[ It’s not that Peter doesn’t want to talk about it – because he does. He really does. He’s going insane trying to figure out where he stands in relation to the weird thing growing (festering?) between them. He knows what he wants – her – and he knows nothing can happen until they damn well talk about it, but—
Things keep happening. Which is to be expected when a guy and his friends become interplanetary heroes – you get called on for your services a lot. Those services typically involve a healthy (unhealthy?) dose of violence, but, hey. Don’t fix what ain’t broken, right?
Gamora keeps showing up in his room, which is fine. And sometimes, after particularly exhausting jobs, they wordlessly slog into the captain’s quarters together, flopping into bed and letting sleep claim them. And it’s not that it’s not nice (because it’s so nice), and it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it (because it’s awesome falling asleep wrapped in warmth and occasionally waking up in the same way). It’s that it’s confusing as hell, because it’s a sort of intimacy Peter’s never experienced before. In his head, everything about it screams sexual, because that’s all he knows; he’s seen romance in movies and TV and fairy tales, know what happily-ever-afters are supposed to look like in ideal situations, but all he’s done are quick, meaningless flings and one-night stands.
Falling into bed together? Usually sexual.
Falling into bed with Gamora? Not.
(Though not for lack of wanting, on Peter’s part.)
And that’s fine, really. It’s more than fine. Despite what the others might think, despite his track record to date, Peter does not need everything to lead to sex. But he still prefers some kind of structure, something concrete, so he can know where the hell this is going. Are they a couple? Are they not a couple? Are they working up to being a couple, or is this— it? This weird, in-between phase, where they dance around the idea of what they might be without ever giving it a name?
Peter wants more, because of course he does. He’s greedy and selfish, and after the shit with Ego, after losing Yondu, all he wants is to latch onto the people who mean the most to him and never let go. But that doesn’t mean he wants to force Gamora into anything she’s not comfortable with, so he keeps his mouth shut, forces himself to slow down to a crawl for her sake.
Peter wants Gamora. But if Gamora doesn’t want Peter— then at least he’d like to know so he can lick his wounds and try to move on.
It's bewildering. It’s frustrating. But there’s no time, never a good moment. And whenever Drax shoots him these weird looks, glancing between him and Gamora during mealtimes, Peter wants to slap Drax across the face and tell him to cut that shit out. That whatever Drax thinks he knows is wrong, because Peter and Gamora barely know what’s going on between them.
The moon smells of exhaust and ash, of metal and oil and smoke, and the instant they step foot on it, Peter deploys his newly remade mask, saving himself from sucking down lungfuls of smoke. The warehouse isn’t much better, when they step in, and Peter keeps both guns on hand, watching every shadow like it might jump to life at any moment.
When the report of gunfire rings out, Peter jerks to move out of the way – but it’s never quite fast enough. Luckily for him, Gamora is faster, and she yanks him into the cover of a solid, metal shipping crate. Bullets and plasma blasts hit the crate, pinging off every side except the one they’ve hunkered down behind, and Peter hisses out a swear. ]
I thought this guy was supposed to be bush-league?
[ Shouted over the gunfire. He’s waiting for the right moment to peek around cover and get his bearings, but the barrage is near constant, so far, and there’s little to do but wait.
Well. Wait, and hope that nothing gets through the crate, or that no one has the bright idea of firing on them from above. ]
no subject
Things keep happening. Which is to be expected when a guy and his friends become interplanetary heroes – you get called on for your services a lot. Those services typically involve a healthy (unhealthy?) dose of violence, but, hey. Don’t fix what ain’t broken, right?
Gamora keeps showing up in his room, which is fine. And sometimes, after particularly exhausting jobs, they wordlessly slog into the captain’s quarters together, flopping into bed and letting sleep claim them. And it’s not that it’s not nice (because it’s so nice), and it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it (because it’s awesome falling asleep wrapped in warmth and occasionally waking up in the same way). It’s that it’s confusing as hell, because it’s a sort of intimacy Peter’s never experienced before. In his head, everything about it screams sexual, because that’s all he knows; he’s seen romance in movies and TV and fairy tales, know what happily-ever-afters are supposed to look like in ideal situations, but all he’s done are quick, meaningless flings and one-night stands.
Falling into bed together? Usually sexual.
Falling into bed with Gamora? Not.
(Though not for lack of wanting, on Peter’s part.)
And that’s fine, really. It’s more than fine. Despite what the others might think, despite his track record to date, Peter does not need everything to lead to sex. But he still prefers some kind of structure, something concrete, so he can know where the hell this is going. Are they a couple? Are they not a couple? Are they working up to being a couple, or is this— it? This weird, in-between phase, where they dance around the idea of what they might be without ever giving it a name?
Peter wants more, because of course he does. He’s greedy and selfish, and after the shit with Ego, after losing Yondu, all he wants is to latch onto the people who mean the most to him and never let go. But that doesn’t mean he wants to force Gamora into anything she’s not comfortable with, so he keeps his mouth shut, forces himself to slow down to a crawl for her sake.
Peter wants Gamora. But if Gamora doesn’t want Peter— then at least he’d like to know so he can lick his wounds and try to move on.
It's bewildering. It’s frustrating. But there’s no time, never a good moment. And whenever Drax shoots him these weird looks, glancing between him and Gamora during mealtimes, Peter wants to slap Drax across the face and tell him to cut that shit out. That whatever Drax thinks he knows is wrong, because Peter and Gamora barely know what’s going on between them.
The moon smells of exhaust and ash, of metal and oil and smoke, and the instant they step foot on it, Peter deploys his newly remade mask, saving himself from sucking down lungfuls of smoke. The warehouse isn’t much better, when they step in, and Peter keeps both guns on hand, watching every shadow like it might jump to life at any moment.
When the report of gunfire rings out, Peter jerks to move out of the way – but it’s never quite fast enough. Luckily for him, Gamora is faster, and she yanks him into the cover of a solid, metal shipping crate. Bullets and plasma blasts hit the crate, pinging off every side except the one they’ve hunkered down behind, and Peter hisses out a swear. ]
I thought this guy was supposed to be bush-league?
[ Shouted over the gunfire. He’s waiting for the right moment to peek around cover and get his bearings, but the barrage is near constant, so far, and there’s little to do but wait.
Well. Wait, and hope that nothing gets through the crate, or that no one has the bright idea of firing on them from above. ]