[ 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. ]
[ It’s an awkward, disorienting sort of second, where he jerks back, but Gamora’s grip on his tie yanks him back forward. A startled yelp escapes him at the sudden change of direction, but they both seem to realize what happened at the same moment, because before he can ask for her to let go, she’s already dropping his tie.
Peter doesn’t embarrass easily (or oftentimes, at all) but right now, he feels heat crawling up his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Quickly he straightens himself out, tucks his tie back beneath his vest, cinches the knot back up his throat, smooths his clothing down. Gamora seems to gather herself, too, though she seems to be fairing a whole lot better on the awkwardness front. For a second, he looks torn, fidgeting a little as he looks at her. He starts to say, ]
We could just—
[ But then a Nova Corps officer rounds the corner, fires off a quick salute. ]
Mr. Space-Lord, sir—!
It’s Star-Lord. [ And the response is automatic, exasperated, as Peter turns his attention to the officer. ]
My apologies, sir. Star-Lord, sir, Denarian Dey has further questions for you. Please accompany me to the foyer.
[ Peter hesitates, glancing over at Gamora with that conflicted look still on his face, before he lets out an explosive breath. He turns on his heel, heading up the hall toward the officer. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.
no subject
Peter doesn’t embarrass easily (or oftentimes, at all) but right now, he feels heat crawling up his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Quickly he straightens himself out, tucks his tie back beneath his vest, cinches the knot back up his throat, smooths his clothing down. Gamora seems to gather herself, too, though she seems to be fairing a whole lot better on the awkwardness front. For a second, he looks torn, fidgeting a little as he looks at her. He starts to say, ]
We could just—
[ But then a Nova Corps officer rounds the corner, fires off a quick salute. ]
Mr. Space-Lord, sir—!
It’s Star-Lord. [ And the response is automatic, exasperated, as Peter turns his attention to the officer. ]
My apologies, sir. Star-Lord, sir, Denarian Dey has further questions for you. Please accompany me to the foyer.
[ Peter hesitates, glancing over at Gamora with that conflicted look still on his face, before he lets out an explosive breath. He turns on his heel, heading up the hall toward the officer. ]