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Shuri knows it is him the moment their eyes meet, it is as if the world had been dull before but now it explodes into colors and sounds. The bar they are in grows brighter despite the dim light and the it is as though she can feel the music thump through her body.
Her soul sings for his. And she knows that his sings for her. She can see it in his eyes, an intense look that borders on desperation.
She is sure her eyes look frantic as she turns to face Riri. “Soulmate,” the words are strange on her lips, unwelcomed by her mind. She grabs the drink she’d been sipping for the past hour, turning it towards her lips and drowning it in seconds.
“Girl,” Riri peeks around her, “He’s coming this way.”
Shuri’s hand hovers over Riri’s drink before taking it in hand and drinking it in one fell swoop. She does not look over her shoulder again but she can feel him, his looming presence over her. “Wait,” she squeaks out, her hand reaching for Riri’s hand. Riri gives her hand a soft squeeze before jumping off her stool and heading towards the dance floor. “Traitor!” Shuri yells over the music.
He doesn’t waste a second, taking the seat Riri vacated and offering her a smile. Her breath catches in her chest, her heart beats an unsteady rhythm in her chest. He’s beautiful , all bronzed skin, white teeth and inky black hair that curls at the nape of his neck. He looks older than her too, somewhere between thirty-five and forty.
“Hi,” she offers, wishing she had another drink in her hand.
“Hi,” he’s a little breathless, his eyes are so intense she almost looks away. His voice is a whisper over her skin, warm and familiar. He only looks away from her to order them another round of drinks and Shuri uses that time to study him further.
He has a nice jaw, covered in neatly groomed facial hair, a few laugh lines at the corner of his eyes and his nose has a little bump in it, like maybe he’d broken it before. Shuri finds she likes it, eyes trailing down towards his neck, landing on the gold necklace and gleaming pearls resting on his collarbones.
Of course, T’Chall and her Mama had told her all about soulmates, stories about meeting Nakia and Baba, and how when you meet your soulmate you just know. Shuri had always told them it just didn’t make sense, the universe deciding who you love without giving you a choice. She’d searched far and wide for any kind of scientific backing on soulmates, the universe just wasn’t enough of an answer for her, but she had found none. No scientific journal that could find a way to explain soulmates for her, every sentence on soulmates she had read has relied on feelings and nor science.
But Shuri can feel it now, this connection that snapped into place the moment they had locked eyes. She can feel it buzzing under her skin as a result of his closeness, a want that made her want to lean forward and touch him.
There’s a smile pulling on his lips and she knows she’s been staring at him for far too long. A heat crawls into her cheeks, settling there as she ducks her head.
“My name is Namor,” she really likes the way his voice sounds, warm and soft and full of intent. But Namor is not part of the initials tattoos on the soft of her belly. C.A had been inked into her skin as long as she was able to remember. “You might recognize Cha’ah Almehen,” he continues. Her hand subconsciously brushes against her top, just under her breasts. She can almost feel the ridges of the tattoo under her fingers.
“My name is Shuri,” she places her hand in his extended one, it sends a shiver down her spine. His hand is soft and warm, large fingers wrapping around hers. “Udaku,” she tracts on. His thumb brushes against the soft skin of her knuckles, and he doesn’t let go, instead holding both their hands on his knee.
Shuri contemplates pulling away for one second before relaxing her hand in his and letting him hold it. With her other hand she grabs her new drink, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip. The tequila burns down her throat, settling warmly in the pit of her stomach. Namor’s eyes follow her movements, his eyes flicker down towards her glossed lips before meeting her gaze again.
“Soulmates, huh,” Bast , she sounds like an idiot, stumbling over her words. Shuri had never put much thought into actually meeting her soulmate, she had thought maybe it had skipped her, or maybe hoped that it had despite the letters tattooed onto her skin.
Her summer before starting on her second PhD was supposed to be filled with days at the beach and nights at bars meeting boys and girls. Her summer was definitely not supposed to be when she met her soulmate, the one the universe had decided was perfect for her.
“Soulmates,” he says in agreement, a light chuckle falling past his lips. Shuri likes that too, the way the sound sounds to her ears and the way she can feel it in her chest. Her heart skips a beat again, a warmth content feeling flooding her system. She feels like this is exactly where she’s supposed to be, in this dark bar with Spanish music blaring in the background and her knee brushing against his when he leans in to hear her better.
“I don’t.” she shakes her head, teeth sinking down on her bottom lip as she thinks of exactly what she wants to say. For a second she thinks about channeling her inner T’Challa, but he’d frozen like a deer in headlights when he’d met Nakia. Channeling her inner Ramonda would be much better, she knew her Mama had been perfectly confident when meeting her Baba for the first time. “I wasn’t exactly planning on meeting you today,” or ever , she lets herself think. “Not in a Mexican bar of all places.”
“It’s a nice bar, no?” he looks around, taking a sip of his own drink. Shuri knocks her knee playfully against his, “Sure,” she agrees, because it’s not the worst place Riri has dragged her to in the last few weeks. “Honestly, I had never put much thought into ever meeting you.”
Shuri expects to see some kind of hurt flash in his eyes but they only light up with what Shuri can only call a challenge.
“Would you like to take a walk?” he leans in closer, his breath tickling the shell of her ear, as the music somehow gets louder.
For a moment Shuri thinks of the possibility of him being a serial killer, but gives his hand a squeeze anyway and jumps to her feet. Namor gently maneuvers her in front of him, his hand hovers protectively over her waist as he leads them towards the door.
The night air is balmy, a gentle breeze ruffling her braids as they step outside. His hand takes hers again, linking their fingers together and Shuri wants to ask the universe about their guidelines for matching people together.
“You’ve never thought of meeting me?” he prods, “Truly?” There is surprise in his voice and Shuri knows instantly that the opposite could be said about him. She had seen it in the way he had looked at her from across the room, understanding in his eyes as he felt the room come to a slow stop.
Shuri gives him a shrug, “Truly,” she replies, mindlessly swinging their clasped hands between them. “Who is the universe to tell me who I must fall in love with?” she says, “How exactly does the universe even choose someone for me, well before I am born?” Her questions feel empty, she doesn’t know the answer to any of them, just that she can feel what the universe intended. There is this tangible thing between them, something that makes her heart say mine everytime she looks at him.
“It is one of the many secrets the universe holds,” his large shoulders move in a shrug, Shuri knew that would be his answer. Namor looks like a man of faith, someone that believes in the universe and gods. “Does the universe not deserve her secrets?”
Shuri hardly believes Bast is real, much less that the universe knew all. “If you believe that sort of thing, sure,” she answers easily, “But I am a woman of science, and there is absolutely no scientific proof that soulmates are real. I’ve done my research, there is nothing concrete about soulmates, only people feeling things for someone.”
Namor pauses then, his hand on her waist as he pulls her closer. Her front brushes against his chest and Shuri takes a sharp inhale, her body tensing in anticipation. She can feel him all around her, down to the very cells that make up her being.
His hand cradles her face, like she is a delicate thing that might shatter under his touch. Shuri releases a shaky breath, lips parting when his thumb brushes against her bottom lip.
“What would you call this, Shuri?” he murmurs, eyes so dark and intense she trembles under his touch.
“Perhaps you are just very handsome,” she stumbles over a word or two.
Namor hums, lips pulling into a brief smile, “Perhaps,” he agrees before he kisses her.
His kiss is like coming home, lips soft and warm against hers, his jade green piercing bumping into her cheek, lips chapped and his facial hair makes her want to giggle with how it tickles, but it is perfect. Shuri’s sure she’s never felt quite like this when being kissed, it is a feeling of wholeness. As if her time of searching is over.
Namor pulls her closer, his fingers brushing against the sliver of skin between her shirt and her skirt. It is dizzying, the way he licks into her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers. Shuri sighs a little, unable to stop herself from swaying closer to him, hands smoothing up his arms and towards his shoulder. He is warm and solid beneath her hands and she can feel his muscles tense under her fingers.
She doesn't know how long they kiss, his hand on her back and the nape of her neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. It would be minutes that she spends in the warmth of his arms, or it could be hours.
He pulls away reluctantly, brushing his lips against hers once and then a second time. Shuri blinks her eyes open, pupils wide and lips tingling. “Sorry,” he does not sound at all sorry, “I’ve been waiting four hundred and fifty four years to kiss you,” his thumb wipes at the smudged lip gloss staining his bottom lip. Shuri knows it tastes like honey figs, her favorite one.
Shuri thinks her mind might be a little hazy, the thumb brushing against the nape of her neck distracting her,making her mishear him when he tells her how long he’d waited for her. “Four hundred and fifty four years?” Her voice is incredulous, “Be serious, you do not look older than thirty five.”
She can feel his laughter reverberate through her body and she feels her lips twitch into a smile in response to his mirth. “I was born in 1571,” there is a sadness in his voice, her hand automatically rubbing his shoulder in comfort. The thought of outliving everyone in her life is so painful she doesn’t let herself think of it for longer than a second.
“I have waited many years for you, itzia ,” he leans down again and for a second she thinks he is going to kiss her again, anticipation fluttering in her belly, but he places her forehead against hers and somehow that feels more intimate than being kissed. “And you do not even believe in me.”
This bond that had formed between them, without any say from her, saddens her at his words. Shuri wants to assure him that he has found her now, that he does not have to live his life in a limbo, but the words die in her throat. She can almost hear T’Challa laughing at her, saying ‘usisi omncinci you cannot only listen to your mind, you must also listen to your heart.’
“I cannot believe you are four hundred and fifty four,” she says instead, as if repeating his age again will make it less unbelievable. She has not heard of someone waiting so long for their soulmates, her hands itch to do some research on age differences in soulmates. “You are way too old for me,” she pats his chest playfully, her hand hovering over his shirt for a moment before she lets her hand rest against it, right over his heart. She can feel his head radiating off his skin and through the shirt, the steady beat of his heart under her palm.
She can feel the way her own heart slows and then speeds up, matching the heartbeat of the man in front of her. And suddenly it is too much, way way too much, she thinks. He is too old and she is too young. Namor had waited far too long for her and she’d wished she’d have more time to be on her own. Four hundred and fifty years was a long time and she does not think she can live up to those kinds of expectations.
So of course, she takes a step back, an apology on her lips and runs .
.
It is only a few days later that she finds herself in another bar, a concrete plan in mind as she introduces herself to anyone that even looks her way. Riri calls her crazy but she is a scientist and this is an experiment.
After years of avoiding anyone whose name starts with a C and last name starts with an A, it does not take her long to find someone with the initials that match the ones on her stomach. Carlos Acevedo joins her on the dance floor, his hands on her hips as they sway to the music. He is not a bad dancer, or conversationalist, but she finds herself comparing him to Namor. He is too tall, too thin, too young and his skin is not the perfect shade of brown.
Shuri dances with him anyway, giving him sly smiles as he twirls her around the dance floor. There is no tingling where he holds her hand and her waist, there is no feeling of being utterly complete. She knows the exact moment that Namor steps into the bar, it is as though color bleeds into her world and all of her five senses become sharp. She knows it is not Carlos making her feel that way, despite the way he trails a palm down her back and pulls her closer to him.
There is one more step to her research and so when he tilts his head down she allows him to kiss her. Shuri has to crane her neck up and he has to lean down to kiss her, her hands placed on his shoulders and his on her waist. Her few kisses before Namor had been fine, nothing earth shattering but nice enough that she hadn’t minded them. Her first kiss after Namor is abysmal, her lips do not tingle and her heart does not clench in her chest. She feels nothing.
Shuri pulls away quickly enough after that, automatically whipping her mouth with her hand. “Sorry,” she winces. Carlos blinks at her, but he doesn’t look that hurt, giving her one last look before disappearing into the crowd.
Shuri can feel Namor’s eyes on her, a nagging feeling of guilt creeping into her chest. She’d wanted to test a theory out, compile a hypothesis as she had explained to Riri, but finding the first man with the initials C.A had not proven anything in her favor.
She debates approaching him for a few minutes before marching off the dance floor and towards him. He looks good, sitting comfortably in a chair, legs spread apart in a way that would have Shuri rolling her eyes if it was anyone but him. There are two people with him, a man and a woman, and she almost turns away when she spots them.
Shuri approaches him with all the confidence she is able to muster, stepping between the v of his legs, slim hands resting on his thigh. He tenses under her touch, the muscle of his thigh twitching under her manicured hand. She takes her time looking at him, taking in the small changes in him, another string or pearls around his neck, a few golden rings on his fingers and a weariness that had not been in his eyes before. Namor must see something in her eyes because he stands quickly, his hand gripping hers tightly as he walks them towards the exit, leaving his two friends behind with a few pesos placed on the table.
Shuri wonders if she should say something, though she doesn’t think he’d like to hear her talk about trying to disprove soulmates by finding someone with his initials to kiss. There’s an apology on the tip of her tongue, the way he’d looked at her when she’d left him behind in the dimly lit street to run back to the bar, replays itself in her mind.
She stays silent, tucking herself into the seat of his car when he opens the door for her. The silence is louder than the music had been in the bar, hanging heavy between them as he drives. She has questions, a million of them, to ask him, she stays silent anyway. She wants to kiss him again, she wants to hold him and have him hold her back in return.
Shuri holds his hand in her lap, head resting against the headrest as she looks over at him. He is looking straight ahead, a tick in his jaw as he keeps his eyes on the road. “I’m sorry,” her teeth lightly bite down on her bottom lip.
“You are young,” he says after a few minutes of silence, as if that explains everything. The car comes to a stop in front of a large gate before he finally looks over at her. “How young?”
Shuri wishes she could give him a large number, maybe then it would be easier for her to wrap her head around it all. “Twenty,” she says the number like it’s a secret; whispered in the silence of the car.
He lets out a breath and she wants to laugh at his reaction because he really is too old for her. It makes her heart squeeze just a little, just a tad smug that Namor had to wait so long for her to come into his life. “I have many questions,” she admits, eyes going a little wide as the large hacienda comes into view. She feels young again, the hacienda tangible proof that he is a grownup, far removed from her own living situation with Riri in a small apartment off campus.
“I will answer these questions,” he says, his thumb brushes against her knuckles. “If you answer a few of mine.”
Shuri nods because that is acceptable, watching with a slight smile on her lips as he unbuckles both of them and goes around to open the door for her. It is as if they are unable to stop touching, their hands finding each other as he leads them towards the front door.
Shuri is content with watching Namor move around, turning on lights, taking his shoes off by the door and dropping his keys into a bowl. It all feels a little domestic, her shoes next to his against the wall and her purse on the counter by the door. She wonders if this will be her future, her things next to his, his life bleeding into hers and hers into his. It makes her feel all warm inside. She curses the soulmate bond for that.
“Here,” he breaks the silence, a brand new toothbrush and toothpaste waved in front of her face. Her eyebrows furrow in questions as she tentatively takes the toothbrush in hand. “I will not be kissing you after you’ve kissed that boy,” he sneers.
Shuri rolls her eyes, snatching the toothpaste from his hand and wandering towards the kitchen sink. For a moment she thinks about refusing him, but she can taste Carlos’ kiss on her tongue and it feels all wrong.
Namor only lets her put the toothbrush down before he is caging her against the counter, hands gripping the sink behind her as he leans down, his nose brushing against hers. This feels right, his body only inches away from hers as he brushes his lips against her cheek, the scar on her forehead, her nose. She feels anticipation buzzing under her skin, chin tilting towards him so he can finally kiss her. His lips linger above hers for a few teasing moments and she knows he enjoys the way she’s the one that reaches up towards him.
The spark from their first kiss is still there, maybe even brighter than the first time and Shuri sighs in contentment. He is perfect, she thinks, the perfect height for her to reach up and kiss even without heels. He is solid beneath her hands, shoulders wide, muscular and soft all at the same time. His hand is warm on her back, pulling her slim body closer to him. He is not so tall that he towers over her but just tall enough that she can duck under his chin, his width spans hers three times and instead of feeling overwhelmed she feels safe.
Shuri feels the rumble of his groan against her chest as she opens her mouth for him, the taste of the mezcal he had been drinking throughout the night lingering on his tongue. He kisses her slowly, his hand on the nape of her neck to angle her head to deepen the kiss. Shuri follows eagerly, letting him erase Carlos’ kiss from her mind.
His teeth sink gently into her bottom lip as he pulls away, his forehead knocking against hers gently. “First question, Shuri.”
Her mind is blissfully blank, the taste of him still lingering on her tongue. “Do you have any family?” her question hangs heavy between them.
With a swift practiced move he turns them so he’s the one leaning against the counter. Namor tucks her up against him and Shuri follows willingly, tucking her head under his chin, her arms wrap around his waist. It feels as though she is not close enough, she wants to feel his skin against hers. She wants to crawl into his soul and stay there.
“Namora and Attuma, they are the two from the bar, are the last of my family, very very distant cousins,” he leans his head against her, the heat of his palm on the small of her back warming her up.
“Favorite color?” he asks.
Shuri smiles, her lips press her answer into his neck, he shivers and she smiles again. “Orange. When did you stop aging?”
Namor tilts his head in thought, “1607, I was thirty seven.”
Her arms squeeze around him in a hug, she can hear the slight waiver of his voice. The way he trails off in thought only to be brought back by the press of her lips against the underside of his jaw.
“What are you doing in Mexico?” he asks, his hand sneaking under her shirt, fingers trailing up her spine.
“Hot girl summer,” she repeats Riri’s exact words when she had suggested they take the summer to relax in another country. “I do not think this is what she had in mind,” Shuri muses, her own hand sneaking under his shirt. She wants to keep touching him, feel the jump of his muscles under her fingers and the way he makes this sound in the back of his throat.
His fingers playfully pinch her waist and she jumps back with a squeal, “Riri’s words!” She defends herself. Namor reaches for her again, arms wrapping around her easily and pulls her against him tightly. Shuri laughs, going willingly and meets his lips halfway. It is familiar now, the way their lips move against each other, the taste of him on her tongue and the way he lets her take control for a few moments before sliding his tongue against hers and drawing a moan from her.
His lips peck hers one more time before they drag towards her jawline, nips of his teeth and a smoothing swipe of his tongue. Shuri tilts her head, her breath labored as she welcomes his lips.
She vaguely remembers that it is her turn to ask a question, eyes heavy lidded as she tries to recall one of the many questions she had dictated to Griot. “Have you lived in Mexico this whole time?” she asks, “Mesoamerica, I mean.” His lips pause on her collarbone and she gives a little whine.
Namor places one last kiss against the jut of her collar before he answers, “I have traveled to many places, but yes, Yucatan is my home. My mother was born here and she is buried here. My father, whom I never met, died when the conquistadors came with their diseases.”
His voice hardens and Shuri can suddenly see every one of his years reflected in his eyes. There is anger and resentment there, swirling in the deep brown of his eyes. She knows some of the Mayan’s history, history that he had had to live through for her. Shuri reaches forward, her thumb smoothing over his brow. His eyes soften for her, the tension leaving her body.
“You are,” he pauses, “Wakandan, yes?”
She shouldn't be surprised that he places her accent easily, but she is anyway. “Yes, my Mama and Baba live there. My brother visits.” she wonders if she should tell him of being royalty, “It is beautiful, I would love for you to see it one day.”
“And I would love to see it,” he smiles, “My mother, she told me of Wakanda. She talked of a country in Africa, that had not been colonized, of people that were allowed to stay who they were.”
Shuri nods, thinking of her beautiful homeland. “My Mama will probably hate you,” she says casually, like it is no big deal. “But she will have to deal with it because you’re my soulmate.”
It is the first time she truly admits it to herself, that this man who’d waited so long for her was hers and that in return she was his. It is worth saying the words, if only for the smile that forms on his lips, it is blinding and brimming with happiness.
“Say it again,” he says, demands , both his hands framing her face as he waits for her to repeat herself.
“My Mama will hate you,” she knows those are not the words he seeks but she says them anyway, laughing as he rolls his eyes at her. “My soulmate.” She cannot help the way her voice goes soft, filled with fondness, a laugh following as he leans down to kiss her.
This time he kisses her differently, a little rougher than before, thumb nudging at the hinge of her jaw so she will open her mouth for him. He kisses her like she is the sun and he has been in the darkness for too long.
Her legs wrap around his waist when he lifts her off her feet, their kiss turns frantic, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other under her ass. Her hands are in his hair, tugging lightly at the soft ink black curls.
“Soulmate,” she whispers again, tugging at his hair to make him look at her. His eyes are glazed, lips swollen. Maybe the universe got something right, she thinks then.
Namor walks them towards the sitting room, settling her on his lap, lips finding her skin again. Shuri giggles a little, the soft bristles of his beard tickling her. She can feel his lips stretch into a smile against her skin and she lets herself look around the room for a few seconds, taking in the art on the walls before he is nudging at her chin and kissing her again.
She is comfortable in his lap, her slight frame resting against his like she has always meant to be there. Her questions are hidden behind the haziness of her mind, behind moans and shuttered breaths. His hands are on her thighs, large and warm as they brush under her skirt. Shuri feels a rush of heat between her thigh, an ache starts forming where she wishes his hands were.
“Where is my tattoo?” She is breathless when she asks, lips kiss swollen, skirt bunched around her waist. His eyes are heavy lidded, pupils blown wide, as he looks up at her. Her lipgloss shines on his bottom lip.
Namor shuffled under her, the warmth of his hands on her thighs leaving as he moves to pull his shirt over his head. His skin is perfectly tanned, pecs hard and warm under her hands. Shuri explores him with her hands, nails trailing down his chest, skimming over his abs before hesitating above his jeans. She has forgotten what she had asked by then, fingers brushing against the trail of hair under his bellybutton.
“Here,” he twists just a little and suddenly she can see her initials on his back, near his shoulder. The words are faded, almost gray in color, and just a little blurred by age. She brushes the letters with her fingers, enjoying the way he shudders under her, growing harder against her thigh. Heat pools between her thighs, her cunt squeezing around nothing and her hips rock forward as she raises on her knees, her lips finding his shoulder.
Namor’s fingers dig into her hips, leaving a dull echo of pain and pleasure as he rocks his hips up in response. He feels heavy and warm between her legs, her hand searching between them, cupping him in her hand. She likes the noises she can make him make, the way he reacts to every one of her touches and greedily asks for more.
“Yours,” his voice rasps, fingers flexing, “Let me see.”
Shuri tugs her shirt over her head, braids brushing against her naked back, nipples pebbling as they are exposed to the cool air. His initials are inked into her stomach, a little to the left and under her breast. Namor ducks his head, lips finding his initials and placing a kiss there just as she had. It is Shuri’s turn to ask for more, hips rocking against his as his lips brush against her mark. She feels warm all over, his breath and tongue hot against her skin, his lips kissing around his mark, trailing up towards her tits and taking a nipple between his lips.
Shuri makes a choked sound, the drag of his tongue against her nipple sends a throb down between her legs. It is like he is all around her, hands and mouth on every inch of offered skin. His fingers inch towards her cunt and she whines, back arching, hips jerking towards him. He does not bother with her underwear, shoving it aside as his fingers brush against her folds.
It is embarrassing, the way her moan raises in pitch, as he finally touches her. His touch is feather light, fingers sliding through her folds, gathering her slick on his fingers. His fingers are different from her own, bigger and not as soft, unsure as to what she likes. Her head tilts back, the rocking of her hips encouraging him further, pushing his fingers towards where she wants them.
“Shuri,” his voice is rough, wrecked for her. Shuri forces her eyes open, peering down at him. His eyes are wild, pupil wide and lips parted as if he can taste her on his lips.
“Please,” she pleads, crying out as his thumb brushes against her clit, circling around the swollen bud.
“Don’t you see?” he asks, fingers dragging down, towards her entrance. His finger sinks in easily, knuckle deep, coated in her slick. He moves his hand slowly, his finger rubbing against the inside of her walls. “You were made for me. Soulmates must be real if you are here with me and we feel like this.” He crooks his finger then, thumb circling her clit.
Shuri nods, surging forwards to kiss him. Her kiss is sloppy, teeth catching his bottom lip, a whimper pressed into his lips as he sinks another finger in. Her hips twitch, knees raising to help her sink further down on his fingers even as her thighs shake. She feels full with just his two fingers and the prospect of his cock stretching her further makes her clench around his fingers.
It does not take her long to come after that, his long thick fingers pumping side her slowly, his thumb on her clit as he helps her reach her end. Her forehead beads with sweat, resting against the crook of his neck as he slowly pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth. Shuri watches him through half lidded eyes, a sated feeling settling in her bones.
“I want you,” she says against his neck, her hand wanders down towards his crotch again. Her mind says that maybe this is too fast, but her soul cries for it, for the possibility to become closer to him. She wants to feel him inside her, making room for himself in every crevice of her body.
They do not make it to his room, instead settling on the cloud soft rug on the floor of the living room.
It is a little awkward and painful at first, his hips flush against hers as she tries not to flinch under him. She feels full, almost painfully so, her cunt stretched wide around his cock. He tries a few tentative thrusts but the rush of her first orgasm is gone with the pinch of him sliding inside her, hips slotted between her thighs and his chest pressing her down.
Shuri hadn’t really thought about sex with her soulmate, not really, but she had expected it to be better than this. The first brush of his lips against hers earlier in the week had felt like the stars and suns upon her lips and tongue, like he was the whole universe. Now, she feels none of that, a discomfort settling into her body as she wiggles under him, a sharp pain in her skull as her braids get caught under her shoulder.
“You must relax, Shuri,” his lips drag across her collarbone. She feels a spark then, following the path of his lips and the drag of his tongue.
“Wait-” her knees dig into his side, fingernails biting into the tattoo of her initials on his shoulder. “Do not move,” she whimpers. His hips still, his nose brushes against the column of her neck, the jade bar cool against her warm skin.
“Are you sure you have years of practice,” her voice is teasing even behind the tension, teeth clenched together as she tries to get her body to relax.
“Funny,” his voice is dry, his hand snaking between them. His thumb brushes against her clit and her stomach tenses, a shudder running through her body. Her clit is still sensitive, swollen with from his attention before.
Shuri moves a fraction, a slow movement of her hips up towards him. She can feel the tension in his body, shoulders flexing under her hands as he tries to stay still. She moves her hips again, seeking the friction she feels from his thumb brushing against her. She can feel herself getting wet again, her cunt squeezing him tighter with every swipe of his thumb.
“Okay,” she breathes deeply, “Move, please.”
Namor’s forehead rests against her shoulder, a shudder running through his body as he pulls out, “Princess,” his voice is like gravel, rough against her skin. Shuri feels her stomach tense, her thighs tensing around him at the nickname and the thrust that follows. It is better now, the pull and push of him no longer a sharp pinch of pain.
Shuri does not have much experience, only one other person when she was eighteen, a quick somewhat satisfying fumble in a dorm room. Maybe she’d expected too much, Shuri thinks as Namor moves again. She’d expected soulmate levels of pleasure, fireworks exploding behind her eyelids like in a silly American television show.
It is nice, nicer than the first few awkward thrust that left more pain than pleasure in their wake. “Perhaps we are not sex soulmates,” she thinks out loud, “We could be kissing and foreplay soulmates only,” she doesn’t know if that is something that even exists but she’s only believed in soulmates for a total of four hours so she could be wrong.
“Shuri,” he closes his eyes and she almost pouts at the look on his face, he looks more his age, a creeping look of exasperating on his features. “No more thinking of soulmates,” he says before leaning down and brushing his lips against hers. She feels that feeling of completeness again, her tongue eagerly meeting his. She sighs against his mouth, her body relaxing against his and growing soft in his arms. The next thrust of his hips makes her moan, a quiet sound against his lips, hips thrusting up, eager to feel that pleasure again.
It is like her body has woken up with the feel of his skin against hers, his body slotting between her thighs. Her nipples tighten with every brush of his chest against hers as he finds his rhythm, the feeling traveling to the bit of her stomach and between her legs. They are like puzzle pieces, fitting together perfectly.
His cock drags against her walls, pulling whimpers from her lips. His thrusts are sure and slow, lazy almost, as he fucks into her. His lips are everywhere, against her neck and her chest, dragging towards her tits. His lips wrap around a nipple, lapping softly at first before she feels the sting of his teeth. The feeling travels straight to her clit, her back arching off the rug. She can feel his smile against her skin and she knows he is two seconds away from gloating.
“Princess, did I not tell you?” he asks, fingers pinching at her nipples playfully, traveling towards her neck and wrapping around her throat, thumb nudging against her jawline to make her look at him. “Your cunt was made of me,” he moves again, painfully slow, before he fucks back into her. A breath rattles in her chest, a high pitch moan caught behind her teeth. “Not anyone else but me, my soulmate.”
Shuri nods her head in agreement, “Yours,” she manages to say, hips tilting up in an effort to chase after his. He stills, almost completely out of her before he bottoms out.
“Say that again,” he smiles at her, the demand clear in his voice.
“I’m yours, please, your soulmate,” she begs, thinking this is a delicious torture, her penance for teasing him for a few fumbling thrusts.
“Now that I have you,” his hand squeezes her throat lightly. She had not thought she would like this but the pressure of his fingers on her neck is euphoric, dragging a whimper from her. “I cannot wait to grow old with you, to watch you grow swollen with my child.”
Shuri is only twenty and she plans on getting at least two more doctorates before having children but she nods her head anyway “Yes please,” she wants to sob, she thinks of her belly getting rounded, of a little person growing inside her and her cunt clenches around him. “Please, please, fill me with your cum.”
Namor picks up his speed then, hand still around her throat as he fucks into her. Her thighs ache in the most delicious way, hitching higher on his waist. She cannot look away from him, watching the way his mouth opens in a pant, his arms flexing with the effort of holding himself up above her, his stomach tensing with every sharp thrust of his hips.
“I will fill you up as many times as you wish, Princess,” his words slur together and Shuri, who has never thought about having children, nods her head frantically. Her cunt squeezing around him dragging another moan from his throat.
They are both close, she can see it in the way he rests more fully around her, his chest flush against hers. A familiar heat crawls into the pit of her stomach, the muscles of her slim legs tensing around his waist.
Shuri comes with a sob, hips tilting up towards him, nails digging into the tattoo on his shoulder. Namor follows close behind, hips thrusting a few more times before his cum is filling her up. Shuri locks her arms around him tightly, relishing his weight on her.
“Stay like this,” her voice rasps, wanting to keep him inside. Namor kisses the side of her head, gathering her up against him without slipping out of her. Her head rests on his chest, but it is still not enough. She wishes she could crawl inside him and stay there, content and warm around his soul.
Her eyes droop and she knows, by the way his breathing evens out, that he is only seconds away from falling asleep underneath her. “I can finally stop avoiding people with your initials,” she whispers, thinking he is asleep. His laughter follows her confession and she finds herself smiling against his chest.