[ fortunately for gamora, peter does a solid job warding off the officer, and she manages to find a quiet spot down the hall, away from the foyer and the nova corps, separate and party that she sincerely hopes they won't be expected to continue attending. a quiet alcove with a bench is where she's settled herself with the medkit, with some measure of relief as she carefully cleans the cut on her arm.
the sound of footsteps in the hall immediately makes her reach for the knife on her thigh, but when she looks up to see peter making his way towards her, she lets her hand drop away. ]
Do you think they will be satisfied enough that we can leave soon?
[ she asks it casually enough as she picks up the bandages she'd set aside, holding a bit of gauze in place over her arm. she could leave it exposed, honestly, and it would close within the hour or next, but if nothing else, she knows it's not the most appealing thing to leave out in the open. ]
[ He's relieved when he finds her, if only because he had kind of expected she had darted off into the night, or whatever it was crazy skilled assassins do. Like, just kind of disappeared into the shadows or something in an effort to avoid the rest of the party.
But there she still is, under the same roof, and his step slows a little as he approaches. ]
I'd say give it a bit. We'll probably have to retell the story, like, four times to four different people.
You know how it is.
[ Peter takes a seat beside her, and while she doesn't ask, Peter holds his hand out for the bandages, intent on wrapping the gauze in place for her. ]
[ months before, gamora wouldn't have even considered handing over the bandages without an argument of some kind, token or otherwise, but she hesitates only briefly before she sets the roll in peter's palm.
she keeps the gauze in place with her fingers, but shifts her arm to make it easier for him to wrap it, looking down the hall towards the sounds of the party, the band having kicked up once more in a softer song.
[ Maybe in another place, another time, he'd marvel over the difference time could make. Before, his team used to hiss and snarl and protect their wounds, treating them in the private of their bunks away from prying eyes. Now, though, they let Peter help, and he's not sure if that's just them indulging him, or if that's them trusting him, but—
For now, he's just pleased to lend a hand.
He wraps the bandage around the dressing, taking care to not wrap it too tightly, but snug enough to apply pressure and keep the gauze in place. He focuses on his work, tongue darting out a little to lick at the corner of his mouth, and at her words, he glances up.
Absently, ]
Their Harvest festival was probably a couple weeks back, huh?
[ Which is too bad. He had really wanted to take Gamora there – cider tasting and hearty stews and warm cakes that taste faintly like Terran cinnamon. Artwork and knickknacks and blown glass sculptures. Fireworks and carnival games and dancing.
It would've been fun, but— well. Priorities had shifted.
He smiles faintly, finishing off the bandage. ]
Surprised you even know about that. Have you gone before?
[ gamora keeps still for him as he wraps her arm, and she glances down at it only once he's finished. she reaches up to give it an appraising little brush of her fingers, before her eyes flick up to peter instead. ]
No. It was something you described to me.
[ back in the marketplace, while she'd held him in her arms, listening to him stumble for words as she tried to keep him awake. ]
You said you intended to ask me to dance again.
[ she hasn't mentioned much from the day of the gunshot, and certainly not this. in fact, she'd kept her explanation incredibly brief and limited, because she hadn't seen a need to detail their conversation.
(or to let him catch a glimpse of how deeply she'd been affected by the fear of losing him then and there.) ]
[ His smile falters at that, gives way to an almost slack-jawed sort of surprise. ]
I did?
[ A weird mix of embarrassment and shock twists in his gut, and he fumbles for words, palms running nervously over his legs. He hadn't intended to tell that to anyone, much less Gamora. Had planned to just— drop subtle sorts of hints in the weeks leading up to the festival, then spring the question on the night and see where it took them. ]
I— did.
[ A little more certainly, if only because Gamora isn't really given to lying when she's not playing a part. ]
... Right.
[ He clears his throat, gaze flitting off to some painting hanging on a stark white wall. Splashes of colors – vibrant blues and reds – and thin lines of silver crisscrossing at random. Pretty, Peter guesses, even if he doesn't quite see the point of it.
(It doesn't even look like anything.)
He clears his throat a second time, pointedly avoiding Gamora's gaze. ]
Did you— I mean, you probably— just to, I dunno, humor me or something, but did you—
[ say yes?
His expression pinches, lips pressing together, before he exhales sharply. ]
[ she likes to see him surprised sometimes, she thinks, if only because it lets some of his usual bravado slip away into a more genuine piece of peter — startled as that may be at the moment. she lets him stumble through for a while, but when he stops in the middle of asking, she tilts her head slightly, still considering him. ]
Why should I forget it?
[ she smooths her fingers over the bandage again, then lets her hands fall back into her lap and the fabric of her dress. ]
I said yes then, and I would have agreed at the festival as well.
It would have made for a better dance than this.
[ she gestures vaguely back to the noises of the party and the music floating through the hall. ]
[ Like the word is punched out of him, because he had expected for the conversation to drop after his aborted attempt at a question.
He fidgets a little, suddenly struck by regret, now that the festival has come and gone. He hadn’t been well enough for it, shaky on his feet and exhausted by small activities more often than not. Thoughts of Nerian-6 had flitted in and out of his head as he recovered. Now, though, now that he remembers it, now that he knows Gamora would’ve said yes—
Well. He’s kind of pissed off about the whole getting shot thing all over again.
He picks at the crease in the leg of his trousers, listens to the music that filters through the walls and reaches them. Some lively little snippet, and Peter huffs out a laugh. ]
Yeah, I don’t think these kinds of parties are really our style, huh?
[ And he loosens the knot of his tie a little. ]
Except for the punchy part. The punchy part was pretty much our speed.
[ she hums in quiet agreement, the corner of her lips tugging up as she looks back towards the party. ]
Yes, that was much more expected for us.
[ chaos and violence — they did seem to follow the guardians wherever they went. (of course, occasionally it was chaos of their own making, but that was beside the point.)
she likes to think the harvest festival might have been less eventful, if only because there wouldn't be terrorists to interrupt their dance or bullets to be dodged or raucous fights to be picked. she's sure their companions could have found trouble, if they went looking for it, but she and peter would have been much too preoccupied with experiencing what the festival had to offer, like their other outings of museums and plays and music.
it would have been...nice. ]
I think you'll have to ask me to dance somewhere else.
[ He blinks for a second or two, as if he hadn't quite heard what she said.
But when it sinks in, he slowly turns his head to look at her, a disbelieving sort of smile curling his mouth. ]
Really?
[ His heart pounds in his chest, stomach fluttering, and— Jesus, it's like having a crush grade school all over again, when the prettiest girl happens to glance his way. It's like fifty adrenaline rushes all at once, culminating in that warm, drunk feeling of a night of celebration, and—
Wow. Pump the brakes, Quill, he tells himself, trying to wrangle his smile it something— you know. Cooler.
More Star-Lord. ]
I'll— [ He clears his throat, shifting a little in his seat. ] I'll keep that in mind.
[ gamora looks back at him to see that first smile on his face, all amazed and taken aback in a way she's sure that she likes. there's something honest about the way he looks at her, something that doesn't hold all the ego and swagger, and she's...fond of that part of him.
(she'd like to see more of it.)
but it melts away into that star-lord smile instead, and she keeps herself from shaking her head. ]
Good.
[ she smooths down her dress, getting to her feet. ]
Maybe then I will sneak off to a dark corner with you.
[ aaaaand she's totally going to walk away from him after that to head back to the foyer. ]
[ But he chokes on that last syllable, mouth working silently as the words finally settle, and— ]
Wait, what?
[ No, okay, he definitely heard that wrong. She definitely didn't— Gamora would never—
He stares at her retreating back, mouth still hanging open, trying to make sense of the last, like, minute, because he's pretty sure what she said – or what he thinks she said, or maybe what he thinks she didn't say, or... – has flipped everything on its head.
It takes him even longer to realize that she's managed to put a fair amount of distance between them while he's been sitting here, gawking, and he scrambles to his feet, running after her. ]
[ He falters again, voices a few sounds before he abandons that train of thought as soon as they start. Then, a pace or two in relative quiet (as music flits through the air – a cover of some popular song from a few years back, if Peter remembers – and the hum of clipped conversations reach them from the foyer), and Peter breathes out sharply through his nose.
A little rankled, if he's honest. But only a little. ]
[ gamora stops short, turning quickly on her heel (not her usual boots, much to her distaste), to face up peter. she looks at him with that unwavering stare, those intense eyes that have so often set her enemies trembling. ]
Is that so?
[ she ignores the music from the hall, the distant whisper of voices close enough that she could probably pick words out for herself if she felt inclined.
[ Peter nearly runs right into her when Gamora stops. As it is, he practically slams on the brakes, dances back a step or two to keep from bowling over her. Not even a full second later, he kind of regrets not running her over, once she levels that look at him. And—
Okay. Okay. Maybe he's wrong about never losing courage, because Jesus Christ, it's like Peter killed Gamora's pet dog or stole her cow or something, and she's calling him out for a duel at high noon.
But Peter's stubborn when he wants to be. (Bullheaded, most folks would call it; Peter would call it "determined," because that's a little more flattering.) And in this case, with Gamora outright challenging him (and with the guys surely listening over the comms, who would never let him live it down if he let Gamora win), Peter stands a little straighter, puts his hands on his hips. ]
That's so.
[ He pats himself on the back for keeping that quaver out of his voice. ]
And between the two of us? I'm a little offended you expected anything less.
[ there's a flicker of something in her expression — subtle, barely there, but it's absolutely approval; she likes to see that peter isn't backing down from her (even if she still expects to win whatever challenge she throws his way).
when he straightens up, she takes a step closer to him, still considering him. ]
Courage is different from acting before you think, Quill.
[ He makes a noncommittal sort of noise, lifting both shoulders in a shrug. (Even as a nervous part of him wants to take a step back as she moves forward, but that would mean giving ground, which is pretty much losing, and—
Yeah. Not happening.) ]
Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.
[ He puts on another one of those devil-may-care smiles. ]
—though it does mean she takes another step closer. ]
And yet you still think you would keep your nerve if I were to say we should go to that corner there, like you suggested earlier?
[ ...because she's really banking on him backing down at this point. or at least stumbling all over himself as he seems to often do when she catches him genuinely off guard. ]
Mostly because Peter's always had something of an overactive imagination, and at those words, he runs through about a million different scenarios – most of which is probably unsuitable for viewing by children under 17 years of age without an adult present, and at least one of which involves Gamora having been replaced with some kind of shapeshifter intent on catching Peter unawares and braining him the second his back was turned.
They all feel about as likely, honestly. ]
Gamora. If you want to drag me to a dark hallway, you're more than welcome. I won't stop you.
[ Unless that shapeshifter thing is true, he thinks distantly. He might try to stop her then. ]
[ another moment of that quiet, intense consideration, and gamora takes one last step closer. she absolutely can't get closer without pressing flush against him, so she stops just shy of his chest, instead reaching up to curl her fingers around his tie. she tugs on it like a leash, but she doesn't drag him down — just looks at him with that same unyielding gaze. ]
I never doubted that.
[ she doesn't lean in yet, doesn't pull him close, but instead holds steady with his tie in her hand. ]
[ 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. ]
Peter can tell she’s just. Trying to intimidate him. Trying to make him nervous. Trying to win, because one of the endearing little things he’s learned is that Gamora has a competitive streak a mile wide. And as much he wants to surrender to that temptation to fidget, to look at anything but her, he forces himself to keep her gaze, forces his hands into stillness.
For as often as he loses (and he loses a lot), Peter has a bit of competitiveness to him, too.
She tugs him down to about eye level, and part of him thinks that maybe he should wear ties more often, if this is how it’s going to turn out. (Because a part of him is kind of, like, a little turned on—?) And—
Music, echoing softly through the halls. The adrenaline winding down from the earlier fight. Gamora standing in front of him, eyes piercing and determined in that way he’s always kind of admired (and kind of really liked), only a few inches of space between them. Man, she looks gorgeous – she always looks gorgeous, but tonight he had the benefit of her hanging onto his arm, pressing in close, dancing with him, and—
It's been a good night, all things considered. One of the better ones, since the bullshit in the market. And if he’s honest, if he’s really honest, that mess had shaken him a little. Learning just how damned close he got to actually (seriously, for real) dying, having a blank space in his head where those moments should have been, had scared him a little. (A lot.) The shit with the Infinity Stone had been scary, sure, but it was the unreal sort of scary, the when will this ever happen again? sort of scary. Being gutshot in the middle of a market? Bleeding out?
That’s an everyday sort of scary. The this probably won’t be the last time sort of scary that’s rattled him, though he’d never say as much. Kind of helps put things in perspective, he guesses. Kind of helps to make him think just how much he regrets.
Oh, what the hell? he thinks, slowly closing the distance between them. ]
It's all yours.
[ On a low sort of rumble. And he figures if she kills him, he’ll at least die satisfied.
Peter leans in close, takes his time, gives her a chance to back away (to give up), and when she doesn’t move, the corner of his mouth twitches a little in a small smile. A bare breath between them, and Peter thinks, Holy shit, this is really happening, and— ]
Mr. Space-Lord?
[ A voice shouts from down the hall. Peter jerks back, startled, though with Gamora’s hand still gripping his tie, he doesn’t go as far as he means to. ]
[ there's a familiarity to the moment that strikes a chord in gamora. the faint music, the closeness, the quiet thrum of something between them — but unlike the night on knowhere, she isn't reaching for a knife. she isn't pinning him to the wall with the threat of slicing out his vocal cords; if anything, she's the one keeping him in place, keeping their faces mere breaths apart, and for the first time in...a while, she realizes how easy it would be to close that distance and press her lips to his.
part of her wonders if this (whatever this is) might be a piece of the reason why she'd been so shaken by his injury. was it only friendship that had her so attached to the terran? was it only the companionship she felt with him and the others, or was it something more that left her with a fear of emptiness, of intense loss?
was it more that she felt on their excursions to see new things in the galaxy? was it more when they stood side-by-side in front of some great masterpiece or a beautiful sunset, their shoulders nearly (nearly) brushing? was it more when she held him in her arms as he slowly bled out in front of her?
was it more when she begged him to stay?
(because gamora, deadliest woman in the galaxy, does not beg—
even if that soft "please" had left her lips in the market.)
all yours, he says, leaning into her, nearly there, and for once, she doesn't shove him away. there are no threats, there is no violence, and there is no backing down. gamora shifts just enough to meet him halfway—
until a voice calls from the foyer, and gamora is just as shocked as peter. she pulls back quickly (but doesn't drop his tie), and there's a comical moment of gamora yanking at the accessory like a suddenly too-short leash.
she quickly remedies the situation, dropping his tie and taking a few proper steps back. clearing her throat, she forces a slow, quiet breath, and then inclines her head back down the hall. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
the sound of footsteps in the hall immediately makes her reach for the knife on her thigh, but when she looks up to see peter making his way towards her, she lets her hand drop away. ]
Do you think they will be satisfied enough that we can leave soon?
[ she asks it casually enough as she picks up the bandages she'd set aside, holding a bit of gauze in place over her arm. she could leave it exposed, honestly, and it would close within the hour or next, but if nothing else, she knows it's not the most appealing thing to leave out in the open. ]
no subject
But there she still is, under the same roof, and his step slows a little as he approaches. ]
I'd say give it a bit. We'll probably have to retell the story, like, four times to four different people.
You know how it is.
[ Peter takes a seat beside her, and while she doesn't ask, Peter holds his hand out for the bandages, intent on wrapping the gauze in place for her. ]
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[ months before, gamora wouldn't have even considered handing over the bandages without an argument of some kind, token or otherwise, but she hesitates only briefly before she sets the roll in peter's palm.
she keeps the gauze in place with her fingers, but shifts her arm to make it easier for him to wrap it, looking down the hall towards the sounds of the party, the band having kicked up once more in a softer song.
quiet, for a moment, and then, ]
I think I would have preferred Nerian-6.
no subject
For now, he's just pleased to lend a hand.
He wraps the bandage around the dressing, taking care to not wrap it too tightly, but snug enough to apply pressure and keep the gauze in place. He focuses on his work, tongue darting out a little to lick at the corner of his mouth, and at her words, he glances up.
Absently, ]
Their Harvest festival was probably a couple weeks back, huh?
[ Which is too bad. He had really wanted to take Gamora there – cider tasting and hearty stews and warm cakes that taste faintly like Terran cinnamon. Artwork and knickknacks and blown glass sculptures. Fireworks and carnival games and dancing.
It would've been fun, but— well. Priorities had shifted.
He smiles faintly, finishing off the bandage. ]
Surprised you even know about that. Have you gone before?
no subject
No. It was something you described to me.
[ back in the marketplace, while she'd held him in her arms, listening to him stumble for words as she tried to keep him awake. ]
You said you intended to ask me to dance again.
[ she hasn't mentioned much from the day of the gunshot, and certainly not this. in fact, she'd kept her explanation incredibly brief and limited, because she hadn't seen a need to detail their conversation.
(or to let him catch a glimpse of how deeply she'd been affected by the fear of losing him then and there.) ]
no subject
I did?
[ A weird mix of embarrassment and shock twists in his gut, and he fumbles for words, palms running nervously over his legs. He hadn't intended to tell that to anyone, much less Gamora. Had planned to just— drop subtle sorts of hints in the weeks leading up to the festival, then spring the question on the night and see where it took them. ]
I— did.
[ A little more certainly, if only because Gamora isn't really given to lying when she's not playing a part. ]
... Right.
[ He clears his throat, gaze flitting off to some painting hanging on a stark white wall. Splashes of colors – vibrant blues and reds – and thin lines of silver crisscrossing at random. Pretty, Peter guesses, even if he doesn't quite see the point of it.
(It doesn't even look like anything.)
He clears his throat a second time, pointedly avoiding Gamora's gaze. ]
Did you— I mean, you probably— just to, I dunno, humor me or something, but did you—
[ say yes?
His expression pinches, lips pressing together, before he exhales sharply. ]
You know what? Never mind. Forget about all that.
no subject
Why should I forget it?
[ she smooths her fingers over the bandage again, then lets her hands fall back into her lap and the fabric of her dress. ]
I said yes then, and I would have agreed at the festival as well.
It would have made for a better dance than this.
[ she gestures vaguely back to the noises of the party and the music floating through the hall. ]
no subject
[ Like the word is punched out of him, because he had expected for the conversation to drop after his aborted attempt at a question.
He fidgets a little, suddenly struck by regret, now that the festival has come and gone. He hadn’t been well enough for it, shaky on his feet and exhausted by small activities more often than not. Thoughts of Nerian-6 had flitted in and out of his head as he recovered. Now, though, now that he remembers it, now that he knows Gamora would’ve said yes—
Well. He’s kind of pissed off about the whole getting shot thing all over again.
He picks at the crease in the leg of his trousers, listens to the music that filters through the walls and reaches them. Some lively little snippet, and Peter huffs out a laugh. ]
Yeah, I don’t think these kinds of parties are really our style, huh?
[ And he loosens the knot of his tie a little. ]
Except for the punchy part. The punchy part was pretty much our speed.
no subject
Yes, that was much more expected for us.
[ chaos and violence — they did seem to follow the guardians wherever they went. (of course, occasionally it was chaos of their own making, but that was beside the point.)
she likes to think the harvest festival might have been less eventful, if only because there wouldn't be terrorists to interrupt their dance or bullets to be dodged or raucous fights to be picked. she's sure their companions could have found trouble, if they went looking for it, but she and peter would have been much too preoccupied with experiencing what the festival had to offer, like their other outings of museums and plays and music.
it would have been...nice. ]
I think you'll have to ask me to dance somewhere else.
no subject
But when it sinks in, he slowly turns his head to look at her, a disbelieving sort of smile curling his mouth. ]
Really?
[ His heart pounds in his chest, stomach fluttering, and— Jesus, it's like having a crush grade school all over again, when the prettiest girl happens to glance his way. It's like fifty adrenaline rushes all at once, culminating in that warm, drunk feeling of a night of celebration, and—
Wow. Pump the brakes, Quill, he tells himself, trying to wrangle his smile it something— you know. Cooler.
More Star-Lord. ]
I'll— [ He clears his throat, shifting a little in his seat. ] I'll keep that in mind.
no subject
(she'd like to see more of it.)
but it melts away into that star-lord smile instead, and she keeps herself from shaking her head. ]
Good.
[ she smooths down her dress, getting to her feet. ]
Maybe then I will sneak off to a dark corner with you.
[ aaaaand she's totally going to walk away from him after that to head back to the foyer. ]
no subject
Yeah, maybe—
[ But he chokes on that last syllable, mouth working silently as the words finally settle, and— ]
Wait, what?
[ No, okay, he definitely heard that wrong. She definitely didn't— Gamora would never—
He stares at her retreating back, mouth still hanging open, trying to make sense of the last, like, minute, because he's pretty sure what she said – or what he thinks she said, or maybe what he thinks she didn't say, or... – has flipped everything on its head.
It takes him even longer to realize that she's managed to put a fair amount of distance between them while he's been sitting here, gawking, and he scrambles to his feet, running after her. ]
no subject
she glances over her shoulder at him, eyebrow cocked. ]
That was your suggestion before, wasn't it?
[ she gives a small wave of her hand, still walking. ]
If you do not lose your courage.
no subject
[ He falters again, voices a few sounds before he abandons that train of thought as soon as they start. Then, a pace or two in relative quiet (as music flits through the air – a cover of some popular song from a few years back, if Peter remembers – and the hum of clipped conversations reach them from the foyer), and Peter breathes out sharply through his nose.
A little rankled, if he's honest. But only a little. ]
I never lose my courage.
no subject
Is that so?
[ she ignores the music from the hall, the distant whisper of voices close enough that she could probably pick words out for herself if she felt inclined.
but instead, she's just looking at peter. ]
no subject
Okay. Okay. Maybe he's wrong about never losing courage, because Jesus Christ, it's like Peter killed Gamora's pet dog or stole her cow or something, and she's calling him out for a duel at high noon.
But Peter's stubborn when he wants to be. (Bullheaded, most folks would call it; Peter would call it "determined," because that's a little more flattering.) And in this case, with Gamora outright challenging him (and with the guys surely listening over the comms, who would never let him live it down if he let Gamora win), Peter stands a little straighter, puts his hands on his hips. ]
That's so.
[ He pats himself on the back for keeping that quaver out of his voice. ]
And between the two of us? I'm a little offended you expected anything less.
no subject
when he straightens up, she takes a step closer to him, still considering him. ]
Courage is different from acting before you think, Quill.
[ which she's seen him do a great deal.
that she would call foolish. ]
no subject
Yeah. Not happening.) ]
Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.
[ He puts on another one of those devil-may-care smiles. ]
Improvising is kinda my thing, remember?
no subject
[ he doesn't step away, and she can admire that.
—though it does mean she takes another step closer. ]
And yet you still think you would keep your nerve if I were to say we should go to that corner there, like you suggested earlier?
[ ...because she's really banking on him backing down at this point. or at least stumbling all over himself as he seems to often do when she catches him genuinely off guard. ]
no subject
That definitely makes him pause.
Mostly because Peter's always had something of an overactive imagination, and at those words, he runs through about a million different scenarios – most of which is probably unsuitable for viewing by children under 17 years of age without an adult present, and at least one of which involves Gamora having been replaced with some kind of shapeshifter intent on catching Peter unawares and braining him the second his back was turned.
They all feel about as likely, honestly. ]
Gamora. If you want to drag me to a dark hallway, you're more than welcome. I won't stop you.
[ Unless that shapeshifter thing is true, he thinks distantly. He might try to stop her then. ]
no subject
I never doubted that.
[ she doesn't lean in yet, doesn't pull him close, but instead holds steady with his tie in her hand. ]
You are a predictable man, Peter Quill.
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?
no subject
[ said with the lift of an eyebrow as she gives an experimental tug at the tie, this time in an attempt to pull him just a touch more to her level.
she's waiting for it at this point, for that nervous flicker, for him to break eye contact or shuffle around, some indication that she's winning.
(because gamora does so enjoy winning.) ]
no subject
Peter can tell she’s just. Trying to intimidate him. Trying to make him nervous. Trying to win, because one of the endearing little things he’s learned is that Gamora has a competitive streak a mile wide. And as much he wants to surrender to that temptation to fidget, to look at anything but her, he forces himself to keep her gaze, forces his hands into stillness.
For as often as he loses (and he loses a lot), Peter has a bit of competitiveness to him, too.
She tugs him down to about eye level, and part of him thinks that maybe he should wear ties more often, if this is how it’s going to turn out. (Because a part of him is kind of, like, a little turned on—?) And—
Music, echoing softly through the halls. The adrenaline winding down from the earlier fight. Gamora standing in front of him, eyes piercing and determined in that way he’s always kind of admired (and kind of really liked), only a few inches of space between them. Man, she looks gorgeous – she always looks gorgeous, but tonight he had the benefit of her hanging onto his arm, pressing in close, dancing with him, and—
It's been a good night, all things considered. One of the better ones, since the bullshit in the market. And if he’s honest, if he’s really honest, that mess had shaken him a little. Learning just how damned close he got to actually (seriously, for real) dying, having a blank space in his head where those moments should have been, had scared him a little. (A lot.) The shit with the Infinity Stone had been scary, sure, but it was the unreal sort of scary, the when will this ever happen again? sort of scary. Being gutshot in the middle of a market? Bleeding out?
That’s an everyday sort of scary. The this probably won’t be the last time sort of scary that’s rattled him, though he’d never say as much. Kind of helps put things in perspective, he guesses. Kind of helps to make him think just how much he regrets.
Oh, what the hell? he thinks, slowly closing the distance between them. ]
It's all yours.
[ On a low sort of rumble. And he figures if she kills him, he’ll at least die satisfied.
Peter leans in close, takes his time, gives her a chance to back away (to give up), and when she doesn’t move, the corner of his mouth twitches a little in a small smile. A bare breath between them, and Peter thinks, Holy shit, this is really happening, and— ]
Mr. Space-Lord?
[ A voice shouts from down the hall. Peter jerks back, startled, though with Gamora’s hand still gripping his tie, he doesn’t go as far as he means to. ]
no subject
part of her wonders if this (whatever this is) might be a piece of the reason why she'd been so shaken by his injury. was it only friendship that had her so attached to the terran? was it only the companionship she felt with him and the others, or was it something more that left her with a fear of emptiness, of intense loss?
was it more that she felt on their excursions to see new things in the galaxy? was it more when they stood side-by-side in front of some great masterpiece or a beautiful sunset, their shoulders nearly (nearly) brushing? was it more when she held him in her arms as he slowly bled out in front of her?
was it more when she begged him to stay?
(because gamora, deadliest woman in the galaxy, does not beg—
even if that soft "please" had left her lips in the market.)
all yours, he says, leaning into her, nearly there, and for once, she doesn't shove him away. there are no threats, there is no violence, and there is no backing down. gamora shifts just enough to meet him halfway—
until a voice calls from the foyer, and gamora is just as shocked as peter. she pulls back quickly (but doesn't drop his tie), and there's a comical moment of gamora yanking at the accessory like a suddenly too-short leash.
she quickly remedies the situation, dropping his tie and taking a few proper steps back. clearing her throat, she forces a slow, quiet breath, and then inclines her head back down the hall. ]
They clearly need you for something.
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