Number Of Ships : Too Many To Count

Me getting ready to read a new 100k+ fic until 3am:

T'Challa knows that he shouldn’t want Erik so badly. His cousin. His own blood. His fellow alpha. 

But there’s an undeniable attraction from the moment that T'Challa first sets his eyes on Erik in the throne room.

Even with his hands cuffed behind his back, Erik exudes instinctive alpha charm and fearlessness. He is almost outrageously handsome, with his dreadlocks, sculpted muscles and capped golden canines. T'Challa wonders what those teeth will feel like, scraping against his own neck. 

He has never wanted anyone else as immediately, as badly, as appallingly as he wants Erik. 

T'Challa tries to resist it, of course. Deliberately antagonizes Erik, tries to wind him up. It’s trivially easy to do so. T'Challa steps too close into Erik’s personal space, gets right in his face. A couple of belittling comments (“I don’t care that you killed Klaue”), insults (“I will never let a crazy person like you take the throne”) and snide insinuations (“not our people”) later, and Erik is practically ready to tear T'Challa’s throat out, reacting instinctively to the presence of another aggressive alpha in his territory. 

But it doesn’t work. If anything, Erik is even more attractive when he’s furious at T'Challa. Murderous rage is a very good look on him. 

T'Challa burns with the desire to make Erik his. Burns with equal parts guilt and shame, for this desire. For what they’ve done to Erik, and what T'Challa, despite all their history, still wants to do to him.

In spite of the Queen Mother’s advice, T'Challa accepts Erik’s challenge for the throne.