But very often, he found it difficult to keep his foot out of his mouth and his head clear when it came to her, to keep in mind what was too much or not enough, to act when he ought to speak or vice versa. She was, in every meaning of the word, a force of nature, and all he could hope to do was prepare for the weather. And no matter how he prepared, it would end up surprising him eventually.
His expression softened and warmed slightly as he looked at her. "I always do."
Ororo's own expression mirrored his, and she leaned in closer before she had made a conscious decision to do so. Her lips brushed his, a spontaneous display of affection, but the light brush of lips made her come back for more immediately. The rum was beginning to buzz through her veins, and T'Challa gave her a greater, warmer buzz all on his own. The second kiss was a little insistent, but still well within the realm of what they could get away with at a party, and the heat rising to her cheeks when she pulled back was all T'Challa, and not the rum.
"Good," she said, a little huskily, and then she laughed, low and warm. At herself, for how easily he still got to her. The more things changed...
From the way T'Challa met and returned the affection, it was obvious that these kisses were pleasant and welcome not-quite-surprises. He might be more reserved if they were in a high-profile nightclub or public event. But when their only audience was the rest of the student body and their associates, he thought that was privacy enough. If their classmates hadn't realized the nature of their lingering looks and ready intimacy already, they would probably know now.
He rolled his lips thoughtfully as he looked at Ororo again, taking in the color at her cheeks and the sweetness of her laugh. Perhaps they should have saved their dancing for the end of the night, when it would seem to politely coincide with their readiness to take their leave. It was far too early to get carried away and beg off; they had only just come into the party. That didn't stop him from entertaining the idea for a moment, but it did convince T'Challa to ease back from her embrace. "Hold my glass while I get out of this jacket?"
Ororo took his glass from him and stepped back, giving them both space. There was savoring, and then there was getting carried away. She took another sip from her glass, watching him get out of the fitted jacket. "So. What do you feel like introducing them to?" Back to talking about music, of course.
If the jacket hadn't been quite so fitted, T'Challa would have danced in it anyway, but better not to risk a rip in this case. He shrugged neatly out of it with ease, and lifted it in his arms once he had done so to slip his phone out of the interior pocket and access his music. "Nothing too challenging," he purposefully talked about the music without telling her exactly what he had in mind. "Nothing too explicit," he assured her a lack of the words niggas or bitches or anything too suggestive. While he didn't exactly approve of that kind of content, he also understood it had some value as artistic expression. "It's Kitty's sweet sixteen, not a house party."
Ororo's lips pursed in amusement, mostly at the blatant evasion. "All right, then, surprise me," she encouraged, or dared him, depending on how he decided to take it.
He smiled wide and sly in response but didn't look up from his phone. "A little patience," T'Challa couldn't resist, thumbing through his screens to send the song wirelessly to the next item on the karaoke machine's playlist, which their tech-savvy host had graciously left accessible without password protection for them. He reached to recollect his drink for a deep swallow, knowing they wouldn't have much longer to wait.
Ororo chuckled appreciatively, and was glad that the glass in one of her hands gave her something to do that wasn't reaching out for T'Challa. "Touché," she confirmed, absolutely shameless about it. "Give me a hint, then." If he was going to call her impatient, she had no qualms about acting like it.
"Afrobeat," he indulged her that far. "An up-and-coming Nigerian-American artist who is always well-dressed..." T'Challa stopped himself as he heard the current song fading out, taking the last swallow of his ginger beer and rum and setting the glass aside on a nearby tray clearly set up for such a purpose. He similarly tucked his phone back into his jacket to drape over a chair. "But we've waited long enough," he offered Ororo his hand as the music began to play.
"Ah," Ororo let out knowingly at his description, and finished her own drink as the previous song came to an end. She put her hand in T'Challa as they stepped more clearly into the dancing area, feet already stomping out the growing beat, hips shifting in time. She leaned sideways and back into him, told him, "Good song choice," lips brushing his jawline, body moving against his for a beat, before she stepped away and turned around to face him, smiling brightly. It felt so good, having someone here to share those beats with, someone who felt them in his bones like she did; what Jidenna was singing about only made it a tease and a promise on top of a celebration.
It was, all in all, perfect.
His choice shouldn't come as a total shock - they had shared music amongst other things during the time spent with so much distance between them. Jamming out solo with a pair of earbuds in, however, was a very different experience than this.
And you didn't need to have a physical mutation that improved your stamina, agility, and reflexes in order to dance well, not when you were raised dancing and singing with your tribe from birth. But it certainly did not seem to hurt. T'Challa was there to match her movements as she leaned dangerously close, rocking them together to the playful tempo without constraining her. He smoothly shifted low into the bend of his knees, pushing easily through his arms and elbows to extend his long-limbed motions and the rolls of his hips with almost casual grace. He caught and trailed his hands and fingertips at her side or hip with a light, sure touch as they went. Ororo smiled at him, and he caressed a hand gently at her neck to spend a moment looking into her eyes as they moved. "If it makes you want to dance, it's a good song," he told her appreciatively.
"If it gives us something to dance to," and really dance, at that, "it's a good song," Ororo completed, the happy light in her eyes confirming the quiet joy in her words. They moved well together, which wasn't a surprise in itself, given how well they moved together in other ways. But she hadn't quite expected the level of grace in T'Challa's moves. A silly mistake, given the way he fought. His self-possession lent his moves a smooth, easy quality, and Ororo only had eyes for him as they danced, reaching out for each other to keep the connection alive at all times. The more the song progressed, the closer they danced together, as if unable to resist each other's pull, and why would they try?
T'Challa couldn't argue with that. And he wouldn't want to. His smile and his actions said better than words how much he enjoyed being with her in this moment, the call and answer of their dancing. There was a familiar tension between them, and it wasn't so much bad as engaging - the wide step that carried through his far shoulder as she leaned to the other side, the lift and slide through his lean torso as she sank lower. He matched her steps, poised but loose, every motion unhurried and intentional. As they drew naturally closer, they were sharing their personal space more like trained dancers than awkward teens at a school function. It had less to do with practice, and more to do with what was between them.
Ororo knew the perfect word for what she was feeling, in English - elation. Her happiness soared with each stomp of their feet, each sway of their hips, each look they shared, the natural way they danced off of each other. It was a game, a promise, and evidence. It was joy and glee, where they came from and where they were. She couldn't stop smiling, not as their fingers briefly threaded together, not as they let go to lift their hands apart, not as she swayed back in close to stroke her hand over his chest. They were young, beautiful, powerful, and she thought she might have been in love with him since he had stepped into her life, to save a young thief from getting caught in the streets of Nairobi. It shone in her eyes, in her smile, and through the dance that felt so undeniably natural, with him.
He thought he knew the name of her feeling, when she looked at him in that way. It made things very complicated, if that was so. Because T'Challa thought he might feel the same way for her. Because they were so young, because... They should still be dating around, and they should still be fickle in romance, when it was safer and easier that way. And because who the crown prince of the Kingdom of Wakanda dated discretely abroad was one thing, but at the end of the day, there were certain expectations and obligations to which he would be held.
Glory to Bast, but she always had this effect on him, somehow. He felt so sure of most things, of how to approach them even if he did not know them yet. There was no certainty here.
That tempered his pleasure in this shared closeness with her, but didn't exactly diminish it. T'Challa caught her hand to spin her back around into his arms, to hold Ororo from behind and lean to brush his lips against her cheek. They had this time together, now, and he meant to enjoy it.
Ororo leaned back into him, smile stretching as she felt the brush of his lips on her skin. She shifted and swayed in his arms, and showed no sign of caring for WASP comfort levels as she danced against him, hips moving suggestively. Still, it was a far cry from where lines could be drawn in the clubs she liked to go to, and just flirted with what some might construe as indecency. As T'Challa had said, it was Kitty's sweet sixteen, not a house party.
They used the rest of the song to similar advantage, agreeing to separate themselves on the mutual understanding that there were other expressive, expansive moves still to be made on the dance floor. Regardless of how close or far apart they were as they danced along with the music, they were clearly in it together, riding the same wavelength through the end of the song.
Once it was over, T'Challa let the music continue on to the next track from the album, which he thought might resonate with this group - but collected his jacket and phone again to make certain the playback would end there before the more controversial songs could upset the mood. Jacket over one arm and 'Ro on the other, he was quietly beaming with satisfaction as they agreed to leave the dance area to mingle with the other students (and circle their way back later).
Catching sight of T’Challa with Ororo answered quite a few questions he had about the prince. Bucky sipped his drink and then tipped the cup as the two of them walked over his way. “Didn’t know you could dance,” he commented to T’Challa. More politely to Ororo he added, “Good evening.”
Ororo was, predictably, beaming. "Oh, he can dance," she agreed, squeezing T'Challa's arm where her fingers curled around it. The light in her eyes was all due to T'Challa (and his moves), but her general warmth was absolutely meant for Bucky, too. "Hi, Bucky. How are you doing tonight?"
"You never asked me to dance," T'Challa pointed out.
"You look very much taken," Bucky pointed out with a grin. "Doing okay," he answered to Ororo. "Good to get away from class."
Ororo nodded in appreciation of that, then smiled at T'Challa, and back at Bucky. "Don't let me stop you."
"I know that you can run," T'Challa granted Bucky in good humor. "But dancing requires rhythm, collaboration... And moves."
Bucky narrowly refrained from commenting that he had moves before T’Challa’s mama was even born. That was not a door he was opening wide.
“I suspect between you and me we might have an issue with leading.” Bucky tipped his head toward Ororo. “Does he sass you all the time? Or am I just lucky?”
"Oh, he tries," Ororo assured him with a wide, warm grin.
This reminded T'Challa that Bucky had not met his sister. If he thought of T'Challa's wry remarks as 'sassy,' he could not hope to handle Shuri. "There wouldn't be any issue if you let me lead," the prince pointed out, not that he'd intended to suggest the kind of intimate embrace that he now wrapped lightly around Ororo's waist with a shift of his arm to collect her. "But perhaps you are also taken for the evening. Are you technically working?"
"There's that spirit of collaboration," Bucky remarked. "I'm not on the clock." He was always looking out for Natasha, but this was one party where he wasn't in full security or purse holding mode. "I'm not sure you know where you're leading, your highness. Better leave the lady in charge."
Ororo pursed her lips in an amused smile. "In dancing as in life, I actually prefer partnerships."
"Some would say that strong leadership is necessary to successful collaboration," T'Challa countered easily, more in an effort to communicate at Bucky's level than because he had anything to prove. They always seemed to go back and forth like this, and he'd stopped scrutinizing it too closely.
...It sounded stuffy and silly in the context of a casual highschool party, T'Challa observed as he appreciated the set of Ororo's lips and found himself smiling in kind. "I have no question 'the lady' will do as she pleases. We are still talking about dancing, I hope?"
Bucky raised a brow, grinning. “What else would we be talking about?” He asked innocently.
Ororo laughed, all too pleased with the way T'Challa was looking at her, the snug fit of his arm around her - and, of course, the perfectly innocent tone Bucky had just adopted. What indeed. "Well. 'The lady' would like a drink. Can I get you boys anything?"
She could leave them to their banter for a minute, entertaining though it was. Dancing was thirsty business, at least when you did it right.
T'Challa gave a shake of his head at Bucky's feigned innocence and bright grin, but his warm expression didn't waver.
"A club soda with lime please," he asked of Ororo. He might instead have asked her what she would like and gone himself, but Ororo had an independent streak like a bolt of lightning. It was impressive to behold - and you didn't want to get in its way. Once she had set her mind to do a thing, she was inclined to see it through. He greatly admired that in her.
“I’m good, thank you.” As fun as it was teasing T’Challa, Bucky didn’t want to interrupt their night. “Don’t let me split you two up.”
"How will we survive a couple of minutes apart?" Ororo asked T'Challa, eyes twinkling, as she let go of his arm to step away. "Try not to despair in my absence."
"Too late." T'Challa gave Ororo a fond look as she took her leave, Bucky's protestations and all, then turned back to the other boy. "I think she's amused by the idea of what trouble we will get up to while she's gone," T'Challa pointed out.
“Would you recommend trouble, or best behavior?” Bucky asked.
"Being well-behaved might spoil her scheme," T'Challa admitted. "But I would hate to bore you at a party."
Bucky gave him a look over and then shook his head. He extended a hand. “Alright, prince. One dance.”
T'Challa took a moment to look from Bucky's hand up the length of his arm to his face, silently nonplussed. He had not expected Bucky would actually want to dance with him.
He found himself reaching to take Bucky's hand anyway, and it was very different from the slender softness of Ororo's. "Are you going to let me lead?"
Bucky grinned and squeezed his hand. "Maybe this once."
As the music transitioned to the next song, T'Challa realized it probably wasn't one of Kitty's songs. He hadn't selected it, but the American trio and their Jamaican dancehall infused EDM was in his collection. Perhaps the sound system was pulling fresh streaming music live based on an algorithm that accounted for the recently played songs? Clever, Pryde. He would make a point of saying so to the hostess before he left for the evening. He wondered what other curious features the apartment of a technological wunderkind might have to offer the observant.
Not that he knew any better by that stray thought what to make of the boy's hand in his as the playful horns and synth began to play.
In the end, there was nothing more for T'Challa to do than quirk his lips and narrow his eyes back at Bucky, trusting that his jacket would withstand some dancing. He stepped back into the clearing that made the impromptu dance floor and pulled his partner along with him, shifting smoothly into the full-body twists and turns to match the jazzy tempo.
It was easy to sink into the rhythm of this song. Man, Bucky loved a good horn section. His hips rocked smoothly, his feet itching to move like the song demanded. With anyone else he might have tugged them closer, but T'Challa was the one leading here. Bucky was picking up what he laid down.
The propriety was like a slightly awkward gap between them, since Bucky had made a point of taking his hand and this was hardly a waltz or a formal affair. For whatever his initial hesitation, T'Challa wasn't afraid to touch Bucky or look at him directly while they danced.
After a moment of letting them ease into the music and nodding with the beat to acknowledge Bucky's moving without the gawky stiffness of most white boys, T'Challa tugged Bucky into the chamber of his personal space by the hand so that they were dancing together, not at arm's-length. He knew Bucky was athletic and trained, and seeing now that he had a sense of rhythm, T'Challa was willing to trust that they wouldn't end up a mess of banging shins and spaghetti arms. His hand slid up Bucky's forearm before he released his hold, directing their movement more with the line of his body, through flexes of his chest and shoulders, leaning into his extensions to telegraph them to his partner.
Bucky rolled with it, popping back when T’Challa moved forward. With a glimmering grin he slipped one foot between the prince’s, getting their thighs close for an interval. His hand grazed T’Challa’s hip before he stepped back, making it an intentional move to the beat.
T'Challa didn't stop moving, but his eyebrows certainly rose, a question unspoken in his eyes. This was not the first time he'd wondered if Bucky was just trying to wind him up, or if he was...flirting flirting. T'Challa wasn't sure where Ororo was in the crowd, scanning for her only a moment before giving it up and returning his attention to more immediate things. Would she want an explanation if she saw, or would she laugh in his face?
Either way, he decided he would rather be assertive and face the thing directly. T'Challa stepped in on the next major beat, catching Bucky's hip on the opposite side to mirror the move that had been done. But he grasped onto Bucky's hip and held it firmly instead of glancing with his touch, dark eyes keenly bright, a slight cinch between his brows as he tried to read the truth of Bucky's intentions on his face.
Alrighty. T’Challa’s expression was too serious the match the manhandling, but Bucky supposed if he was grabbing then he was into it. Maybe Ororo liked to watch. Bucky could hardly judge. He relaxed into T’Challa’s touch, sliding closer into that space he made. There was no challenge, only a receptive balance. Bucky did say he’d let him lead.
The seeming relaxation under his hold instead of another puckish push forward or twist away almost puzzled T'Challa more, when he'd started to think Bucky's interest was only in a chase of sorts. Even though the music and chatter was still loud around them, it felt like the time to ask, before that time would be gone. So he leaned in as they moved, to say something at Bucky's ear only loud enough that he could feel certain he would be heard. "Are you flirting with me?"
Bucky blinked. “Is that a serious question?”
T'Challa stared back at him for the space of a breath, and when that didn't yield anything new... "Yes?"
Bucky sighed. Okay, yeah, the grip was a mixed fucking signal. “Is it a problem if I am? I’m not looking to step out. But yeah. There has been flirting since day one.”
'Step out?' Did that mean...?
There were times here that T'Challa thought he understood the Americans very well. And then there were times he was reminded that he was only a teenage boy, very far from home. Possibly a very ignorant teenage boy at that.
"I did not think it was..." He took an uncharacteristic pause as his mind spent longer than usual to make the translation and select the word he would use from English. "Genuine." Or maybe he had thought it would resolve itself without him having to look at it too closely.
“Don’t worry about. If you’re not cool with guys hitting on you, I’ll lay off.” T’Challa’s hand was gripping his hip. Bucky took a step back.
T'Challa realized the difficulty as Bucky moved backward, taking his hand back. "It is not 'uncool,'" he tried, but the words were clumsy and he knew it. "Ororo and I..." He had never actually been made to explain it in this way, and the words of it caught in his throat.
“Dating. Couple. Something like that?”
T'Challa smiled almost apologetically at him, then glanced aside. There she was, looking smirky where she had stopped to chat with one of the blue girls about something, two drinks in hand. "It's good, whatever it is."
“Good for you, man.” Bucky shook his head. “I seriously was not looking to get between that. You’re...” Infuriating. First word that sprung to mind. “There’s no intent. A guy would have to be blind not to see how into each other you and ‘Ro are.”
Looking away from Ororo, T'Challa considered Bucky. "Then why would you 'hit on me?'"
Bucky shrugged. “The back and forth is fun, even if it’s not going anywhere. I never got a good read on whether you were flirting back, but this really clears that up.”
"I took it as being a part of your charm," T'Challa offered. Which wasn't entirely wrong. Except for the context.
All of that having been said, he didn't want Bucky to think he was offended. T'Challa found he enjoyed his company, even if it had been confusing at times. "It is part of your charm," he restated, more confidently now, and with a touch of warmth. "But I appreciate knowing where things are."
Bucky snorted softly. He pointed at T'Challa. "Let's return you to the storm queen. I think that's enough spectator entertainment."
T'Challa's gaze lingered with Bucky for a thoughtful beat, a question he thought better of asking before he turned to make his way from the dance floor back to Ororo.
He took the club soda with lime from her, sliding his free hand to the small of her back as he came close enough. "You survived," he pointed out.
"And you seemed to nicely sidestep any despair," Ororo replied with a small smile, leaning into his touch. If there was a bit of a question in the arch of her eyebrows, it was entirely due to the shift in their body language towards the end of their dancing.
Bucky split off to find safer entertainment.
Even as he decided what he might say to Ororo about his dance with Bucky, T'Challa looked back and the other boy wasn't there anymore. He searched after him for a moment and wondered what to read into the disappearance.
He turned back to Ororo instead. "...Did you think he was flirting with me?"
Ororo's clear eyes followed Bucky's flight, but she looked back at T'Challa when he spoke. His question answered a lot of hers, and she rested her free hand on his shoulder blade, one more point of contact between them. "I thought you might be flirting with each other," she answered honestly.
He frowned softly at Ororo, not exactly because of what she had said, but because it seemed to suggest that everyone else thought he had been flirting with Bucky too. He'd thought they were just bantering, not flirting. The main difference between the two was what you wanted as a result, he supposed. "Our lives are complicated enough already. I don't intend to chase after others and invite more trouble," he gave her a serious look.
"I didn't think it was flirting with intent," Ororo answered, her eyes just as serious as T'Challa. This was no simple thing he was telling her, and it answered another one of her unasked questions. "I was right there." While she might have wondered, before T'Challa's assurance, whether he might not have intent at other times, it had not occurred to her that he might have tonight. That would have been disrespectful to her, and she did not expect that from him.
He did not need for her to tell him it would have been disrespectful. That was not how T'Challa had been raised. But the awkwardness with Bucky was proof that he was far from perfect.
"Yes, you were," he acknowledged simply, meeting her gaze. "And you did not seem to mind watching and waiting from the sidelines after you had our drinks."
"It was a good view, while you seemed like you were having fun," Ororo stated simply, having no trouble meeting his gaze. She had a lot more trouble pinpointing what the matter was, exactly. So she took the most direct approach and asked, in soft, earnest Arabic. "What is the issue?"
He hitched an eyebrow slightly at the change in language, but he did not question it. He did, however, take a moment to choose his words, wetting his throat with a sip of his drink. The exchange was more sensory and emotional than it was logical, and T'Challa did not want to misrepresent what had happened. "I got the impression while we were dancing that there was something more than friendly in it. Nothing inappropriate was said or done, it just felt - surprisingly intimate. So I asked him if he was flirting."
"What did he say?" Ororo asked simply. There was no flame of jealousy in her; for all that there were outside forces threatening their relationship, she did not think that Bucky was one of those. No, that would be simple, by comparison. Perhaps not easy, but simple.
T'Challa looked down into his drink before he took another sip. Perhaps he should have gone with another round of ginger beer and rum. He said yes. But also that there was no 'intent' in it. He did not mean to intrude.
Ororo slid her hand up T'Challa's back and to his shoulder, fingers hooking gently, steadily over its curve. "So what is the problem?" she asked again, wanting to understand. Was T'Challa simply annoyed that he had not caught on sooner? Was he afraid he had led Bucky on? There were some possibilities that Ororo did not want to consider; T'Challa was worth better than them.
It was the second time she had asked, and T'Challa thought that he had answered already. But perhaps she was seeking a different sort of answer.
"There is no 'problem,'" he assured her steadily, looking back at Ororo. He did not think that Bucky would nurse it as an open wound. And although it had caught him off-guard, he did not mean to give too much gravity to the exchange. Unless, of course- "Unless you think of it as a problem."
Ororo shook her head slowly. "No. No, I don't. You seemed thrown, that's all." And Bucky had all but fled the scene. Of course she would check in. "I'm glad if there is no problem," she added, with a soft, warm smile that was all for T'Challa.
She smiled, and T'Challa kissed her temple in silent agreement. "I will talk to him later. To be sure." Perhaps on their next morning run. He thought he would still be invited. They were all young, full of hormones and emotion. Such things tended to come and go like passing weather. "He likes to tease, to push boundaries. To keep people from getting too close or to try to find his way, I expect. Maybe we were both confused."
"I don't know him very well," Ororo answered, "but I hope you can make a friend out of him." T'Challa seemed to enjoy his time spent with Bucky, after all. And the Wakandan prince could use more friends. Ororo smiled again, and pressed a soft kiss to T'Challa's cheek, fingers squeezing his shoulder in emphasis. "So." She switched back to English, since she was about to quote him in English, eyes glinting with good humor and warmth. "You don't intend to chase after others?"
Her tone and look had gone more playful, and he relaxed his answer in kind. "Who says that I am chasing after anyone?"
"I thought you were trying to say that you were not," Ororo remarked, and took a sip from her drink, that same playfulness in her eyes and smile.
"I am glad that we understand each other," T'Challa returned, smiling back. "Should we find our gracious hostess to wish her a Happy Birthday?"
"Yes," Ororo happily agreed. She trusted T'Challa to smooth out whatever might need smoothing with Bucky, and in the meantime, she intended to make the most of this party. Starting with tracking down Kitty. "Let's."
This was a high school party, after a fashion, but Ororo had still spent entirely too much time trying to decide whether she would dress up or not. She really should be able to attend in her usual jeans and henley shirts. But she was attending it with T'Challa, and for all that they had now been 'hanging out', as the Americans would put it, for a couple of months, she still wanted to impress him. She couldn't get enough of the way he looked at her sometimes, like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It took her breath every time, and it made her feel powerful. He made her feel powerful.
Still, she wasn't going to go overboard for a party where most guests would likely be in jeans. She'd opted for a simple floral print mini dress, which she wore with her usual boots. She shrugged out of her leather jacket when they walked into Kitty's apartment, and grinned at the layout, looking past the party stuff to see the place Kitty had chosen to live in. Not that the party stuff was anything to scoff at.
And she laughed as she spotted the karaoke set. Shinobi's obsession must clearly be contagious. "How do you feel about karaoke?" Ororo asked T'Challa, turning her smile on him as she naturally curled a hand in the crook of his arm.
"I feel there are good reasons to pay professional performers to entertain," T'Challa told her with amusement on his face as he glanced to the karaoke equipment. He was similarly dressed in something fashionable, but not too ambitious for a relatively casual party. A smart short-sleeved shirt with midnight blue blazer worn open and dark denim, finished with black Armando Cabral loafers. "But I would not try to stop you from singing."
T'Challa considered Ororo in the short, breezy dress as she slid out of her jacket and fit her hand around his arm, enjoying the contrast of the flirty floral print with her bold hair and boots. He gestured that he would take her coat if she liked, but made no hurry to collect it from her. He had learned that was the best way, with strong women: to offer them appreciative courtesies, but not assume that they would choose to take them. (And she may well be using her jacket as a purse.)
"I have no plans for that stage," Ororo assured him, surrendering the jacket to him. She didn't need anything inside her pockets, not even her cell phone. She wasn't much of one for them; the most she had made of it had been to text T'Challa, all that time they had been apart. Now there was no need. "Shinobi is a big fan, though. I guess his fondness for it is catching. Want a drink, while you figure out where to drop that off?" she asked with a nod at the jacket in his hand.
"One of whatever you are having," he agreed, collecting the coat and giving her a smile. T'Challa thought very seriously about leaning in and kissing Ororo before they parted. But then he was thinking about doing it instead of actually kissing her, he hesitated, and he felt he had missed his moment by the time he reminded himself that he had set himself to do something else. There would certainly be other opportunities this evening.
So he turned, off in search of the inevitable rack, closet, or bed that would act as Kitty's coat check.
Ororo watched him go, a small smile playing on her lips, then turned and headed for the drinks. Ginger beer and a wedge of lime went wonderfully with a splash of rum, just enough to loosen up a little, maybe work up a nice, warm buzz. Ororo did not like drinking to excess, but she liked a lowkey buzz.
A hand on her waist as she finished fixing the drinks signaled T'Challa's return, and she looked over her shoulder to check that it was him, then turned around with a smile to hand him his drink. "Rum," she warned him. She liked how close they were standing, how familiar and comfortable they were in each other's space. It had come so naturally. "And when we're done with these, we're dancing."
He could turn her down, of course; she wouldn't force him. But she really hoped he wouldn't.
"If we danced before we had finished, things could get messy," he took the drink and tapped his glass gently to hers before trying a sip. A drink or two was polite and even expected at a party such as this; it was a prop that proved he was here to relax and be sociable. But beyond that, T'Challa was still acutely aware of not only the embarrassment but also the potential security risk he could be argued to pose for Wakanda if it could be proven he would allow himself to be drunk in public. He'd switch to ginger beer and club soda before he would allow that to happen.
But this... The clamor of kids, the drink, the easy way Ororo fit at his side, and the promise of dancing with her... This was nice.
He tipped his head closer to speak privately with her in the middle of the noise. "Do you think they will lose their minds if we play music they haven't heard on the radio?"
Ororo laughed. "They haven't before," she assured him, happy to lean into his hand as they moved away from the drinks table. Her hand naturally came to rest on his chest, a familiar gesture born of their interactions in the past couple of months. Most things felt natural with T'Challa. Wonderfully so. "Were you thinking of anything in particular?" She was curious what he wanted to dance to with her.
"I have a few ideas," T'Challa confirmed. He was already mentally thumbing through the music on his phone for the best option. He was feeling something afrobeat, highly danceable, but clean enough not to put anyone off. Burna Boy was good, but he felt too moody for here and now. There was that StarBoy hit, Soco, or some MajorLazer, like RunUp, with the guest from Nicki, that was a fun one. But to dance with Ororo... More like Particula. She'd like that. Or... Jidenna felt right. And then he knew what it should be.
He wet his lips from his glass, steering them gradually to one side of the space cleared for dancing. He listened to the white-girl-hip-hop-pop top 40 hit that was already playing, gamely nodding to the beat and shifting into a playful sway with Ororo. It was...fine. The sort of things popular with American teens. But definitely not his style, his slightly impatient look told her. "We should finish our drinks."
Ororo's eyes twinkled with amusement as she swayed with him, hand sliding up to his shoulder. He would have to lose the jacket, and, she suspected, would fairly quickly once they really started dancing. This did not count as dancing.
"Next song," she told him, the soft glint of promise in her eyes. "A little patience."
The truth was, she liked seeing him like this, with that nearly imperial look in his eyes. It always shot a little thrill down her spine, which she worked effortlessly into their sway, now, a shift of her body towards his. She took a sip from her drink, unhurried, perfectly content in the moment.
"I have patience," T'Challa insisted with a smile in the words. His heart beat a bit harder already, for the easy way they moved together, their closeness, and how Ororo looked at him. She was so self-sufficient and self-possessed, nothing in her clinging or cloying for his approval. But when she looked at him the way that she was looking just now - engaged, intense, and undeniably attractive - it did things to him that made him wonder how he could have let her go. "Are you suggesting I should not look forward to dancing with you?"
"I'm suggesting you savor looking forward to it," Ororo replied, eyes shining warmly, serenely, an invitation that was couched in the steadiness of her feelings for him. She took another drink from her glass, doing her own fair share of savoring. The way they moved together already, the crinkle of his jacket against her, his heady proximity, and the usual, wonderful challenge of conversation with him. It was nothing demanding, but as natural as the curve of her fingers over his shoulder, and the slow, deep beat of her heart when they moved together, so close. It was the sort of challenge that gave, instead of taking.
T'Challa did consider himself to be a patient, mindful person, in many regards, but neither did he hesitate when the time for action came. He did not want to hesitate when it came to Ororo - or to rush into anything rashly. But very often, he found it difficult to keep his foot out of his mouth and his head clear when it came to her, to keep in mind what was too much or not enough, to act when he ought to speak or vice versa. She was, in every meaning of the word, a force of nature, and all he could hope to do was prepare for the weather. And no matter how he prepared, it would end up surprising him eventually.
His expression softened and warmed slightly as he looked at her. "I always do."
Ororo's own expression mirrored his, and she leaned in closer before she had made a conscious decision to do so. Her lips brushed his, a spontaneous display of affection, but the light brush of lips made her come back for more immediately. The rum was beginning to buzz through her veins, and T'Challa gave her a greater, warmer buzz all on his own. The second kiss was a little insistent, but still well within the realm of what they could get away with at a party, and the heat rising to her cheeks when she pulled back was all T'Challa, and not the rum.
"Good," she said, a little huskily, and then she laughed, low and warm. At herself, for how easily he still got to her. The more things changed...
From the way T'Challa met and returned the affection, it was obvious that these kisses were pleasant and welcome not-quite-surprises. He might be more reserved if they were in a high-profile nightclub or public event. But when their only audience was the rest of the student body and their associates, he thought that was privacy enough. If their classmates hadn't realized the nature of their lingering looks and ready intimacy already, they would probably know now.
He rolled his lips thoughtfully as he looked at Ororo again, taking in the color at her cheeks and the sweetness of her laugh. Perhaps they should have saved their dancing for the end of the night, when it would seem to politely coincide with their readiness to take their leave. It was far too early to get carried away and beg off; they had only just come into the party. That didn't stop him from entertaining the idea for a moment, but it did convince T'Challa to ease back from her embrace. "Hold my glass while I get out of this jacket?"
Ororo took his glass from him and stepped back, giving them both space. There was savoring, and then there was getting carried away. She took another sip from her glass, watching him get out of the fitted jacket. "So. What do you feel like introducing them to?" Back to talking about music, of course.
If the jacket hadn't been quite so fitted, T'Challa would have danced in it anyway, but better not to risk a rip in this case. He shrugged neatly out of it with ease, and lifted it in his arms once he had done so to slip his phone out of the interior pocket and access his music. "Nothing too challenging," he purposefully talked about the music without telling her exactly what he had in mind. "Nothing too explicit," he assured her a lack of the words niggas or bitches or anything too suggestive. While he didn't exactly approve of that kind of content, he also understood it had some value as artistic expression. "It's Kitty's sweet sixteen, not a house party."
Ororo's lips pursed in amusement, mostly at the blatant evasion. "All right, then, surprise me," she encouraged, or dared him, depending on how he decided to take it.
He smiled wide and sly in response but didn't look up from his phone. "A little patience," T'Challa couldn't resist, thumbing through his screens to send the song wirelessly to the next item on the karaoke machine's playlist, which their tech-savvy host had graciously left accessible without password protection for them. He reached to recollect his drink for a deep swallow, knowing they wouldn't have much longer to wait.
Ororo chuckled appreciatively, and was glad that the glass in one of her hands gave her something to do that wasn't reaching out for T'Challa. "Touché," she confirmed, absolutely shameless about it. "Give me a hint, then." If he was going to call her impatient, she had no qualms about acting like it.
"Afrobeat," he indulged her that far. "An up-and-coming Nigerian-American artist who is always well-dressed..." T'Challa stopped himself as he heard the current song fading out, taking the last swallow of his ginger beer and rum and setting the glass aside on a nearby tray clearly set up for such a purpose. He similarly tucked his phone back into his jacket to drape over a chair. "But we've waited long enough," he offered Ororo his hand as the music began to play.
"Ah," Ororo let out knowingly at his description, and finished her own drink as the previous song came to an end. She put her hand in T'Challa as they stepped more clearly into the dancing area, feet already stomping out the growing beat, hips shifting in time. She leaned sideways and back into him, told him, "Good song choice," lips brushing his jawline, body moving against his for a beat, before she stepped away and turned around to face him, smiling brightly. It felt so good, having someone here to share those beats with, someone who felt them in his bones like she did; what Jidenna was singing about only made it a tease and a promise on top of a celebration.
It was, all in all, perfect.
His choice shouldn't come as a total shock - they had shared music amongst other things during the time spent with so much distance between them. Jamming out solo with a pair of earbuds in, however, was a very different experience than this.
And you didn't need to have a physical mutation that improved your stamina, agility, and reflexes in order to dance well, not when you were raised dancing and singing with your tribe from birth. But it certainly did not seem to hurt. T'Challa was there to match her movements as she leaned dangerously close, rocking them together to the playful tempo without constraining her. He smoothly shifted low into the bend of his knees, pushing easily through his arms and elbows to extend his long-limbed motions and the rolls of his hips with almost casual grace. He caught and trailed his hands and fingertips at her side or hip with a light, sure touch as they went. Ororo smiled at him, and he caressed a hand gently at her neck to spend a moment looking into her eyes as they moved. "If it makes you want to dance, it's a good song," he told her appreciatively.
"If it gives us something to dance to," and really dance, at that, "it's a good song," Ororo completed, the happy light in her eyes confirming the quiet joy in her words. They moved well together, which wasn't a surprise in itself, given how well they moved together in other ways. But she hadn't quite expected the level of grace in T'Challa's moves. A silly mistake, given the way he fought. His self-possession lent his moves a smooth, easy quality, and Ororo only had eyes for him as they danced, reaching out for each other to keep the connection alive at all times. The more the song progressed, the closer they danced together, as if unable to resist each other's pull, and why would they try?
T'Challa couldn't argue with that. And he wouldn't want to. His smile and his actions said better than words how much he enjoyed being with her in this moment, the call and answer of their dancing. There was a familiar tension between them, and it wasn't so much bad as engaging - the wide step that carried through his far shoulder as she leaned to the other side, the lift and slide through his lean torso as she sank lower. He matched her steps, poised but loose, every motion unhurried and intentional. As they drew naturally closer, they were sharing their personal space more like trained dancers than awkward teens at a school function. It had less to do with practice, and more to do with what was between them.
Ororo knew the perfect word for what she was feeling, in English - elation. Her happiness soared with each stomp of their feet, each sway of their hips, each look they shared, the natural way they danced off of each other. It was a game, a promise, and evidence. It was joy and glee, where they came from and where they were. She couldn't stop smiling, not as their fingers briefly threaded together, not as they let go to lift their hands apart, not as she swayed back in close to stroke her hand over his chest. They were young, beautiful, powerful, and she thought she might have been in love with him since he had stepped into her life, to save a young thief from getting caught in the streets of Nairobi. It shone in her eyes, in her smile, and through the dance that felt so undeniably natural, with him.
He thought he knew the name of her feeling, when she looked at him in that way. It made things very complicated, if that was so. Because T'Challa thought he might feel the same way for her. Because they were so young, because... They should still be dating around, and they should still be fickle in romance, when it was safer and easier that way. And because who the crown prince of the Kingdom of Wakanda dated discretely abroad was one thing, but at the end of the day, there were certain expectations and obligations to which he would be held.
Glory to Bast, but she always had this effect on him, somehow. He felt so sure of most things, of how to approach them even if he did not know them yet. There was no certainty here.
That tempered his pleasure in this shared closeness with her, but didn't exactly diminish it. T'Challa caught her hand to spin her back around into his arms, to hold Ororo from behind and lean to brush his lips against her cheek. They had this time together, now, and he meant to enjoy it.
Ororo leaned back into him, smile stretching as she felt the brush of his lips on her skin. She shifted and swayed in his arms, and showed no sign of caring for WASP comfort levels as she danced against him, hips moving suggestively. Still, it was a far cry from where lines could be drawn in the clubs she liked to go to, and just flirted with what some might construe as indecency. As T'Challa had said, it was Kitty's sweet sixteen, not a house party.
They used the rest of the song to similar advantage, agreeing to separate themselves on the mutual understanding that there were other expressive, expansive moves still to be made on the dance floor. Regardless of how close or far apart they were as they danced along with the music, they were clearly in it together, riding the same wavelength through the end of the song.
Once it was over, T'Challa let the music continue on to the next track from the album, which he thought might resonate with this group - but collected his jacket and phone again to make certain the playback would end there before the more controversial songs could upset the mood. Jacket over one arm and 'Ro on the other, he was quietly beaming with satisfaction as they agreed to leave the dance area to mingle with the other students (and circle their way back later).
Catching sight of T’Challa with Ororo answered quite a few questions he had about the prince. Bucky sipped his drink and then tipped the cup as the two of them walked over his way. “Didn’t know you could dance,” he commented to T’Challa. More politely to Ororo he added, “Good evening.”
Ororo was, predictably, beaming. "Oh, he can dance," she agreed, squeezing T'Challa's arm where her fingers curled around it. The light in her eyes was all due to T'Challa (and his moves), but her general warmth was absolutely meant for Bucky, too. "Hi, Bucky. How are you doing tonight?"
"You never asked me to dance," T'Challa pointed out.
"You look very much taken," Bucky pointed out with a grin. "Doing okay," he answered to Ororo. "Good to get away from class."
Ororo nodded in appreciation of that, then smiled at T'Challa, and back at Bucky. "Don't let me stop you."
"I know that you can run," T'Challa granted Bucky in good humor. "But dancing requires rhythm, collaboration... And moves."
Bucky narrowly refrained from commenting that he had moves before T’Challa’s mama was even born. That was not a door he was opening wide.
“I suspect between you and me we might have an issue with leading.” Bucky tipped his head toward Ororo. “Does he sass you all the time? Or am I just lucky?”
"Oh, he tries," Ororo assured him with a wide, warm grin.
This reminded T'Challa that Bucky had not met his sister. If he thought of T'Challa's wry remarks as 'sassy,' he could not hope to handle Shuri. "There wouldn't be any issue if you let me lead," the prince pointed out, not that he'd intended to suggest the kind of intimate embrace that he now wrapped lightly around Ororo's waist with a shift of his arm to collect her. "But perhaps you are also taken for the evening. Are you technically working?"
"There's that spirit of collaboration," Bucky remarked. "I'm not on the clock." He was always looking out for Natasha, but this was one party where he wasn't in full security or purse holding mode. "I'm not sure you know where you're leading, your highness. Better leave the lady in charge."
Ororo pursed her lips in an amused smile. "In dancing as in life, I actually prefer partnerships."
"Some would say that strong leadership is necessary to successful collaboration," T'Challa countered easily, more in an effort to communicate at Bucky's level than because he had anything to prove. They always seemed to go back and forth like this, and he'd stopped scrutinizing it too closely.
...It sounded stuffy and silly in the context of a casual highschool party, T'Challa observed as he appreciated the set of Ororo's lips and found himself smiling in kind. "I have no question 'the lady' will do as she pleases. We are still talking about dancing, I hope?"
Bucky raised a brow, grinning. “What else would we be talking about?” He asked innocently.
Ororo laughed, all too pleased with the way T'Challa was looking at her, the snug fit of his arm around her - and, of course, the perfectly innocent tone Bucky had just adopted. What indeed. "Well. 'The lady' would like a drink. Can I get you boys anything?"
She could leave them to their banter for a minute, entertaining though it was. Dancing was thirsty business, at least when you did it right.
T'Challa gave a shake of his head at Bucky's feigned innocence and bright grin, but his warm expression didn't waver.
"A club soda with lime please," he asked of Ororo. He might instead have asked her what she would like and gone himself, but Ororo had an independent streak like a bolt of lightning. It was impressive to behold - and you didn't want to get in its way. Once she had set her mind to do a thing, she was inclined to see it through. He greatly admired that in her.
“I’m good, thank you.” As fun as it was teasing T’Challa, Bucky didn’t want to interrupt their night. “Don’t let me split you two up.”
"How will we survive a couple of minutes apart?" Ororo asked T'Challa, eyes twinkling, as she let go of his arm to step away. "Try not to despair in my absence."
"Too late." T'Challa gave Ororo a fond look as she took her leave, Bucky's protestations and all, then turned back to the other boy. "I think she's amused by the idea of what trouble we will get up to while she's gone," T'Challa pointed out.
“Would you recommend trouble, or best behavior?” Bucky asked.
"Being well-behaved might spoil her scheme," T'Challa admitted. "But I would hate to bore you at a party."
Bucky gave him a look over and then shook his head. He extended a hand. “Alright, prince. One dance.”
T'Challa took a moment to look from Bucky's hand up the length of his arm to his face, silently nonplussed. He had not expected Bucky would actually want to dance with him.
He found himself reaching to take Bucky's hand anyway, and it was very different from the slender softness of Ororo's. "Are you going to let me lead?"
Bucky grinned and squeezed his hand. "Maybe this once."
As the music transitioned to the next song, T'Challa realized it probably wasn't one of Kitty's songs. He hadn't selected it, but the American trio and their Jamaican dancehall infused EDM was in his collection. Perhaps the sound system was pulling fresh streaming music live based on an algorithm that accounted for the recently played songs? Clever, Pryde. He would make a point of saying so to the hostess before he left for the evening. He wondered what other curious features the apartment of a technological wunderkind might have to offer the observant.
Not that he knew any better by that stray thought what to make of the boy's hand in his as the playful horns and synth began to play.
In the end, there was nothing more for T'Challa to do than quirk his lips and narrow his eyes back at Bucky, trusting that his jacket would withstand some dancing. He stepped back into the clearing that made the impromptu dance floor and pulled his partner along with him, shifting smoothly into the full-body twists and turns to match the jazzy tempo.
It was easy to sink into the rhythm of this song. Man, Bucky loved a good horn section. His hips rocked smoothly, his feet itching to move like the song demanded. With anyone else he might have tugged them closer, but T'Challa was the one leading here. Bucky was picking up what he laid down.
The propriety was like a slightly awkward gap between them, since Bucky had made a point of taking his hand and this was hardly a waltz or a formal affair. For whatever his initial hesitation, T'Challa wasn't afraid to touch Bucky or look at him directly while they danced.
After a moment of letting them ease into the music and nodding with the beat to acknowledge Bucky's moving without the gawky stiffness of most white boys, T'Challa tugged Bucky into the chamber of his personal space by the hand so that they were dancing together, not at arm's-length. He knew Bucky was athletic and trained, and seeing now that he had a sense of rhythm, T'Challa was willing to trust that they wouldn't end up a mess of banging shins and spaghetti arms. His hand slid up Bucky's forearm before he released his hold, directing their movement more with the line of his body, through flexes of his chest and shoulders, leaning into his extensions to telegraph them to his partner.
Bucky rolled with it, popping back when T’Challa moved forward. With a glimmering grin he slipped one foot between the prince’s, getting their thighs close for an interval. His hand grazed T’Challa’s hip before he stepped back, making it an intentional move to the beat.
T'Challa didn't stop moving, but his eyebrows certainly rose, a question unspoken in his eyes. This was not the first time he'd wondered if Bucky was just trying to wind him up, or if he was...flirting flirting. T'Challa wasn't sure where Ororo was in the crowd, scanning for her only a moment before giving it up and returning his attention to more immediate things. Would she want an explanation if she saw, or would she laugh in his face?
Either way, he decided he would rather be assertive and face the thing directly. T'Challa stepped in on the next major beat, catching Bucky's hip on the opposite side to mirror the move that had been done. But he grasped onto Bucky's hip and held it firmly instead of glancing with his touch, dark eyes keenly bright, a slight cinch between his brows as he tried to read the truth of Bucky's intentions on his face.
Alrighty. T’Challa’s expression was too serious the match the manhandling, but Bucky supposed if he was grabbing then he was into it. Maybe Ororo liked to watch. Bucky could hardly judge. He relaxed into T’Challa’s touch, sliding closer into that space he made. There was no challenge, only a receptive balance. Bucky did say he’d let him lead.
The seeming relaxation under his hold instead of another puckish push forward or twist away almost puzzled T'Challa more, when he'd started to think Bucky's interest was only in a chase of sorts. Even though the music and chatter was still loud around them, it felt like the time to ask, before that time would be gone. So he leaned in as they moved, to say something at Bucky's ear only loud enough that he could feel certain he would be heard. "Are you flirting with me?"
Bucky blinked. “Is that a serious question?”
T'Challa stared back at him for the space of a breath, and when that didn't yield anything new... "Yes?"
Bucky sighed. Okay, yeah, the grip was a mixed fucking signal. “Is it a problem if I am? I’m not looking to step out. But yeah. There has been flirting since day one.”
'Step out?' Did that mean...?
There were times here that T'Challa thought he understood the Americans very well. And then there were times he was reminded that he was only a teenage boy, very far from home. Possibly a very ignorant teenage boy at that.
"I did not think it was..." He took an uncharacteristic pause as his mind spent longer than usual to make the translation and select the word he would use from English. "Genuine." Or maybe he had thought it would resolve itself without him having to look at it too closely.
“Don’t worry about. If you’re not cool with guys hitting on you, I’ll lay off.” T’Challa’s hand was gripping his hip. Bucky took a step back.
T'Challa realized the difficulty as Bucky moved backward, taking his hand back. "It is not 'uncool,'" he tried, but the words were clumsy and he knew it. "Ororo and I..." He had never actually been made to explain it in this way, and the words of it caught in his throat.
“Dating. Couple. Something like that?”
T'Challa smiled almost apologetically at him, then glanced aside. There she was, looking smirky where she had stopped to chat with one of the blue girls about something, two drinks in hand. "It's good, whatever it is."
“Good for you, man.” Bucky shook his head. “I seriously was not looking to get between that. You’re...” Infuriating. First word that sprung to mind. “There’s no intent. A guy would have to be blind not to see how into each other you and ‘Ro are.”
Looking away from Ororo, T'Challa considered Bucky. "Then why would you 'hit on me?'"
Bucky shrugged. “The back and forth is fun, even if it’s not going anywhere. I never got a good read on whether you were flirting back, but this really clears that up.”
"I took it as being a part of your charm," T'Challa offered. Which wasn't entirely wrong. Except for the context.
All of that having been said, he didn't want Bucky to think he was offended. T'Challa found he enjoyed his company, even if it had been confusing at times. "It is part of your charm," he restated, more confidently now, and with a touch of warmth. "But I appreciate knowing where things are."
Bucky snorted softly. He pointed at T'Challa. "Let's return you to the storm queen. I think that's enough spectator entertainment."
T'Challa's gaze lingered with Bucky for a thoughtful beat, a question he thought better of asking before he turned to make his way from the dance floor back to Ororo.
He took the club soda with lime from her, sliding his free hand to the small of her back as he came close enough. "You survived," he pointed out.
"And you seemed to nicely sidestep any despair," Ororo replied with a small smile, leaning into his touch. If there was a bit of a question in the arch of her eyebrows, it was entirely due to the shift in their body language towards the end of their dancing.
Bucky split off to find safer entertainment.
Even as he decided what he might say to Ororo about his dance with Bucky, T'Challa looked back and the other boy wasn't there anymore. He searched after him for a moment and wondered what to read into the disappearance.
He turned back to Ororo instead. "...Did you think he was flirting with me?"
Ororo's clear eyes followed Bucky's flight, but she looked back at T'Challa when he spoke. His question answered a lot of hers, and she rested her free hand on his shoulder blade, one more point of contact between them. "I thought you might be flirting with each other," she answered honestly.
He frowned softly at Ororo, not exactly because of what she had said, but because it seemed to suggest that everyone else thought he had been flirting with Bucky too. He'd thought they were just bantering, not flirting. The main difference between the two was what you wanted as a result, he supposed. "Our lives are complicated enough already. I don't intend to chase after others and invite more trouble," he gave her a serious look.
"I didn't think it was flirting with intent," Ororo answered, her eyes just as serious as T'Challa. This was no simple thing he was telling her, and it answered another one of her unasked questions. "I was right there." While she might have wondered, before T'Challa's assurance, whether he might not have intent at other times, it had not occurred to her that he might have tonight. That would have been disrespectful to her, and she did not expect that from him.
He did not need for her to tell him it would have been disrespectful. That was not how T'Challa had been raised. But the awkwardness with Bucky was proof that he was far from perfect.
"Yes, you were," he acknowledged simply, meeting her gaze. "And you did not seem to mind watching and waiting from the sidelines after you had our drinks."
"It was a good view, while you seemed like you were having fun," Ororo stated simply, having no trouble meeting his gaze. She had a lot more trouble pinpointing what the matter was, exactly. So she took the most direct approach and asked, in soft, earnest Arabic. "What is the issue?"
He hitched an eyebrow slightly at the change in language, but he did not question it. He did, however, take a moment to choose his words, wetting his throat with a sip of his drink. The exchange was more sensory and emotional than it was logical, and T'Challa did not want to misrepresent what had happened. "I got the impression while we were dancing that there was something more than friendly in it. Nothing inappropriate was said or done, it just felt - surprisingly intimate. So I asked him if he was flirting."
"What did he say?" Ororo asked simply. There was no flame of jealousy in her; for all that there were outside forces threatening their relationship, she did not think that Bucky was one of those. No, that would be simple, by comparison. Perhaps not easy, but simple.
T'Challa looked down into his drink before he took another sip. Perhaps he should have gone with another round of ginger beer and rum. He said yes. But also that there was no 'intent' in it. He did not mean to intrude.
Ororo slid her hand up T'Challa's back and to his shoulder, fingers hooking gently, steadily over its curve. "So what is the problem?" she asked again, wanting to understand. Was T'Challa simply annoyed that he had not caught on sooner? Was he afraid he had led Bucky on? There were some possibilities that Ororo did not want to consider; T'Challa was worth better than them.
It was the second time she had asked, and T'Challa thought that he had answered already. But perhaps she was seeking a different sort of answer.
"There is no 'problem,'" he assured her steadily, looking back at Ororo. He did not think that Bucky would nurse it as an open wound. And although it had caught him off-guard, he did not mean to give too much gravity to the exchange. Unless, of course- "Unless you think of it as a problem."
Ororo shook her head slowly. "No. No, I don't. You seemed thrown, that's all." And Bucky had all but fled the scene. Of course she would check in. "I'm glad if there is no problem," she added, with a soft, warm smile that was all for T'Challa.
She smiled, and T'Challa kissed her temple in silent agreement. "I will talk to him later. To be sure." Perhaps on their next morning run. He thought he would still be invited. They were all young, full of hormones and emotion. Such things tended to come and go like passing weather. "He likes to tease, to push boundaries. To keep people from getting too close or to try to find his way, I expect. Maybe we were both confused."
"I don't know him very well," Ororo answered, "but I hope you can make a friend out of him." T'Challa seemed to enjoy his time spent with Bucky, after all. And the Wakandan prince could use more friends. Ororo smiled again, and pressed a soft kiss to T'Challa's cheek, fingers squeezing his shoulder in emphasis. "So." She switched back to English, since she was about to quote him in English, eyes glinting with good humor and warmth. "You don't intend to chase after others?"
Her tone and look had gone more playful, and he relaxed his answer in kind. "Who says that I am chasing after anyone?"
"I thought you were trying to say that you were not," Ororo remarked, and took a sip from her drink, that same playfulness in her eyes and smile.
"I am glad that we understand each other," T'Challa returned, smiling back. "Should we find our gracious hostess to wish her a Happy Birthday?"
"Yes," Ororo happily agreed. She trusted T'Challa to smooth out whatever might need smoothing with Bucky, and in the meantime, she intended to make the most of this party. Starting with tracking down Kitty. "Let's."
