Work Text:
Okoye rested side lying on the couch, snug underneath a blanket, in front of a fire burning on the hearth adjacent to the entrance of her living room. Her head was elevated on a pillow as her legs stretched out partially, knees slightly bent, on the cushions along side her. A glass of wine sat on the couch’s end table and her stomach was pleasantly full, having been treated to a decadent vegetable and seafood stew Attuma had cooked the previous night.
The man, who’d taken possession of her heart, was away for the evening, tasked with patrols, leaving her free to do as she pleased. Choices plentiful, she’d settled on reading a book while basking in the satisfaction of a productive day. That may have been boring to some but was just what her spirit needed, battered as it’d been by life’s chaotic happenings.
Wakanda currently found itself in a moment of peace, brokered by the treaty with Talokan, but conflict was on the horizon from the Western Nations. Okoye could feel it in her bones, her instincts honed from years of acting as General of the Dora Milaje, but she tucked those grim sentiments away. Her nights were no longer for anxious thoughts.
Engrossing herself in a book, Okoye bundled herself further under her fluffy blanket, bringing its edges up to her chin. She’d been meaning to read the mystery novel for a while now but hadn’t had the time. Her daylight hours were filled with training in her Midnight Angel suit, tending to her garden and rhinos, and, as a whole, negotiating her new life without her title of General. While the other hours were consumed by Attuma. The man was insatiable, in the best way possible, and had quickly become one of her main sources of contentment. He'd asked that she shine her light on him, but he’d been the one to illuminate her life.
Dozing off, lulled into a light slumber by the warmth of the fire and slight buzz from the wine, she was jerked awake by the sound of Attuma slamming his way into the house. She lifted her head in his direction but didn’t rise from the couch. Her view was limited, blocked by the edge of the archway, but she watched as he muttered to himself while discarding his armor and weapon on their posts near the front entrance.
She’d gone to lengths to make him feel welcome in her home, which had been accustom to a single occupant, by making space for his things. She’d sought his input on the decorative changes she’d decided to make, and incorporated a few touches from his home nation, the hammock currently hanging on her back porch and jade accents found throughout the house not choices she would’ve made before making his acquaintance. They hadn’t been together for more than a couple months but her place was rapidly transforming into theirs.
Disarmed, Attuma continued his muttering as he made his way into the living room. His movements were agitated as he gestured in time to the words Okoye was unable to pick up. He stopped briefly to greet her hello by pressing his forehead to hers and caressing her cheek. The tender touch was broken when he stepped back to make the rest of his way to the bathroom, his utterances resuming.
Okoye had never seen him in such a state. Worry begun to creep into her mind, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that Attuma would come to her when he was ready. She’d found that, in their private relationship, he was an open book, straightforward and never averse to sharing his honest opinions. It was refreshing and drove her to do the same, at ease due to his steadfast nature.
She returned to her book; the sleep having left her eyes. Turning page after page, she leaned in, absorbed as a suspenseful scene begun.
She was again interrupted by Attuma. This time he barreled into the room, heading straight for her before pulling the blanket from her body and rearranging her legs and torso so that he could rest in her lap.
Smiling, Okoye allowed herself to be moved. She enjoyed the feel of Attuma’s calloused hands as he gripped and released her body. She found his size and ability to manhandle her attractive, especially when it wasn’t used against her in battle, which had been the case for months now.
His maneuvering left her seated upright with her thighs pillowing his head as opposed to on her side as she had been. Attuma’s body now stretch along the length of the couch, his faced pressed into her stomach and hands gathered near his chest. His fingertips tangled in the edge of her shirt. Okoye adjusted to the change in position with no fuss, lifting her legs to rest on the ottoman situated in front of the seat.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” She asked as she ran the hand that wasn’t holding her book through his hair. She massaged his scalp, letting the tips of her fingers and nails gently dig and knead into his skin, the way he liked, before trailing through the length. It was damp from his shower, but she didn’t mind as the warmth of his body and the fire kept the chill away.
“No,” he mumbled into her abdomen, appearing miserable as he buried his face in deeper. His rebreather pushed into her but wasn’t uncomfortable, its surface not as rough as it seemed.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Her reply was accompanied by the uninterrupted movement of her hand playing through the strands of his hair. Okoye was suddenly struck with the desire to braid it, but tabled that want for another day. Her book was really getting good.
“I lost a wager with Namora and must now submit to her cutting my hair.” Attuma finally confessed, tone unhappy as he turned his face from her midsection to glance up at her face.
Okoye’s hand fisted in his hair but relaxed as her surprise passed. She loved Attuma’s hair, relishing in its soft strands as it fell around her when he was on top during sex. She appreciated its strength when she clenched it in bunches while his mouth worked the area between her thighs, and, on more innocent occasions, savored in its masculine scent when she hugged him from behind as he cooked in the kitchen or stood outside admiring Wakanda’s setting sun. She would miss his flowing tresses, though there was a small part of her curious as to what he’d look like without his signature hair.
“What a pair we make. I’ve decided to let my hair grow after years of keeping a shaved head, and now you’ve lost your hair to a bet.” She almost laughed, but held in the sound at his distressed look. “What was the wager?”
“I do not wish to say,” he replied then pressed back into her stomach.
That made Okoye arch a brow, but she didn’t pry, trusting him to his secret.
“Maybe I’ll ask Namora to save me the strands so that I can have a wig made,” she joked, twirling said strands around her fingers. “At least that way it’ll stay close to you.” She snorted, releasing a small burst of laughter before choking it back at Attuma’s glare.
“I’m sorry,” she sobered. “If it’ll make you feel better, you’ll always be handsome to me, hair or no hair.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead, moving her hand from the top of his head to rest against what she could of his cheek with his rebreather in the way.
“That does bring me comfort,” he conceded. Mood lifting, he carefully removed his breathing apparatus to place his lips on hers. The kiss was sweet, Attuma’s tongue caressing hers until they both ran out of oxygen.
Replacing his rebreather, Attuma further revealed, “Namora has promised to weave the strands into a necklace to wear about her neck so as to forever remind me of my defeat. I do not believe she would spare you any for the creation of your wig.”
Okoye cackled, her hands fisting in his shirt as her head tipped forward into his chest.
She couldn’t see it but heard the smile in his voice when he said, “It thrills my heart that my misery has brought you such joyous laughter,” before his hands descended upon her, fingers wiggling to pluck more of the jubilant sounds from her.