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Fuck—

[ And this is hissed out, and the heat of her breath against his ear sends another jolt down his back. Listen, Peter wants to complain. He's good at complaining.

But it's hard to hold onto that annoyance when Gamora is doing that, when her lips are soft and warm against his skin, and at length, he shoves out a breath between his teeth. ]

Oh, goddammit.

[ One last little grumble before he's turning to slot his mouth over hers. ]

[ Now, that definitely feels like a victory.

What Gamora actually won is anyone's guess, but she does like winning, so it's hard to disguise the smirk on her lips when she presses into the kiss in return. She deepens the kiss easily, licking into his mouth as she uses her boot to give the chair he's currently sitting in a short shove away from the kitchen table; she doesn't knock him backwards, but their downstairs neighbors probably don't appreciate the sound of scraping across their ceiling.

Of course, with the extra room, she takes the opportunity to sit right in Peter's lap. ]

[ The shove is still enough to make the chair wobble a little, and Peter yelps a little, startled, holding onto Gamora before his weight brings the chair back onto all four legs.

He pulls away long enough to give Gamora another look that seems to say, "You could've just asked."

But once she settles into his lap, any further complaints are abandoned in favor of finding her lips again, of settling his freed hand on the small of her back, of curling his hand over the line of her jaw a little possessively. ]

[ If Gamora has a weakness, it's definitely her likeliness to do rather than ask. But in this case, the outcome is clearly in both of their interests, so what is there to complain about?

She smooths her hands down his chest through his shirt, slowly feeling him out. These days, a little peace and quiet is harder to come across, but if Mantis has Groot out of the apartment for a while, Gamora doesn't see anything wrong with taking advantage of that. They've had to be a little more conscious of the where and when of things since Groot dropped into the Quarantine, as opposed to the ease of just... well, pushing Peter up against the wall because she felt like it or climbing into his lap in the middle of a movie (or after).

So now? With a breath of privacy? She's just going to help herself to her handsome boyfriend.

She squeezes his hips with her knees, nipping again at his bottom lip (though far more gently this time), flicking her tongue across the graze of teeth. ]

Am I still distracting?

[ Listen, Peter is never going to genuinely protest alone time with Gamora, much less alone time with Gamora, so once they start up in earnest, he's definitely going to roll with it.

Plus? It's always a damn good sign when Gamora initiates.

So he falls into it easily, deepens the kiss as her palms slide down his chest, as her knees bracket in his hips (and how she manages to balance given the small space of the seat is beyond him, but Gamora's talented like that, he figures).

When she pinches his lower lip between her teeth, when she pulls back enough to tease him a little, he breathes out a quiet little laugh. ]

God, yes.

[ Though it's without the feigned exasperation of earlier, and more like enthusiastic agreement. ]

But I'm not complaining.

That's a first.

[ She smiles as she gives his jaw another light nip.

Her fingers go farther down to slip up under his shirt, teasing at the line of his waistband before pressing her palm flush against his abdomen. Her thumb follows the hair disappearing into his pants, but she doesn't reach any lower, doesn't try to undo his fly or anything of the like.

She's just touching his stomach, lifting her head to seek out his lips all over again, that heat pouring into the kiss relentlessly. ]

[ He matches her, pound for pound, one of his hands roving along her side, skirting up to the lower curve of her breasts, smoothing back down along her thigh. He can feel sparks firing off along his spine, those first few telltales stirrings of heat low in his gut, and when her hand rests just above the buckle of his belt, her palm warm against his skin, he waits.

... aaaaand she does nothing. Which he expected, at least a little, but he still lets out a sharp huff through his nose as they kiss.

The little noise seems to say, Dude. Come on. ]

[ It might be embarrassing how much she enjoys seeing Peter frustrated, except for the part where it's just so satisfying. He's impatient and eager (not that Gamora isn't too), but he's so expressive about it, so immediate to whine or wriggle for her. Sometimes, Gamora wants it fast and she wants it hard, and she wants to feel every burn of Peter's hands on her. But she also loves taking it to the point of painfully slow, until they can't stand it anymore – and then maybe just a little past that.

She smothers a huff that's definitely a laugh into his mouth, her tongue teasing at his as her dextrous fingers continue traveling along his waistband, before grabbing a hold of his belt, pulling up to coax his hips to rock against her as she grinds pointedly down into his lap in the same motion. ]

[ His attention splits between the heat of her mouth and the teasing of her fingers, his hands stilling against her as he tries to anticipate where she'll move her hand, when she'll finally just go, "Fuck it," and rip off his shirt or yank off his belt.

... and once again, she doesn't do as he expects, and he should really stop trying to guess, huh? But she grinds down on him, and instinctively he ruts up against her, and the press of her body against his hardening dick draws a breathless sound from the back of his throat.

His grip tightens on her, and he shifts, trying to get comfortable, except there's really no getting comfortable when the hottest goddamn woman in the galaxy is sitting in his lap, when her tongue moves just so, when her hips rock insistently against him, when his dick is caught behind the fly of his pants.

And especially not when he knows Gamora is trying to get this kind of reaction out of him.

There's a part of him that, like, kind of hates this game, if only because he knows there's going to be a point where he becomes, like, mortifyingly desperate, because Gamora has the patience of a saint. And sometimes, she waits him out even longer, and god, sometimes it's embarrassing and shameful.

But that part if shouted down by the rest of him that runs victory laps, pumping fists and shouting at the top of their imaginary lungs, Totally fucking worth it. ]

[ Excellent.

He’s so responsive, that little sound sending a thrill of excitement through Gamora. She breathes a shuddery noise into the kiss, her hips continuing to roll in that perfect, fluid way, effortless and graceful – even if she’s basically just feigning the motion of fucking herself, all to tease Peter while he’s still trapped behind his zipper.

The way she grinds has the benefit of friction for her, thanks to the seam of her pants. She rocks forward, slides herself along the length of the bulge she can feel under Peter’s fly, grinding back to retract that pressure all over again. Her lips pull away from his just far enough for the soft moan catching in that bare separation as she squirms into the inadvertent press against her clit.

Her panties are getting tacky. It’s the inevitable result that always comes with being wrapped up in Peter, teasing him and basking in the feel of his hands and lips in equal measures. She likes having control, knowing he’s at her mercy (so to speak), but she also melts when he touches her. All of that carefully cultivated composure begins to fall away with him – airs and facades alike. Her reactions are honest. Open. Real. ]

[ He falls into the rhythm with her, shifting his hips to meet the rock of hers, and there's no way in hell it'll ever be enough, but it's something, admittedly. And it's at least a little more satisfying than when she leaves him rock hard and neglected and squirming.

He drinks down her little moan, feels something lurch low in his gut like the guttering of flame, and he pulls her flush against him. He ruts up against her for another moment or two before he pulls back. ]

Bedroom.

[ It's absolutely not a question, and he shifts in his seat, readying himself to stand and expecting Gamora to do the same.

He'll carry her if he has to, but maybe he's hoping beyond hope that Gamora might be a little helpful, instead of willfully driving him goddamn insane. ]

[ "Bedroom," he says.

You know, that sounds like an excellent idea, which is why she slips elegantly from his lap, eager to tug him up out of the chair with her.

However, it's worth noting that Gamora doesn't verbally acknowledge the bedroom plan, because she'll only get partway there before she's turning on her heel to drag Peter into another kiss, to corral him in the direction of the nearest available wall.

At least it's not the chair. ]

[ Oh, good, she's being cooperative—

Aaand then she's not.

His back hits the wall, and considering he's hardly expecting it, the air rushes out of him, and he lets out a small, startled sound that goes lost in the insistent press of Gamora's lips.

It's his turn to bite a little at Gamora's lips, though there's hardly any force behind it. Still, it's enough to get his point across: Rude. ]

What happened— [ between the press of their lips ] to the bedroom?

[ She can't quite hide her smile when Peter nips at her; she absolutely earned it. ]

I– [ Another kiss. ] —got distracted.

[ But since she has Peter here anyway, she slides both hands under Peter's shirt, shoving it up – and only pulling away to try and coax it over his head. ]

[ He huffs out a breath, an obvious show at an annoyance than anything earnest, but he obligingly lifts his arms, letting her pull his shirt up and over his head. ]

Hey, you know where we could be doing this?

[ She drops his shirt carelessly to the floor, pressing up against him (even as she's still fully clothed), seeking out his throat again. ]

Mm, there's laundry on the bed. That isn't folded.

[ A bite this time – not to hurt him, but to ride that edge of pleasure and pain. ]

[ His mouth opens to respond, except the first thing he utters— ]

We—

[ —quickly melts into a breathless moan before he can think to stop it. He tips his head back against the wall, a hand twisting into her hair at the nape of her neck.

Ugh. Shit. No. Okay. He really can't let Gamora keep getting her way like this. It's not a good look for him. ]

We could move it.

[ By which he means shove it all to the floor and figure it out later.

But most importantly, look at that! A coherent thought! Good job, Quill. ]

[ Give the boy a gold star!

She hums around the mouthful of his skin, digging her teeth just a little harder into the muscle where his shoulder meets his neck. He's definitely going to have the imprint of her bite left behind, pressed in deep, and she only lets go to breathe across the wet patch in the wake of her mouth. She blows cool air over the heated, swollen mark, tracing each tooth's indent with the tip of her tongue.

And then, finally: ]

Come up with a better plan.

[ She kisses that blooming bruise affectionately. ]

One that doesn't involve shoving our clean clothes onto the floor.

[ Because she knows how Peter thinks, after this long living together.

She smooths her hands down to his hips, sliding around to find his belt – though without undoing it yet. ]

[ He lets out a frustrated sound, something that's almost a growl.

Listen, that was a sound plan, okay? Sure, they might have had to sacrifice a few clean shirts, but Peter's thinking about the greater good, here.

The greater good being, of course, sex. Really fucking good sex.

His breath hitches when her hands rest at his waistband, and he struggles to think of a new idea. ]

Shove it in the basket?

[ It'd all be wrinkly as hell if they went that course, sure, but whatever. Peter can live with wrinkly t-shirts. God knows he'd done exactly that for most of his life. ]

[ Gamora's eyes flicker to Peter's face with that frustrated little growl, her lips curving with approval (and a little amusement). ]

So that it looks like we're wearing days' old clothes?

[ Bad plan.

Slowly she draws one end of his belt out, slips it through the loops in his pants. ]

Try again.

[ She pops the button on his fly next, her mouth moving down to his clavicle for another mark. She doesn't bite this time, but she sucks until she knows he'll turn red and purple right on his collarbone. ]

[ ... you know, at this rate, he's really forgetting why he was even making a big deal about getting to the bedroom, especially considering Gamora seems to be moving on well enough without it.

But at this point, it's the principle of the thing, and Peter's a stubborn bastard when he wants to be (which, incidentally, he almost always wants to be). Unfortunately, it's a difficult matter, trying to think coherently while Gamora's mouth is hot against his bare skin, while her hand is hovering just at his waistband, maddeningly close to his dick.

He lets out a shuddering exhale, fingers tightening in her curls. Then, in a rush, ]

There's a second bed.

[ Formerly Peter's, now Groot's.

Sorry, Groot. ]

[ Oh, hey, better plan.

(They can wash the sheets later.)

She lets go of the new hickey, peppering kisses up his throat, flicking her tongue over every sensitive spot she can remember, before making it across his jaw to steal his lips in another searing kiss. She lets it drag on, deep and heated and edging into a need she likes to keep tucked in her back pocket (that tiny bit of composure she holds onto).

She finally breaks away, a little breathless (maybe vaguely hoarse). ]

I can work with that plan.

[ Except now...

She only gets his zipper down before she lets her hands fall away from his pants entirely. ]

[ For a while there, he was really starting to think she planned on ignoring his (frankly brilliant) idea and just keep him huddled against this stupid wall.

Not that he's minding that course of action, the longer the kiss goes on, and a part of him is making the turn from resignation to wholehearted acceptance—

But then she flips the script on him again, pulling away and leaving him chasing after her a little.

—wait, what?

And his brain struggles to shift gears again, his progress made all the slower with the way she unfastens his fly, the way she steps back. Peter reels for a second, before his expression pinches. ]

You're so confusing.

[ But he pushes off from the wall, wrapping his hands around her waist as he ushers them both – finally – into the bedroom. ]

What's your point?

[ She lets Peter herd her into the bedroom, but she draws away again to drag her shirt over her head, tossing it off into the empty laundry hamper (instead of the clean clothes on their shared bed).

She turns back to him with her thumbs hooked in her waistband, her breasts bared, not quite pushing her pants out of the way. ]

Do you really want to complain that much?

I never complain.

[ says Peter Quill, also known as “Whine-Lord.”

But he pauses, drinking in the sight of her – silver scars etched into smooth green skin, her curls falling over her shoulders – and making no move to conceal it.

Fuck, Gamora’s gorgeous – like, he doesn’t know how, but he forgets that, sometimes. He’s so busy thinking about how cool and smart and badass and kind and totally out of his fucking league she is, that he somehow forgets she’s the deadliest woman in the galaxy and the hottest one, too. It takes moments like to provide a much needed reminder. A smack in the face that leaves him startled and staring.

Man, he’s got it so bad. He’s so goddamn in love with her.

He nudges the door shut with the heel of his boot – out of habit, rather than necessity – before he closes the space between them. He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of Gamora’s pants. ]

Let me?

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