T'Challa was sorting his students homework sheets to take home and mark when the door to his classroom burst open, the History Teacher Steve Rogers all but running in with a look of desperation on his face.
The Physics Teacher sighed, realising Rogers would not leave until T'Challa had agreed to something.
"I need you to be my wingman."
By the Panther God, not again.
T'Challa had been a teacher at MARVEL School For The Gifted for ten years, and in that time he and Rogers had traded many favours. They weren't particularly close, colleagues but not friends per se. But Rogers had gone and fallen in love with the new teacher to join the staff. T'Challa had not yet met the Engineering and Mechanics Teacher, as the man had spent the first week of term excused from meetings to fix up the mess the previous instructor had left, and had been curious to see how much of the man's subjects would cross over into T'Challa's own.
As they made their way to the workshops, Rogers was waxing poetic.
"Seriously, he is just so beautiful, and he's got to be smart, what with him teaching two courses and all. I can't wait to meet him properly; I only caught sight of him by chance! Thanks so much for being my back-up T'Challa."
As stated, the two men were not friends, but Rogers was very... free with how he addressed and treated people. Normally, if Rogers was trying to impress someone, his go-to-man would be his old service buddy James Barnes, or his friend/therapist Sam Wilson. But impatience, or maybe just the fact that Rogers chosen interest was sometimes a teacher at MARVEL, had him come to T'Challa instead.
T'Challa sighed as they entered the workshops. Hopefully this would be over sooner then the mess with Ethics teacher Sharon Carter.
The first thing T'Challa noticed was the music.
Deep and loud, and rock. The sort of music with a deep beat that you felt pulse through the air, down to your very bones. T'Challa had to consciously stop his head from matching the beat, to focus on getting Rogers to at least speak a sentence to the new teacher before leaving the blond to his own devices.
Hey, he never claimed to be a good wingman.
Rogers opened the door to the classroom, causing the volume to rise as it was no longer distorted behind the walls. The volume was obviously a shock to Rogers, given the full bodied flinch the man suffered, but he soldiered on, entering the workshop and making his way to the radio, turning the music off.
"Hey! You do not interfere with a man's music!"
The sudden voice came from under the chassis of a '57 Corvette in one of the docks. T'Challa noted that it was a nice voice, deep and smooth, like a singer almost. It became a distant thought when the man in question came into view though.
'Strong' was the first thing that came to T'Challa's mind, eyes eagerly raking down the musculature of the man's arms, followed swiftly by 'Sleek', seeing just how snugly those jeans clung to the man's legs, and how perfectly painted on that tank top appeared. Dragging his gaze up, T'Challa was forced to swallow, lest he begin to drool.
Having saliva dripping from his chin was in no way acceptable as a first impression to the man with such perfect eyes.
Amber, like the whiskey or scotch his father occasionally drank, that amazing brown with flecks of gold littering their depths, so much so you couldn't imagine it any other way.
T'Challa swallowed once more. Rogers had called the newest staff member beautiful, but it would seem the history teacher had a gift of understatement when it came to the gorgeous man before them.
Rogers cleared his throat.
"I-I'm sorry, it's just- I'd like to- the thing is-I-"
And did that.
T'Challa took a silent breath in, slightly squaring his shoulders and straightening his back.
"We apologise for turning off the music, but we wished to introduce ourselves, and welcome you to MARVEL's staff number. I'm T'Challa, I teach Physics."
The gorgeous man smiles -and by the Panther God, no smile should look so perfect!- and extends his hand to shake T'Challa's, the grip strong and callused. Rogers gains his confidence just as a return introduction was to be made.
"Steve Rogers, History."
The blond practically snatches the hand still resting in T'Challa's, and shakes it almost violently. Their new colleague manages to break free of the no-doubt punishing grasp, curling and uncurling fingers slowly as the man looks warily at Rogers.
"Tony Stark, teaching Engineering and Mechanics. I can feel my fingers twinging! What the hell is with your strength?! That is insane!"
Tony doesn't even wait for Rogers to answer, turning to look back at T'Challa.
"You, physics, what animal is made up of Iron, Lithium and Neon?"
It is an odd question and T'Challa cannot think of any creature made of those three elements- oh. T'Challa smiles.
"A cat. Cute."
Rogers looks very confused, a fact that Tony notices as well, given that he sighs and turns to the blond.
"Iron, represented by the letters Fe. Lithium, Li. Neon by Ne. FeLiNe."
"Oh! That's really clever!"
Tony rolls his eyes, and T'Challa is hard pressed not to do the same. Maybe T'Challa's being a little unkind, given that Rogers is interested in Tony, but he would have been better off without that compliment. It's obvious he's trying too hard.
Tony moves over to the radio.
"It was nice meeting you both and all that jazz, but I've got to finish making sure this baby's ready for Monday, so please see yourselves out."
The music starts pumping once more, and T'Challa drags Rogers out before he can pitch a fit at the dismissal.
"T'Challa! You're supposed to help me impress him; not make me disappear!"
T'Challa shakes his head.
"He is preparing for his classes, we took up enough of his time. And I never claimed to be a good wingman, nor volunteered to be. In fact."
T'Challa can't help the smirk that curls his lips as he looks back at Rogers.
"I do believe I will be better served as your competition Rogers."
He can hear Rogers half choked stutters as he walks back to his classroom, already choosing how to ask Tony out.