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[ It's purely because of the way he's looking at her that Gamora doesn't immediately roll her eyes.

Peter Quill never complains and never lies. Obviously.

But he looks awestruck for a moment, and the light in his eyes, the wonder and warmth... it catches Gamora off guard; it would make her self-conscious in another moment, if she hadn't seen it on his face before.

(It still makes her smile.)

He follows after her, steps in close, and Gamora looks up into his face as his fingers tuck lightly into her pants. The way he asks permission isn't necessary, she would think, but she appreciates it. He's always looking for consent, for confirmation, and even though it's easily thrown aside in more frantic moments, she values the time he takes to ask for an allowance to her body. He doesn't assume it belongs to him.

Which is exactly why she's so happy to give herself, anyway.

She nods, pulling her thumbs out, smoothing her hands up his forearms instead. ]

I'm all yours.

[ A blanket permission.

Because she is her own, but she shares what belongs to her with him. ]

[ He gives her a chance to kick off her boots before he rests his palms against her sides, slipping his fingers down into her waistband. He hooks a finger around her panties and slowly pushes it all down, taking his time like he's unwrapping a gift.

She's perfect, silver scars and all, and she's all his, his girl, and fuck, he loves her. Stupid, how he can love all those songs from his childhood on Earth, but it hasn't been until recently that they all clicked into focus and started making sense.

Sure, it's corny as goddamn hell, but it's true.

He offers an arm to help her balance as she steps out of the last of her clothing, his other hand smoothing up along her bared side. ]

[ She rests her weight briefly on Peter's arm as she steps out of everything left, kicking her pants and panties alike out of the way before she closes the distance between them again, pressing up against him fully. She's completely naked, but his pants are still in the way – undone, half open.

She leans up, her breasts against his bare chest, to let her nose knock gently against Peter's, exhaling lightly across his lips, but not quite kissing him. ]

So, is this what you wanted in here?

[ Her lips curl in a slow smile as she winds her arms around his neck. ]

[ He takes a second or two, just feeling the softness of her skin, tracing the line of her hips, up along her waist, thumbs brushing at the lower curve of her breasts. ]

Gettin' there.

[ And the word is similarly murmured against her lips, his mouth curving in a smile. ]

You can't blame me for wanting to take a second to get a good look at my girl, can you?

[ Oh.

It's stupid – absolutely absurd – how immediately Gamora smiles when he says "my girl." She'll deny the tiny hitch in her breathing until her very last breath, but it's there, along with the twisting, giddy warmth in her chest. She never thought someone would be able to make her feel like this (she never realized these feelings even existed), but Peter makes her heart sing every single day.

Stupid.

But she loves it.

Because she loves him. ]

You look at me everyday, Peter.

[ And she hopes he never stops.

She plays with his hair, lightly and affectionately running her nails across his scalp. She's not pulling again, not yanking his head back to get at his throat or draw those breathy little whines out of him; she's just touching him, relishing the contact. ]

Weren't you in such a rush before?

[ She punctuates the teasing lilt in her voice by rolling her hips forward, undulating slowly and pointedly against him. ]

[ His nose wrinkles a little, and he gives her a look that somehow manages to express that she's being the absurd one. ]

So? I like looking.

[ He doubts that'll ever change.

The roll of her hips against his cock catches him off-guard, and he lets out a quiet sound at the back of his throat.

Right. They were in the middle of something. And he offers lightly, ]

Distracted.

[ It seems to be the running theme of the evening.

He ushers her towards the edge of Groot's bed, kicking off his boots as he goes. ]

[ She breathes a faint laugh, ever so soft, as she backs towards Groot's bed, crawling up the (less) messy pile of blankets, putting just a touch of distance between her and Peter. ]

You like looking?

[ She doesn't lie down or lean back, but makes herself comfortable on her knees as she runs her fingers through her hair, pushing her curls away from her face. Her hand leaves magenta locks, trailing her palm down her own throat, nails teasing lower to her breasts. ]

You could have said something earlier.

[ He finally shucks his boxers and pants, kicking them off and away to be scooped up later, as he follows her onto the bed. ]

I mean, it's not like it's ever been a secret.

[ God knows how often Gamora's caught him just staring at her, even before they were officially together. This month alone, she's probably snapped him out of more than a few dazes, his cheek propped up by his fist, one of those stupid, dreamy smiles curling his lips. ]

Mm, subtlety isn't your strong suit.

[ Sometimes, it's exasperating. But others, she's charmed by that particular smile, that look he gets on his face when he's just been fawning over her. She didn't understand why he did it or what he got out of it, but more often now, she's caught herself watching him with her own soft smiles.

It's hard not to stare, sometimes.

Her fingertips trace the curve of her breast, the fine point of her nail flicking across the bud of her nipple. ]

You can look a little longer, if you like.

[ He looks thoughtful for a second, his gaze caught on the way her fingers ghost along her breasts.

... and he's startled by the way the thought makes him hesitate. Not for long, though. ]

Much as I appreciate the offer, I kinda wanna get to the hands-on part of the demonstration, you know?

[ Specifically, the part where his hands are all over her. He likes that part. It's a good part. And Peter, impatient as he is, is pretty sure they've put off moving to this phase long enough. Like, he got distracted, sure, and maybe that's on him, but he would very much like to get to the audience participation portion, please.

It's why he reaches out, moving to replace Gamora's hand at her breast. ]

[ As much as she enjoys teasing him, she's also incredibly fond of when he touches her. His hands are bigger than hers, his palms broader, fingers longer, and she appreciates the callused brush of well-worn skin with his sure and steady grip.

She likes his hands, basically.

She lets her fingers fall away from her breast, and her back curves, arches ever so slightly in a sort of offering for Peter. ]

Then by all means.

[ Help yourself. ]

[ Well, that's one hell of an invitation, and it quickly punches the air out of him before he can recover. He licks his lips giving Gamora one last appreciate once-over.

He kneels on the bed in front of her, claiming the space like he was always meant to be there. His hand cups her breast, thumb teasing at her nipple, and curls his fingers of his other hand over her cheek, tilting her head up to claim a slow, heated kiss.

He pulls away eventually, pressing his lips against the pulse point just beneath the hinge of her jaw, his thumb caressing the silver lines etched just beneath her eye. ]

[ Gamora’s learned with Peter that “slow” doesn’t have to mean “less intense.” He’s cooler than she is, but not unbearably or truly noticeably so, and it still feels like a clash of heat and want when he slots into her space with all the ease in the world. She shivers under his touch, pressing herself into the hand on her breast and indulging in that deep kiss.

(Sometimes, she thinks she could kiss Peter for hours and never tire of it.)

Breaking away, she breathes slowly, her eyes sliding shut as he trails his lips lower. It’s effortless, how he finds that spot on her throat, and she shudders in his grip, one of those soft moans slipping free. She always feels hyperaware when he touches the deep grooves of a scar, but she no longer recoils or grimaces with it; she lets him touch without a second thought, knowing that, strangely, he likes them.

Fingers find his hair, her other hand resting on his shoulder and kneading ever so lightly, like a contented cat. ]

[ Fuck, that feels nice. It feels nice, too, when she grips and pulls.

... honestly, just any time she’s touching him? A+, very good, two thumbs way up.

His hand smooths over the deep, delicate scars curling over her ribs, and he traces the silver lines with the tips of his fingers, gentle but firm. Peter’s always found them beautiful, ever since that first day they met on Xandar, even after he learned the whys and hows of them and the painful modifications they hid.

He doesn’t shy away from them, because he finds them pretty; and more than that, they’re part of her, and it’d be shitty of him to ignore them.

His mouth finds the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and he sucks a dark mark there – for however long it might last given her mods. His hand along her side trails down, down, down, tracing designs at the crease of her hip. ]

Tell me what you want.

[ She gasps, arches, pressing into the firm pressure of his mouth on her shoulder. Marks take more effort to leave, but it stands out in dark green on her bright skin, promising to broadcast itself as long as her body allows.

(Not long; nowhere near the extended time she can mark Peter.)

A slow, breathy noise – part purr, part growl – catches as Peter's breath ghosts over the spit-slick skin where he marked her. His fingers are starting to tease closer to where she wants him, that ache that lit itself when she was perched in his lap. Her hips lift ever so slightly towards the attention, eyes still comfortably closed as her fingers go just a bit tighter in his hair. ]

Mm, I want to feel you. [ She exhales on a little hum. ] I want to still be feeling you in a few hours when we're done.

[ His hand slides over to her stomach, palm flat against her skin, fingers pointed down toward her mound. He smiles a little, feeling the way she cants herself toward his touch, the way her fingers tangle in his hair.

He soaks in the little sounds she makes, the little twitches of movement, drinks in the sight of where her lashes lie against the curve of her cheek. They're little gestures of trust, of vulnerability – hardly anything, for almost anyone else, but they speak volumes from Gamora. It makes something twist in his chest, stealing his breath, before he can wrangle it into a one of his confident, crooked smiles. ]

That sounds doable.

[ The tone is light, but there's a hoarseness undercutting it, betraying the way desire simmers low in his gut.

His mouth finds the other side of her neck, and he nudges her back to lie on the bed. ]

[ She goes where she's led, leaning back first onto her elbows, stretching her legs out properly – with one knee bent, crooked up. ]

You're not one to disappoint.

[ And it may sound teasing, but it's a compliment, in its own way. Sex with Peter is never bad; maybe a hiccup or two, a few knocked heads or clacking teeth. She once caught him in the nose with an elbow (thankfully with no blood), and Gamora still wouldn't have called that "bad sex."

A pause for an ice pack and an avalanche of griping, sure, but she made it up to him.

She stretches out flat on the bed, her arms bent above her head as she looks out at him from behind her lashes. She's flushed, her breathing not nearly as steady, but—

There's still a shadow of that soft, sweet smile on her lips. Heat in her eyes, and yet she's still looking at him with more adoration than she has any other person. ]

[ He drinks in the sight of her, laid out in front of him – the way her curls halo around her face on the pillow, the way her cheeks are darkened, the way she looks at him.

But most important – most gorgeous – is the way she smiles, just barely there, but he sees it all the same. It punches the air out of him again, makes him pause to think all over again about how goddamn lucky he is and how much he loves her, how he'd do anything for her.

It's almost impossible to believe that the first time they met, she was trying to kill him.

But, hey. Not everyone makes a great first impression.

He returns her smile with one of his own, something far more open and freer, gladly offered without an ounce of hesitation. Gamora is the quiet one, Peter is the loud one, and he hardly minds screaming it out loud enough for the both of them.

He settles between her legs, moving to rest on his elbows, except—

Something snaps beneath his right arm as he settles, and he jerks a little in surprise. He plucks it up and finds the broken remains of some twig – probably the result of Groot's shedding – and he heaves out a sigh as he tosses the remains to the ground. ]

I'm definitely gonna get splinters.

[ He murmurs it in good humor, though. ]

[ The sound doesn't quite jolt Gamora out of her lazy haze, but her eyes snap open, her head turning towards the cracking to see the broken little twig. With a sigh of her own, she rolls her eyes to the ceiling. ]

I'll take them out for you later.

[ Maybe that would be sweet if it didn't involve the perfectly sharp blade of one of her smaller knives. Look, it's better than a pair of tweezers.

But it's (probably) her own attempt at humor as Peter settles above her, and she can feel how close and warm he is, and she can hear his heart thumping behind his ribs. It's odd sometimes, to be so in tune with others' bodies with her refined senses, but she genuinely loves hearing the way Peter responds to her in high definition. Any time his pulse kicks up or his breathing changes by increments, she's paying close attention, relishing all of it.

... Something else that might sound odd to anyone unfamiliar with Gamora's training, but it's a different use for all of that awareness. It takes a lot to put Gamora far enough out of her own mind to ignore it.

He isn't too far away, close enough that she can lean up, brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth. ]

Are there any other branches you're going to break?

[ He makes a show of casting around. ]

Nah. I think we're good.

[ He grins down at her for a second, bright and giddy, before he ducks down to slot his mouth over hers again.

He reaches up, threading his fingers with hers, while his other hand finds her breast. He teases her nipple, the pad of his thumb rolling over it, before he pinches it between his fingers. ]

[ She doesn't laugh, but her warm, exasperated smile is smothered by the kiss she so readily falls into again. Her fingers lock around his, squeezing (gentle and reassuring), before tightening with a muffled gasp when that attention returns once more to her breasts. What she likes is practically telegraphed through her grip on Peter's hand, flexing and releasing based on what he does with his talented fingers. Deeper pressure, that sharper pinch, makes her arch just so, clinging lightly to Peter's hand as that one crooked leg presses her knee to his hip. She's vividly aware of each point of contact, fire licking in her belly in anticipation.

She doesn't break from the kiss entirely, but she eases out enough to pant faintly against Peter's lips, catching the curve of his mouth when she wets her own with her tongue. ]

[ He pinches her nipple again before he shifts, mouthing at her neck, just below the hinge of her jaw. He can taste the salt on her skin, can feel her pulse beneath his lips. He runs his teeth along that sensitive point, light and teasing, before his mouth travels lower, finding where her neck meets her shoulder again.

He bites down, hard enough to leave another mark, knowing it'll hardly last the evening, and certainly won't last until the morning, but that's never stopped him before. It'll still be nice seeing those marks, to trace over them with his fingertips when they curl together afterward.

One last rough pinch, and his hand smooths down the flat plane of her stomach to curl over the thigh she presses against his side. He readjusts himself, kissing the side of her throat before he slips his cock past the wet folds of her pussy. His breath gusts over spit-damp skin as he sighs out in equal parts relief and want. ]

[ As much as Gamora may occasionally give Peter grief for his inability to listen, he can also be excellent at following directions.

Everything is sensation sweeping through her, but she doesn't truly make a noise until Peter's teeth dig hard into her skin, and her back bows sharply with a freer groan sticking in her throat. Her fingers are clamped down around Peter's (conscious enough not to hurt him), and she's still holding on tight as he keeps sprinkling those rougher bits of touch in with the rest of the contact. It's funny to her, how she responds when he drops the gentleness; he isn't actually causing her any real pain, but maybe it's when he falls into being rough, as opposed to slow and sweet reverence. Maybe it's the act of making herself vulnerable that adds to the experience, as much as she still knows she's in control. Obviously, she could kill Peter in an instant if she needed to, and he's hardly damaging her, but—

Her throat is bared to his teeth, her body naked and on display and all his for the taking right now. No one else gets close enough to see this or really experience Gamora this free with herself.

Just Peter.

Less teeth, more kisses, and her breathing catches when she feels his cock finally sliding between her legs, dragging through the slick already waiting for him. Maybe her desire is a little less outwardly obvious than Peter's, but as soon as Peter's right fucking there, it's so evident that she's been dangling from her own thread of need. Her pussy is swollen, wet, aching for him, and she just rocks back towards him as much as she can while he holds her thigh. ]

[ Gamora has always run a few degrees warmer than him, and it shows in moments like these. Her walls are hot and slick and tight around his cock, and he allows himself a few seconds to revel in how fucking good she feels.

It took him a while, after their first few times, to stop treating her like porcelain, to stop feeling the need to be gentle and careful. He knows Gamora is far more resilient than he could ever hope to be, but he still felt the overwhelming need to be careful, to take it slow. He never wanted to hurt her – still doesn't, in fact – and there was no greater chance of doing that than during sex, where the both of them were vulnerable and driven to wild emotional heights.

For as easy as sex felt, a lot of the time, it could be wildly complicated.

Eventually he got over that, though – probably around the first time she bit down on his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark that lasted for weeks. Probably around the first time she had growled in his ear, low and almost feral, Fuck me.

She asked for it rough, and Peter's pretty sure he'd do anything Gamora asked of him. The first few thrusts are hardly tentative, but they're slow, purposeful. A long slide out, a long slide in; once, twice, then three times. The fourth time he enters her is more forceful, hips snapping against her, and he lifts her thigh, encouraging her to wrap her leg around his back. ]

Edited 2018-08-09 07:56 (UTC)

[ She's glad that, at this point, Peter takes her seriously when she's explicit about what she wants. There's no tiptoeing around how much she gets off on the rougher side of things, whether she's the one who's all teeth and nails or if Peter's slamming into her hard enough to make her scream. It helps that she knows it's a mutual interest, and god, it's so unbelievably attractive making Peter unravel in her hands, but sometimes...

She just wants him to fuck her.

It's slow-going at first, but far more torturously so than tentative. Her pussy clenches around him each time he slides home, squeezing every inch until he's dragging himself back out. But oh, that fourth snap of his hips makes her gasp and grasp at his hand, her leg hitching higher to wrap around him with the barest of encouragement. She squeezes around his waist with her powerful thigh, but she leaves her other foot braced on the bed for at least a little leverage to meet the rough rhythm of his hips. ]

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