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My love, Shuri had called him.
She had said it so easily, the two little words slipping from her mouth without a single care in the world.
Two simple words, and Namor had been absolutely, indubitably stunned.
My love, Shuri had said, will you hand me my beads?
She had not looked at him as she spoke, far too absorbed in her work. She was making adjustments to her Black Panther suit, trying to reinforce the vibranium to better withstand Talokan’s immense water pressure without compromising the suit's sleek and form fitting design. That was why Namor was visiting today, why he had pushed his duties off to Namora and Attuma for a little bit, because Shuri had asked for his input and Namor could never bring himself to say no to Wakanda’s Black Panther. She was entirely focused on the suit, hand outstretched as she waited for Namor to hand her what she had asked while she continued to work.
It had grown late—Wakanda had already fallen asleep, the Queen Mother bidding the two of them a final goodnight before leaving them in the lab with a stern look that made Namor nervous and Shuri roll her eyes.
Namor and Shuri seemed to be the only two left awake now, the only sound in the entirety of the Golden City coming from the two of them in quiet breaths and murmured words.
Namor had not reached for her kimoyo beads when Shuri asked for them, even though they were sitting just beside his thigh. He had not moved at all, staying perfectly still from where he sat up on one of the empty work tables—an undignified place to sit for a king, perhaps, but Namor never could seem to care about dignity when he was around Shuri.
Instead Namor had only looked at her, staring with wide eyes and lips that he was sure were parted in surprise.
My love Shuri had said.
She had said it like she had said it a million times before and not at all like it was the first time the words have ever left her lips, even though it was the first time she had spoken words such as this. She said it so sweetly, so quietly, so easily. Namor was not even sure that Shuri was aware she had even said it, because a moment later she looked up at him, head tilting like it always did when she was confused. Her lips pulled into a frown, her eyes crinkling in worry. And even though the lights of her lab were harsh and bright and horribly unflattering, and even though Shuri looked tired and exhausted and beautifully rumpled around the edges from spending the whole day in the lab, Namor thought she was–in this moment–the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
My love Shuri had said.
“Are you alright?”
Namor blinked.
“Yes.” He said quickly. He reached for her kimoyo beads, pressing them into her open palm. She had taken them off a while ago, a sly smile on her face as she set them beside Namor, ignoring the way they rang and rang from too many incoming calls. Shuri’s hands were warm from hours spent holding things, her fingers calloused from years of work. Namor had never quite realized just how many scars and stories Shuri held on her hands until moments like this. Carefully, so carefully, he closed her fingers over the beads, ducking his head down to press a kiss to her knuckles, over the scars that were covered with ink. “My apologies, princess. I was lost in thought.”
“I can see that.” Shuri’s lips twitched up in a smile. Inquisitive. Teasing. His favorite smile. “Care to share?”
My love Shuri had said.
“Did you mean it?” Namor asked before he could think any better of it. He let go of her hand, his own still hovering between them. “What you said?”
“That I wanted my kimoyo beads?” She asked it with a pleasant lilt in her voice, light and teasing with a hint of laughter at the back of her throat.
Namor wondered that if he kissed her enough he could drag her laughter out and listen to it spill across this empty room, if he could fill the silent Wakandan nights with the Black Panther’s laughter.
He thought that he wanted to try.
Shuri was standing between his legs now, the kimoyo beads held loosely between her fingers and blinking beautiful colors from all her missed calls. Like this Namor had to tilt his head up to properly look at her. It felt fitting. It felt right. He should always be looking up to Shuri, he thought, nothing more than a god on his knees because even gods had to worship things. Namor pressed a soft kiss to her collarbone, the dirt stained tank top she wore cut low enough for him to do so. She smelled like sweet river flowers and bitter cacao. Namor felt dizzy with her scent and desperately wanted more. He slowly worked his way up, kissing along her neck and jaw until she was giggling. Shuri’s laughter was a siren’s song all on its own. “K’uk’ulkan, my love—“
“That.” Namor said suddenly, pulling back. “What you just said. Did you mean that?”
Shuri blinked at him, tilting her head again.
Namor settled his hands on her waist, suddenly afraid that she might leave.
“K’uk’ulkan,” she repeated, a smile spreading across her lips like sweet honey. Namor loved this smile too. “My love,” Shuri set her beads back on the table, lifting her hands to work those slim scared fingers through his hair. Namor’s breath caught in his throat as he leaned into the touch. She was always so warm. So still and solid and Namor had never known what it was like to have someone so still and solid beside him like this. Someone he could lean on, who would take his weight without thought like Shuri was doing now. “Of course I meant it.”
Namor forced air though his lungs and throat and mouth, his whole body shuddering with the movement.
He ducked his head down, holding so tight to Shuri as he pressed himself against her chest, trying to gather himself while Shuri hummed something soft and continued working her fingers through his hair.
My love Shuri had said.
“But I–” Namor started, then fell silent, not sure what to even say.
He clung to Shuri, closed his eyes and took in her scent and let himself fall to his knees so that he could be held up by his worship.
Without love.
That was what that man had said to him so long ago.
That he was without love.
And as much as Namor had tried to forget the man’s words, to twist them to be something else, he never really could. So he had embraced it like he had embraced everything else.
And Shuri had just torn it all down with two little words.
My love, Shuri had said.
“It’s not true,” Shuri murmured. Like she could read his thoughts, like she knew what he was thinking, she pulled him closer. Her cheek fell atop his head, one hand gently cupping the back of his neck while the other continued to work through his hair. “You are not without love,” she hummed something soft, lifting her head just enough to press a kiss to his temple. “You are K’uk’ulkan. My love.”
K’uk’ulkan.
The Black Panther’s love.
Yes, Namor thought. That sounded right.