![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[ He huffs out a laugh, folding up the towel, just to give his hands something to do. ]
Considering the state of my bed back home, anything would be more comfortable. I could sleep on the floor and probably be happy.
[ He sets the towel aside, rubbing at the back of his neck. ]
You need a hand with anything?
Considering the state of my bed back home, anything would be more comfortable. I could sleep on the floor and probably be happy.
[ He sets the towel aside, rubbing at the back of his neck. ]
You need a hand with anything?
No, I should be fine.
[ It's a more genuine "fine" than before, if only because she can't think for herself what else she might need. ]
If I don't wake on my own, come get me when they bring breakfast.
[ ... It's supposed to sound like a request, but Gamora isn't great with those. ]
[ It's a more genuine "fine" than before, if only because she can't think for herself what else she might need. ]
If I don't wake on my own, come get me when they bring breakfast.
[ ... It's supposed to sound like a request, but Gamora isn't great with those. ]
[ He pauses at that, lips pressing together briefly.
(So, what, he's downgraded from fucktoy to servant, now?)
Then, ]
Yeah. Okay.
[ A little blandly.
He retrieves his phone, his Walkman, and a blanket before heading toward the living room. He pauses, in the doorway, turning back to her. ]
Just shout if you need anything, I guess.
(So, what, he's downgraded from fucktoy to servant, now?)
Then, ]
Yeah. Okay.
[ A little blandly.
He retrieves his phone, his Walkman, and a blanket before heading toward the living room. He pauses, in the doorway, turning back to her. ]
Just shout if you need anything, I guess.
[ A Resistance pilot and a smuggler walk into a bar.
There isn't really a joke attached. It's just an observation.
It's happened more than a few times, actually, that a Resistance pilot and a smuggler walk into a bar. Sometimes on official business, complete with sitting back to back in different booths, pretending not to know one another. Peter's good at what he does, and while he wades deeply in that pleasant gray area of morality and legality, he's never been able to squash that desire to do the right thing.
Which, sometimes, means getting the Resistance some really neat guns.
Other times, they meet completely on accident, when they'd crow with surprise and delight when spotting the other, being about the least inconspicuous two people could possibly be. Occasionally, that meant embarrassing one another in front of colleagues, personal or professional, but things were usually forgiven by the time the drinks started flowing again.
And other times, like this time, it's completely on purpose.
They grab a drink, going through the usual pleasantries. Shit like "Still not dead yet, huh?" Or "Any new scars?" Or, occasionally from Poe to Peter, the latter of whom is almost perpetually on the edge of broke, "Do you even have enough credits for that drink?"
They take stock of one another, update one another on their lives (in the vaguest terms possible to account for prying eyes and ears), and get pleasantly buzzed. Then, they slam into one of their ships or hotel rooms or personal quarters or whatever and really start the night.
They barge into Peter's ship, mouths practically locked together, chasing after the lingering taste of alcohol. As they stumble aboard, Peter flails slightly for the door controls. His hand finds the switch, and the doors obligingly hiss as they shut behind them. That done, he immediately moves to shove off Poe's jacket. ]
We got till sunrise, Dameron.
[ Which is when Peter absolutely has to leave to make his next assignment. ]
There isn't really a joke attached. It's just an observation.
It's happened more than a few times, actually, that a Resistance pilot and a smuggler walk into a bar. Sometimes on official business, complete with sitting back to back in different booths, pretending not to know one another. Peter's good at what he does, and while he wades deeply in that pleasant gray area of morality and legality, he's never been able to squash that desire to do the right thing.
Which, sometimes, means getting the Resistance some really neat guns.
Other times, they meet completely on accident, when they'd crow with surprise and delight when spotting the other, being about the least inconspicuous two people could possibly be. Occasionally, that meant embarrassing one another in front of colleagues, personal or professional, but things were usually forgiven by the time the drinks started flowing again.
And other times, like this time, it's completely on purpose.
They grab a drink, going through the usual pleasantries. Shit like "Still not dead yet, huh?" Or "Any new scars?" Or, occasionally from Poe to Peter, the latter of whom is almost perpetually on the edge of broke, "Do you even have enough credits for that drink?"
They take stock of one another, update one another on their lives (in the vaguest terms possible to account for prying eyes and ears), and get pleasantly buzzed. Then, they slam into one of their ships or hotel rooms or personal quarters or whatever and really start the night.
They barge into Peter's ship, mouths practically locked together, chasing after the lingering taste of alcohol. As they stumble aboard, Peter flails slightly for the door controls. His hand finds the switch, and the doors obligingly hiss as they shut behind them. That done, he immediately moves to shove off Poe's jacket. ]
We got till sunrise, Dameron.
[ Which is when Peter absolutely has to leave to make his next assignment. ]
[ Poe definitely, absolutely, as much as possible avoids sharing details about his career choices before he joined the New Republic's navy. Partially, because he just doesn't spill his history freely, and also partially because he made some very poor (very illegal) decisions about the kind of folks he rolled with. "Where'd you learn to fly like that?" was a question he heard frequently, something he'd laugh off and deflect, maybe share a hint more with the people he cared about – but even they only heard the safer line, the one about his first flights in the cockpit with his mom. He absolutely never came right out with, "Well, smuggling is just about as likely to get you shot out of the sky as it is to end with a sweet payout. You learn some crazy maneuvers trying to avoid the former."
Legality notwithstanding, Poe can at least turn over his more promising contacts to General Organa; he just has to remember which ones would be open to lending the Resistance a hand and which ones he may or may not have screwed out of a few hundred credits once upon a time.
Some people just can't let shit go.
Fortunately for the Resistance (and Poe's sex life), Peter Quill is one of those reliable contacts who's really come through in these trying times.
However, when work doesn't demand that they sort through business, Poe can't really ask for a better drinking buddy or companion to blow off a little steam.
He's buzzing with the last brandy he'd pounded on the way out of the bar, his belly burning pleasantly from the drink and the deeper, building heat that comes from frantically kissing Peter. It's been a minute since he found the time for some stress relief, and what's more welcome than the gorgeous guy currently shoving his jacket off his shoulders? Poe lets the brown leather hit the deck, only allowing that brief moment to separate him from Peter.
He dives back in and buries his grin against the grit of Peter's beard, nipping at his jaw in between words. ]
Sunrise or noon? Because I don't think a few hours is gonna make that much of a difference.
Legality notwithstanding, Poe can at least turn over his more promising contacts to General Organa; he just has to remember which ones would be open to lending the Resistance a hand and which ones he may or may not have screwed out of a few hundred credits once upon a time.
Some people just can't let shit go.
Fortunately for the Resistance (and Poe's sex life), Peter Quill is one of those reliable contacts who's really come through in these trying times.
However, when work doesn't demand that they sort through business, Poe can't really ask for a better drinking buddy or companion to blow off a little steam.
He's buzzing with the last brandy he'd pounded on the way out of the bar, his belly burning pleasantly from the drink and the deeper, building heat that comes from frantically kissing Peter. It's been a minute since he found the time for some stress relief, and what's more welcome than the gorgeous guy currently shoving his jacket off his shoulders? Poe lets the brown leather hit the deck, only allowing that brief moment to separate him from Peter.
He dives back in and buries his grin against the grit of Peter's beard, nipping at his jaw in between words. ]
Sunrise or noon? Because I don't think a few hours is gonna make that much of a difference.
Sunrise.
[ And he says it firmly, though there's a shadow of something that almost sounds like an apology. ]
Already cutting it a little close with that. I should probably be leaving now.
[ He lets out a quick, shuddering breath at the light drag of Poe's teeth against the line of his jaw, though the sound quickly turns into a laugh. With Poe's jacket taken care of, Peter works on his own next. ]
Promise I'll make it worth your while.
[ And he says it firmly, though there's a shadow of something that almost sounds like an apology. ]
Already cutting it a little close with that. I should probably be leaving now.
[ He lets out a quick, shuddering breath at the light drag of Poe's teeth against the line of his jaw, though the sound quickly turns into a laugh. With Poe's jacket taken care of, Peter works on his own next. ]
Promise I'll make it worth your while.
You usually do.
[ Though the teasing tone implies something a little more concrete; the only thing Poe has ever regretted after a night with Peter is a hangover.
He draws back just enough to see Peter’s own jacket hit the floor, and then his hands find Peter’s hips, sliding appreciatively up under the other man’s shirt. ]
You sure I shouldn’t just be lettin’ you get your beauty sleep?
[ He says that, but one hand ducks out of Peter’s shirt, up to cup the nape of his neck and drag him down into another kiss. ]
[ Though the teasing tone implies something a little more concrete; the only thing Poe has ever regretted after a night with Peter is a hangover.
He draws back just enough to see Peter’s own jacket hit the floor, and then his hands find Peter’s hips, sliding appreciatively up under the other man’s shirt. ]
You sure I shouldn’t just be lettin’ you get your beauty sleep?
[ He says that, but one hand ducks out of Peter’s shirt, up to cup the nape of his neck and drag him down into another kiss. ]
Edited 2020-01-15 10:21 (UTC)
[ He hums, appreciating the warm, calloused palms sliding over his bare skin, drinking down the faint taste of brandy. (“Classy bastard,” Peter had teased when Poe ordered the drink. “Can’t just have something simple, can you?”) He pulls Poe toward him, hands bracketing the other man’s hips.
At his question, Peter huffs out a laugh, biting lightly at Poe’s lower lip. ]
Yeah. ‘Cause I’d have a real easy job of falling asleep after this.
At his question, Peter huffs out a laugh, biting lightly at Poe’s lower lip. ]
Yeah. ‘Cause I’d have a real easy job of falling asleep after this.
[ A rumble of approval accompanies the graze of Peter's teeth, and Poe's broad grin is much more obvious. ]
I guess this might get a little distracting.
[ He punctuates his tease by letting his other hand drop out from under Peter's shirt, sliding between them to palm Peter through his jeans. ]
I guess this might get a little distracting.
[ He punctuates his tease by letting his other hand drop out from under Peter's shirt, sliding between them to palm Peter through his jeans. ]
[ He bites down on the please sound that wants to escape him, as his hips rock involuntarily into Poe's palm.
It's been a while since he and Poe last fucked – and when they did, it tended to be a very good time. He's been looking forward to this since he landed. ]
A little, he says.
[ It's a good-natured sort of grumbling, though, as he grabs a fistful of Poe's shirt, maneuvering backwards as he drags the other man along. ]
We've got a time limit, here.
It's been a while since he and Poe last fucked – and when they did, it tended to be a very good time. He's been looking forward to this since he landed. ]
A little, he says.
[ It's a good-natured sort of grumbling, though, as he grabs a fistful of Poe's shirt, maneuvering backwards as he drags the other man along. ]
We've got a time limit, here.
[ Poe knows Peter well enough to know the grumbling for what it is, and if anything, it makes Poe's grin all the wider. He follows along without complaint (though he leaves Peter's crotch to grab his hip, trying to more elegantly keep his balance). ]
You're talkin' like we've got thirty minutes, not six hours, starboy.
[ Look, Poe knows it's "Star-Lord," and he will 100% use Peter's callsign professionally.
But sometimes he's going to mess with this motherfuckin' starboy.
Poe winds his fingers in Peter's hair at the back of his skull, scritching affectionately across his scalp as he leans up to catch Peter's lips again, nipping him back because he can. ]
You're talkin' like we've got thirty minutes, not six hours, starboy.
[ Look, Poe knows it's "Star-Lord," and he will 100% use Peter's callsign professionally.
But sometimes he's going to mess with this motherfuckin' starboy.
Poe winds his fingers in Peter's hair at the back of his skull, scritching affectionately across his scalp as he leans up to catch Peter's lips again, nipping him back because he can. ]
Star-Lord.
[ The correction is practically automatic, lacking his usual defensiveness. It helps that he's used to Poe messing with him; if it were anyone else, he'd be far more insistent and far more annoyed.
They pause in their progress to Peter's quarters, and Peter leans down to meet Poe halfway, claiming his mouth again. It's heated, insistent, eager, and Peter slides his hands beneath Poe's shirt. Unlike Poe, it's not much of a tease, but a pretty solid direction.
Shirts off, please. ]
[ The correction is practically automatic, lacking his usual defensiveness. It helps that he's used to Poe messing with him; if it were anyone else, he'd be far more insistent and far more annoyed.
They pause in their progress to Peter's quarters, and Peter leans down to meet Poe halfway, claiming his mouth again. It's heated, insistent, eager, and Peter slides his hands beneath Poe's shirt. Unlike Poe, it's not much of a tease, but a pretty solid direction.
Shirts off, please. ]
[ Poe can, fortunately, take direction well. He's reluctant to release Peter, reluctant to break the kiss, but he finally does so, dropping his hands from Peter to grab the hem of his own shirt. The shirt goes up, tossed off to the side, and Poe couldn't give two fucks about where it ends up.
His curly hair bounces back, sticking out all over the place, but his grin hasn't faded as he gives Peter an expectant little nod. ]
I'm pretty sure you should just walk around without a shirt at all times.
His curly hair bounces back, sticking out all over the place, but his grin hasn't faded as he gives Peter an expectant little nod. ]
I'm pretty sure you should just walk around without a shirt at all times.
[ Peter follows suit, tugging off his shirt and tossing it away to be discovered somewhere later.
(It's not the first time he's done that, and neither will it be his last.
At some point, he may find all his lost, discarded shirts, strewn about his ship. Today will not be that day. Neither will tomorrow, or the day after that, in all likelihood.) ]
Impractical.
[ He says it as he's closing the space between them again, fingers tangling into Poe's slightly unruly curls. ]
Wearing my jacket without a shirt would chafe something awful.
[ Because that's the main concern, obviously. ]
(It's not the first time he's done that, and neither will it be his last.
At some point, he may find all his lost, discarded shirts, strewn about his ship. Today will not be that day. Neither will tomorrow, or the day after that, in all likelihood.) ]
Impractical.
[ He says it as he's closing the space between them again, fingers tangling into Poe's slightly unruly curls. ]
Wearing my jacket without a shirt would chafe something awful.
[ Because that's the main concern, obviously. ]
[ Poe is 100% not above greedily reaching for Peter as soon as he has access. His palms smooth over Peter's lats, down his ribs to appreciatively smooth his thumbs over the dips and ridges of the other man's well-defined muscles. Poe isn't a slouch, by any means, but he's not exactly cut the way Peter manages.
That just means Poe gets to enjoy it all the more when they hook up. ]
Sacrifices must be made.
[ He clicks his tongue. ]
For the greater good, obviously.
That just means Poe gets to enjoy it all the more when they hook up. ]
Sacrifices must be made.
[ He clicks his tongue. ]
For the greater good, obviously.
[ He snorts out a laugh, but rather than respond properly, he drags Poe (finally) toward his quarters.
Peter's ship is a small, retrofitted freighter – practically a must for any smuggler worth their salt – originally meant for a crew of at least three, but heavily modified for Peter to pilot alone. Mostly because he doesn't trust anyone else with his baby. And also because he wanted to use the spare bunks for storage and sundries.
They finally reach his room; his work area is a mess of salvaged parts and half-repaired weaponry. Thankfully, he tucked it all to one side, knowing that he'd be in a hurry and wanting to prevent tripping over something and accidentally setting off a dodgy blaster.
He turns back toward Poe again, hands finding his sides and sliding down toward his hips. ]
Anything still fresh?
[ Injuries, he means. Areas he needs to avoid, like deep bruises or newly healed wounds.
Given the shit they get up to, one or both of them tends to get a little roughed up. ]
Peter's ship is a small, retrofitted freighter – practically a must for any smuggler worth their salt – originally meant for a crew of at least three, but heavily modified for Peter to pilot alone. Mostly because he doesn't trust anyone else with his baby. And also because he wanted to use the spare bunks for storage and sundries.
They finally reach his room; his work area is a mess of salvaged parts and half-repaired weaponry. Thankfully, he tucked it all to one side, knowing that he'd be in a hurry and wanting to prevent tripping over something and accidentally setting off a dodgy blaster.
He turns back toward Poe again, hands finding his sides and sliding down toward his hips. ]
Anything still fresh?
[ Injuries, he means. Areas he needs to avoid, like deep bruises or newly healed wounds.
Given the shit they get up to, one or both of them tends to get a little roughed up. ]
[ As much as Poe might enjoy making out in the various ins and outs of Peter's ship, he's much more excited about finally arriving at the guy's quarters (a space he knows well, by now). Unfortunately, Poe's ship isn't exactly an option, since he almost exclusively travels in his X-wing. His starfighter is fast, efficient, and hits like a motherfucker, but the cockpit is far from ideal for getting laid.
Like, they could probably do it, but it wouldn't be worth the effort.
He quickly appraises Peter's quarters (to make sure he won't trip over anything), before he refocuses on the broad hands running down his hips. ]
Left shoulder blade.
[ It's honest, matter-of-fact. Peter's going to see the blooming bruises spanning over his shoulder, edging down his back, so there's no point lying about it. ]
You?
[ He asks, to be sure, but he helps himself to Peter's exposed chest again, running over the planes of skin he can see unmarred by much more than scars of varying ages. ]
Like, they could probably do it, but it wouldn't be worth the effort.
He quickly appraises Peter's quarters (to make sure he won't trip over anything), before he refocuses on the broad hands running down his hips. ]
Left shoulder blade.
[ It's honest, matter-of-fact. Peter's going to see the blooming bruises spanning over his shoulder, edging down his back, so there's no point lying about it. ]
You?
[ He asks, to be sure, but he helps himself to Peter's exposed chest again, running over the planes of skin he can see unmarred by much more than scars of varying ages. ]
Actually, I'm totally good.
[ Which is an absolute shock for both of them, given how accident-prone Peter tends to be.
He's had great luck lately, it would seem.
He flashes a crooked smile, tugging Poe toward him again. ]
So try not to mark me up too much, Dameron.
[ Which is an absolute shock for both of them, given how accident-prone Peter tends to be.
He's had great luck lately, it would seem.
He flashes a crooked smile, tugging Poe toward him again. ]
So try not to mark me up too much, Dameron.
[ Poe's eyebrows wing up immediately, and the surprise seems only slightly exaggerated. ]
Damn, Quill. You must have taken some time off.
[ His palms skirt up Peter's shoulders, kneading as he presses closer, the warmth of Peter's chest humming through him. ]
So... You're telling me not to send you off covered in hickeys?
Damn, Quill. You must have taken some time off.
[ His palms skirt up Peter's shoulders, kneading as he presses closer, the warmth of Peter's chest humming through him. ]
So... You're telling me not to send you off covered in hickeys?
[ He looks thoughtful for a second, then, ]
I mean, maybe not big ones.
[ Let's be reasonable.
He nudges Poe toward the bed. ]
You're already banged up, though. A half-dozen more probably won't make a difference.
I mean, maybe not big ones.
[ Let's be reasonable.
He nudges Poe toward the bed. ]
You're already banged up, though. A half-dozen more probably won't make a difference.
Oh, so I have to behave myself, and you've got a free pass?
[ Despite his complaints, he shuffles back with Peter, until he feels his calves bump into the edge of Peter's mattress. He plops down without prompting, his hands immediately dropping to Peter's waistband. The bed is overall a great plan, but this happens to have the benefit of putting Poe eye level with Peter's crotch, and Poe doesn't hesitate to pop his fly. ]
That doesn't sound all that fair, if you ask me.
[ Despite his complaints, he shuffles back with Peter, until he feels his calves bump into the edge of Peter's mattress. He plops down without prompting, his hands immediately dropping to Peter's waistband. The bed is overall a great plan, but this happens to have the benefit of putting Poe eye level with Peter's crotch, and Poe doesn't hesitate to pop his fly. ]
That doesn't sound all that fair, if you ask me.
It's plenty fair.
[ This, as he's carding his fingers through Poe's hair, careful with whatever tangles he runs into. A common consequence of the two of them getting a few rounds together – they tend to get handsy, tend to get rough, though not in a lewd way. Usually it's a bit of play-fighting, a bit of playful shoves or headlocks.
(... Sometimes it's lewd. But that's usually when they get deep in the cups.) ]
We both know you'd hate it if I treated you like porcelain.
[ This, as he's carding his fingers through Poe's hair, careful with whatever tangles he runs into. A common consequence of the two of them getting a few rounds together – they tend to get handsy, tend to get rough, though not in a lewd way. Usually it's a bit of play-fighting, a bit of playful shoves or headlocks.
(... Sometimes it's lewd. But that's usually when they get deep in the cups.) ]
We both know you'd hate it if I treated you like porcelain.
Uh, yeah.
[ In fact, that would be the exact opposite of Poe's idea of a good time.
Slow and tender isn't really his style.
He rumbles with quiet approval as Peter's fingers wind through his hair, and he leans in, dropping eager, open-mouthed kisses over Peter's belly. He's not taking his time, exactly, but he's also not diving straight down Peter's cock as he unzips the other man's pants, nudging them open for better access. ]
But what if I get carried away?
[ He chuckles against Peter's skin, drawing down his boxers to bare his cock – a familiar and absolutely welcome sight. ]
[ In fact, that would be the exact opposite of Poe's idea of a good time.
Slow and tender isn't really his style.
He rumbles with quiet approval as Peter's fingers wind through his hair, and he leans in, dropping eager, open-mouthed kisses over Peter's belly. He's not taking his time, exactly, but he's also not diving straight down Peter's cock as he unzips the other man's pants, nudging them open for better access. ]
But what if I get carried away?
[ He chuckles against Peter's skin, drawing down his boxers to bare his cock – a familiar and absolutely welcome sight. ]
Page 60 of 76