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[ 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. ]

[ Fuck, she's so impossibly tight around him, and he lets out a shuddering moan against the column of her throat. ]

You feel amazing.

[ Not the first time he's said so and certainly not the last, but somehow, each time he says it, he manages to imbue the words with wonder, with reverence, like he's just now realizing how true it is.

He thrusts into her, again and again, a little harder each time until he's driving himself into her, hips snapping against her, inching them up the bed a little with each thrust. He untangles his hand from hers to find her breast again, pinching at her nipple with more force this time, just a shade or two shy of painful. ]

[ Yes, that.

With her freed hand, she reaches back to brace her palm against the wall, keeping them in place against the relentless pounding that makes her eyes roll back, her back bowing off the bed into the fingers clamping down on her nipple. "Pain" is pretty relative to Gamora, considering how much of it she can take, and in this context, she'll gladly accept that edge of intensity that's just another side of the sensations. If it's not causing her actual pain, then she has no complaints.

The bed threatens to creak with every thrust, but Gamora is paying no attention to it as she arches up to writhe under him, her muscles rippling with coiled energy and need that won't keep her still. ]

Don't you dare stop.

[ All but gasped out, that eagerness bleeding into her breathless voice. ]

[ If he had a bit more focus, the demand might have made him laugh. Stopping is about the furthest thing from his mind right now, with heat and pleasure singing through his system, pooling low in his gut, molten and golden.

As it stands, he responds to her words with another bite on the meat of her shoulder, smoothing over the mark with the flat of his tongue. He drives into her, again and again, over and over; he never would have used this sort of force with anyone else, would have worried too much about hurting them. With Gamora, he knows she likes it this way, when she's in the mood for it, and knows she can gladly take anything he might throw her way.

If she couldn't, if she didn't want to, he trusts that she'd tell him. ]

Fuck—

[ Gamora doesn't have a foul mouth, really. But it's hard to find the words when Peter makes her feel all of this so intensely. Her body has never experienced this before him (perfunctory couplings, serving a purpose, a mission), and sometimes, it still takes her by surprise that she's capable of such experiences.

But it's just so damn good.

Her breathing is rough, panting and breaking on short cries that are so nearly Peter's name as she shakes under him. The new bite on her shoulder throbs deliciously, and the attention of his tongue makes her hips buck up in aborted jerks. He fucks the overcomplications out of her mind when he takes her like this, and Gamora can't focus on anything or anyone but Peter the closer she gets to coming.

She's right there, riding that cliffside threat of climax, but before she can fling herself into it, she locks both of her legs around Peter's hips on his next thrust, clamping her knees and thighs down to hold him in place inside of her. Not coming, not yet, as she draws in each ragged breath and looks up at the ceiling through glazed-over eyes. ]

[ Peter's pretty sure Gamora never swears unless they're in bed together, and— listen, it's really goddamn hot when Gamora starts losing control, bit by bit. When her grip becomes a little tighter, when her nails dig in a little deeper, when swears and curses fall from her lips – either because it doesn't occur to her to be "decent," or because there's no other way to express herself.

She's getting close, he thinks, judging by the way she twitches and jerks and writhes beneath him. He's not too far behind, he thinks, and he pants against her shoulder, breath hot against sweat-damp skin.

When she wraps her legs around him, though, keeps him from pulling back, he lets out a small, muffled noise of surprise. He rocks against her still – small, shallow movements of his hips, though the way she's wrapped her legs around him means he can't drive into her with anywhere near the force he had already been using.

He shifts onto an elbow, reaching up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing over the corner of her mouth. ]

You okay? You need something different?

[ She cants her cheek into his hand, her lips pressing against his thumb as she pants through her mouth. She can't really nod and shake her head at the same time, but she uses some of the leverage of the wall to push herself back against Peter, pulling him in with her legs and grinding his cock as deeply inside of her as she can manage. ]

Mmn—

[ The walls of her pussy are still fluttering around him, that telltale clench of muscle that precedes and leads into when she comes, but... ]

Not yet.

[ She grazes her teeth over the pad of Peter's thumb, looking up at him through her lashes. ]

[ Gamora feels amazing, and his eyes go half-lidded with the feel of her walls tightening around him, slick and hot. It punches the breath from him, and the air escapes him on a small, almost wounded noise. His hips continue to rock against her with little involuntary shifts. ]

“Not yet”?

[ And he repeats it back a little breathlessly, a little wryly. The corner of his mouth quirks up a little. His gaze flicks down to her mouth, watches as her teeth skim over the pad of his thumb. He brushes his thumb along her lower lip after that. ]

What happened to “don’t stop”?

[ She doesn't laugh, but there's a soft huff accompanying a dazed curl of her lips. ]

I don't— nnh— want to come too fast.

[ She breathes it against his thumb, following a small kiss with a flick of her tongue. She arches under him again, and it has the delightful effect of rippling her whole body against Peter, her hips rolling into those shifts that keep him pressed inside of her. God, she likes the sounds he makes, whenever he looks just a little lost in sensation. ]

[ Her body presses against his, each point of contact like the touch of a brand against his too-sensitive skin. He nods a little, not quite trusting himself to speak, and he lowers himself against her, still keeping most of his weight up on an elbow. He presses his forehead to hers, eyes slipping shut, his thumb still ghosting over the curve of her lips.

And this feels good, too, the little, minute movements of their hips, the fire-hot press of her skin to his, the tight clench of her walls around him, the damp heat of her breath against his thumb. He shoves back the impatience, the need and want buzzing through him like electricity through a live wire; he breathes through it, slow and deep, if a little ragged. When he’s calmer, he exhales through his lips, moving his thumb to one side to claim a slow kiss. ]

[ It takes Gamora time of her own to back away from the sheer drop of an orgasm, but it's easier when she focuses on matching her breathing to Peter's: in, out, in, out. It's like some odd form of meditation, where she's only aware of where they're joined and the sparks of pleasure that reach every nerve ending in her body. It's a strange juxtaposition to the way he'd been slamming into her mere moments before, and even with the way the transition makes her head spin, she revels in it.

Easing away from climax takes time, but she's better settled when Peter finally moves his thumb aside to kiss her. She's still so wound up, pulled taut like a string ready to snap, but the desperate urgency has inched back enough that she isn't clawing at him for relief. His body is an intoxicating line of heat, and she likes the weight of him, where he touches her, and—

She loves all of this. All of him.

She mumbles into the kiss, her arms coming up around his neck as she gently squeezes him with her legs. ]

[ The both of them ease back, little by little, though that edge is still within sight, waiting a small distance away.

A small part of him shouts for release, chants, now, now, now, more, more, more, but he dutifully ignores it. After all, Gamora asked first, which, quite obviously means she gets dibs.

(It has nothing to do with the fact that Peter would do almost anything for her, would do anything she asked. He can almost imagine a different character in a sitcom making a whipping noise and grinning a shit-eating grin at him.

Peter would probably just shrug and say, “I think we might be working up to that.”)

Just because they’re taking it much slower doesn’t make this any less passionate, any less heated. His tongue slides over seam of her mouth, slips past her lips. He hears and feels the hum of her voice, soft and almost shapeless, and while he doesn’t discern the words, he at least understands the tone, warm and affectionate, and he smiles a little with it before pulling back a little. Their lips still brush when he speaks, ]

You say something?

[ She breathes softly across his lips when he draws back just slightly. Her nose nudges gently against Peter's, but she isn't hesitant or reluctant when she murmurs, ]

I said "I love you."

[ Ever so soft, but so undeniably warm.

Heartfelt.

She doesn't shy away from telling him, but it's fewer and farther between than how easily Peter says that he loves her. ]

Oh.

[ It slips from his lips, little more than punched out air escaping him. His chest clenches, makes it hard to breathe for a second or two.

He knows, of course. He's known for a while, even before she gave voice to the words, so it's not a surprise, exactly. But she says the words aloud so rarely that the weight of them still knocks him on his ass.

Peter, on the other hand, says it all the time. Parting for work in the morning, settling in to sleep for the evening, wrapping his arms around her waist when she stands at the kitchen counter to get herself a plate of whatever they'd gotten for dinner that evening. As easy as breathing, and he means it, every single time.

He feels himself smiling, feels warmth spreading through him, and he pulls back to get a better look at her, to catch her gaze. ]

I love you, too. [ And his voice is soft, warm, reverent. ] More than anything.

[ Oh. That's a good look.

Everything is sweet and warm and open, and the feeling that swells up in her chest is almost too much.

But she doesn't care, because she's here with Peter, and she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

She slides her hand around to cup his jaw as she looks up into his face. That smile – the vulnerable, loving curl of her lips that only Peter gets to see – doesn't budge as she sweeps her thumb over his cheek. ]

I know.

[ And she does. She trusts that he loves her more than she trusts almost anything else in her life.

She tugs him down for another slow kiss, ever so gently grazing her teeth over his lip. ]

Roll over, Peter.

[ He grins at that, bright and more than a little delighted. Not for the first time, he really wishes he could show her Star Wars, if only so she could watch that iconic scene from Empire Strikes Back.

He lets her pull him back down, slotting their lips together in another slow, insistent kiss. Everything about this is fucking perfect, and he has no idea how he ever got this lucky, has no idea what it is the universe saw in him to let him have this. Peter's more than used to life taking a giant fucking dump on him, every chance it could get, and he's reasonably sure Gamora's experience has been more or less the same.

But it let them have at least one breather: it let the Guardians find each other, and god, is Peter glad for that.

Peter does as she asks, pulling her in close and shifting their positions, rolling onto his back and bringing her up to straddle him (luckily without any accompanying snaps of discarded twigs). He lets out a shuddering breath, hips rocking minutely against her, and he sweeps her curls away from her face. ]

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