(don't forget to swipe left for the early 2000s ambiance.)
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"How long are you gonna stare at me?"
Pausing your routine, you turn the ottoman you've been sitting on to address N'Jadaka in the doorway. He seems to be in a pissy mood that you didn't give him any in the shower, but you made it clear you were still sore from last night, but greedy men like him want what they want. Eventually you made him turn away from you, because if you're being honest washing yourself is probably the least sexy thing in the world.
You just know he was expecting some steamy slow motion view of you lathering soap all over yourself but that's for the girls on tv that don't use washcloths.
The plan for Halloween is to meet up with your girls at around noon, fully dressed in your costumes and just hang out around the city. You'd decided immediately that y'all weren't going to wait until the middle of the night to put on your costumes just to go to a dark club; you want to be seen and see everyone else.
Besides, there are plenty of daytime activities taking place for adults as well and you'd rather be all the way indoors once the sun sets. People act crazy and it's a full moon tonight.
N'Jadaka is still staring you down when you go back to sifting through your makeup bag, line of sight directly on your cotton boyshorts as you stand up. You have to laugh when he steps up behind you, putting a hand around to your stomach and pressing your body to his.
T'Challa's insistence that N'Jadaka loves you is still fresh in your mind and you let out a shaky sigh, suddenly very warm. You don't know why that makes you nervous, but it does, and you gently bump him away with a forced giggle.
"Leave me alone!" you go, sitting back down. "Let me finish this."
It's hard to focus on anything with the way he's breathing behind you, or with the way he's looking at you with this predatory look on his face. Moreso than usual, ever since he came back from Wakanda and you wonder if it's because of what T'Challa told you earlier. Some kind of 'herb,' but you don't know what that means.
He growls, "Shit," in your ear and you have to put down your eyebrow gel to look over at him in surprise.
"N....yo," you go, laughing incredulously. He sounds mad with desire. "You can't wait until tonight? I know it's good but...come on. Don't act like a nympho."
"I'm about to bend you over this goddamn counter," is all he says, eyes closed. He's doing that low 'hmm' sound in his chest every time he breaths in and when you hit him on the chest, alarmed, it's like he snaps back to reality. "My bad."
"What the hell-"
"You smell good," is all he says, looking down at you, puzzled. "Real good."
You frown, afraid to ask about the 'heart-shaped herbs' and their affects on those who consume them. T'Challa mentioned vaguely the panther goddess, and you wonder if there's some sort of animalistic side-effect to it's benefits. Because N'Jadaka hasn't asked about the nature of your conversation with his cousin, you haven't said, afraid he'll be upset that you know what happened to him.
A part of you thinks he can tell, because you think that you see him differently and maybe he can sense that. That maybe he can see it in your eyes.
It's hard not to melt when he presses his face into your neck, and hard to breathe when he pulls you so close into him you feel like you're floating. He's not the type to hug you like this, only coming close when he comes up behind you to grab your ass. It's sad as all hell, and considering how warm he is he could benefit from acting like he cares to touch you in non-sexual ways. Using your butt as a pillow doesn't count.
