[ Peter’s pretty sure he had a dream like this, once.
He wants to fidget under her gaze, wants to swallow around the lump of nervousness that’s suddenly manifested in his throat, but he tells himself he can do this. He’s danced this dance with tons of women, played hard to get, played at dominance, tried desperately to get the upper hand. This shouldn’t be any different, he tells himself, meeting her gaze.
(But it’s totally different. It’s completely different, because this is Gamora.) ]
I am not.
[ he protests, predictably. His eyes flit down to her hand, wrapped around his tie, and he arches an eyebrow. ]
no subject
He wants to fidget under her gaze, wants to swallow around the lump of nervousness that’s suddenly manifested in his throat, but he tells himself he can do this. He’s danced this dance with tons of women, played hard to get, played at dominance, tried desperately to get the upper hand. This shouldn’t be any different, he tells himself, meeting her gaze.
(But it’s totally different. It’s completely different, because this is Gamora.) ]
I am not.
[ he protests, predictably. His eyes flit down to her hand, wrapped around his tie, and he arches an eyebrow. ]
You... plan on giving that back, any time soon?