.

.

Her Queen Mother would disapprove, but Shuri longs to throw away old and useless customs.

(Starting with the corsets pinching her ribs.)

After a royal observance with several tribal heads, led by Shuri herself since Ramonda or T'Challa could not be present, she lingers by herself on the outskirts of Amanzi Kwakhona Umlambo. Zuri's successor rolled their eyes at her, lingering behind a Border Tribe's guard and folding their hands sternly under robe-sleeves, when Shuri spoke too enthusiastically. It was not Shuri's fault. Tribal traditionalists were a bunch of stiffs.

She considers heading back to Mount Bashenga, and her lab, daydreaming about the upgrades on the Black Panther's Kimoyo beads… when Shuri notices a figure moving in the thatching grass. He scoops a basket, tucking it comfortably against his hip.

The White Wolf, or so the River Tribe's children nickname him.

Captain America referred to him as "Bucky" when T'Challa escorted them into the Citadel… but, Shuri has decided to stick with "James" while encouraging his rehabilitation. James responds calmly to his first name spoken by her. He's been doing well.

As well as any man after a handful of brain surgeries and hours of cognitive therapy, she supposes.

Shuri has seen more than one of her subjects grapple with physical tasks after a long period of cryogenic sleep. James builds his own hut while living in the plains, lighting his own fires, growing and hunting for his own food without complaint.

A hard worker.

Respectful.

Quiet.

A little bit nervous with those he is not accustomed to… James flinches away from pregnant women and small children running around him and waving. Shuri does not believe he has fully recovered from what may linger as his emotional trauma.

(How many more broken white boys does T'Challa plan on giving her?)

"Princess," James greets her flatly as Shuri approaches through the high grass. For a moment, she catches his eyes flicking over her. The pastel-colored clay beads glint in her headdress and around her throat. "You look nice," he adds after a moment.

Sounds more like a question than an observation.

"Don't I always?"

When there's no response from him, Shuri's mouth twitches up.

"How are we feeling today, James?" she adds, going into her curious scientist mode. "You complained of a headache during your last visit."

James shakes his head.

"No headache."

In the distance, Shuri can hear the River Tribe's children splashing and laughing. Dogs barking. "The shoulder feels better though, I think," he rasps, automatically reaching for an arm that isn't there. "One of the villagers gave me something for inflammation."

Shuri isn't surprised to hear this.

River Village agreed eagerly when T'Challa requested for a piece of land for James to work. They adored their king and listened to his counsel and trusted him. They would let as many broken white boys as T'Challa requested into Wakanda if it helps.

"I am glad you are making friends here." Shuri says encouragingly, folding her arms, "This will benefit your recovery."

James' mouth quirks down.

"Friends?"

"Well… besides me, obviously," she tells him, flashing a wide and mischievous grin. Shuri's hands lift high, reaching for the back of her head and undoing the headdress. "Are we not friends? I have literally been inside your head with several medical instruments of my own invention. I have memorized every part of your cranium. What other friend of yours can say that?"

A low laugh rumbles out of James, and Shuri immediately feels a tingle of heat going down her belly.

"I guess I do trust you inside me…"

She nearly drops her elaborately ornate and beaded headdress.

Oh. Oh, Bast.

(Why did he have to say it like that?)

Shuri clears her throat, looking away with her eyes rounded. James doesn't appear to notice his innuendo, or her noticing his unnoticed innuendo, expressionlessly watching Shuri attempt to pull apart the knotted, clothed sash on her back.

Another tingle crawls up her spine when James stands beside her. He's close enough where Shuri can smell the centella on him. The basket of root potatoes left behind. James' fingers nudge aside hers, carefully tugging on the knot and slipping it free.

He unravels the deep gold sash, turning half a pace, opening up the silhouetted, patterned fabric-wrap to Shuri's dress.

There's nothing predatory or degrading in James helping her remove the outer cloth. She doubts he is even aware of how intimate this seems for two friends. Or perhaps James does know, and still won't treat a younger woman inappropriately…

It only makes Shuri more curious.

"Are you serious right now?" she announces, grinning and eyeing him with clear amusement as James blinks on her side. "What is your plan exactly? Getting me hot and bothered, and then doing absolutely nothing about it? Is that it?"

Finally, she recognizes the intrigue in his pale blue eyes.

Shuri takes her chance, picking up James' basket and humming merrily, walking to his hut.

There's no one out by the sun-drenched golden river. A sweet, green odor drifts in the air from the jackalberries and acacia trees. Inside the hut, Shuri gazes down to the reed-woven sleeping mat and tatters of blankets. With her headdress placed in the basket, she sets everything beside the hut's entrance, walking to James' mat. Footsteps thump behind her.

Making nearly flirtatious conversation seems to go over his head… so…

She clinches off the rest of her dress, pulling down the top-half and freeing her arms. Redness crawl up James's face.

He opens his mouth, and Shuri cuts him off with a kiss. Short and abrupt. His lips chapped, tightening when Shuri relaxes. Every bit of James against her chest feels like hardened muscle. Even though his makeshift, crimson-red shirt. Shuri's pulse jumps.

"Is this what you want, princess?" James murmurs, examining her close enough to brushes their mouths again.

Shuri rolls her eyes, smiling pleasantly. "I have told you over and over…" she says, untying the rope to James' waist, "that you can call me Shuri…" with a slow movement of her fingers until it loosens, "and apparently you have not been listening…"

He breathes a gust of a laugh.

James presses his lips to her neck, sliding a hand under Shuri's dress. His thumb hooks to her plain, white underwear.

He waits for her nod, slowly dragging down.

With one arm, he's unable to do her other side, and Shuri wordlessly helps, easing her own thumb into the fabric and yanking.

She quickly steps out of her underwear crumpling at her feet.

James' fingers return beneath her dress, sweeping over and admiring the hot, firm skin on Shuri's hip, treating her carefully.

Shuri has read the many case files about James Buchanan Barnes… the Winter Soldier… the White Wolf of the River Village… and she has read about the bodies that have fallen in his path. Her own father. She knows what any hand of his is capable of.

(That's why it is so important to reverse HYDRA's brainwashing.)

"You still with me, Shuri…?"

James' voice trickles into her hearing.

Hearing her own name on his lips… feels natural. Like he's been doing this the whole time.

Shuri feels that tingling of arousal lowering in her belly.

She opens her thighs apart while standing, wrapping her left arm to his neck and steadying herself on her tiptoes. His fingers give exploration over her vulva, rubbing gently and nudging towards her clit, earning him a panting moan.

James separates her folds, rubbing with a little more of that slow pressure. His bare skin slicks with dampness gathering on her vaginal entrance.

His name hisses out with Shuri's lips holding to his ear. James stifles a laugh, taking her weight effortlessly, sitting them down. There's no way Shuri can let anyone know about what happens now. Her Queen Mother would lecture her like she was still a teenager.

"… Is this us being friends if I get inside you?" he asks, whispering.

"For the record," Shuri whispers back, arching an eyebrow and kneeling over his lap. "I got there first."

.

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