Chapter Text
"This is our first date outside of Wakanda, I need to make sure you have an authentic, American dinner," Everett called. He stirred the bubbling pan of sauce on the stove. It was a secret sauce made up of ketchup, mustard, brown sugar, and hot sauce for the burgers that were sizzling in the skillet beside him.
T'Challa chuckled, seating at the table with a glass of iced tea, which was nothing like how rich, Wakandan tea tasted like, but it was sweet, lemony, and cold. "So hot dogs and what are they called? potato infants?"
"Tater tots," he corrected with a snorted. "And close, we're having burgers, fries, and my favorite dessert."
"Otherwise known as a heart attack on a plate from what I have heard?"
Everett rolled his eyes, flipping the burgers to the raw side. The sizzle of the grease got louder. "Hey, it might not be the fine cuisine you are used to in that cushy castle you live in, but that doesn't mean you have to make fun of America's finest, artery-clogging cuisine. I spent an hour cutting the potatoes into strips."
"And I am very grateful to get a taste of another country's finest cuisine," T'Challa said. He stood from the oak chair and came behind Everett, wrapping his strong, muscular arms around him as he nuzzled his face against his neck, kissing a small birthmark he had there. "And it smells delicious."
Then when he had him distracted by his affection, he reached for a fry from the bowl they waited in, but Everett swatted a hand away with his spatula. "Ah-ah-ah. No taste tests until dinner. Believe me, you eat one now and there will not be any left for the meal. I learned the hard way that they are very addicting."
"Fine." T'Challa pouted playfully. He let himself loose around Everett. He didn't have to be the stoic king like he did around so many people. He had some friends back home, like Okoye and Nakia, and of course his mother and sister. But so many others saw him more as a ruler than a human. It was nice to be around someone like Everett who let him be himself.
"Lucky you do not have to wait long." He slid the freshly cooked burger onto a fluffy bakery bun and topped it with his secret sauce, pickles, caramelized onions, and a slice of cheese. Then he put a handful of fries on the side of the plate and offered it to his boyfriend. "Bon appetit!"
T'Challa took the plate and sat at the table once Everett had his. "Merci mon amour," he said, copying his use of French before his brows furrowed when he gave him a confused look. "What?"
"What did you just say?"
"Thank you, my love."
"Oh." Everett chuckled and kissed his forehead, seating himself. "I don't speak French... CIA agents are only required to know two languages and I chose German since I was stationed there for several years. and I may have also sorta given up on learning Xhosa after asking your mother to pass the donkey menstruation when I had dinner with you."
"Yes, my mother was quite confused about how you could get that confused with a bread bowl. Although my sister did get a giggle out of it." T'Challa took a bite of his burger and hummed, his eyes lightening up. Fries, as Americans called them, were nothing new to him, as many businesses in the River Tribe sold fish and chips, but a burger was something he had never tasted before. The spicy, sweet tang of the sauce on his tongue, the crispy pickle, the crunchy onion, and fluffy bun, it all blended perfectly with the juicy meat and made T'Challa's taste buds sing in celebration.
Everett watched him with enjoyment, glad to see that he like the so-called "Artery-clogging" food. "The recipe is my mom's," he said, surprised that the large burger was nearly all devoured in that short time. "And I learned how to make the fries and caramelized onions on Youtube... Wakanda does have Youtube, correct?"
"Of course. How else would my sister show me all of those Vine compilations?" T'Challa rolled his eyes. "But until my rule, Wakandans were not permitted to post anything on it as it could give away our secrets."
"I can understand that."
Nearly a half-hour passed while the two finished their main course and seconds. Then Everett stood from his seat and went to the fridge, taking out two bowls of their dessert. Biscuits cut in half and filled with huge dollops of whipped cream and juice, sugary strawberries. "True, Southern Strawberry shortcake. Just like my Nan used to make."
T'Challa grinned and took the bowl, admiring the bright strawberries on the biscuit before cutting into it with his fork and taking a bite. "Mmm," he hummed in delight. "That's it, I need you to move to Wakanda so you can make this for me every day."
Everett chuckled. "Unfortunately I'm on another mission starting tomorrow, but I will send the recipe."
The King felt sad upon knowing that he would be gone for a while again. He knew that as a CIA agent, Everett was dedicated to his government, but he still never liked the thought of him going out and possibly sacrificing everything for it.
But instead of letting that ruin his night, he smiled softly once they had finished dessert and lifted him in a bridal carry, taking him to the bedroom for something to thank him for the wonderful meal.