nostalgiabomb | riverview: ic contact;

[ 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. ]

[ She makes it easier for them to shift, rolling with him until she's bracketing his hips with her knees, his cock settled deeply inside of her as she rests her weight back comfortably. She exhales on a shuddering, pleased breath, looking down at Peter as her hair falls around them both. That smile hasn't gone anywhere, and instead of immediately sitting up, she rests her hands on either side of his head, looking down at him. ]

We— [ A slow, shivering exhale. ] —need to find more time for this.

[ Her hips grind in a slow circle, squeezing him slowly in a controlled ripple of muscle inside her pussy. ]

[ He breathes out a laugh at the suggestion, his fingers threading into the curls at the nape of her neck.

His lips part to speak, and he wants to say, If you're expecting an argument—

But then she grinds against him, purposeful and slow, squeezes around him, and the words escape him on a startled groan. He bucks up against her, matching her pace. ]

—Yeah. [ It's not nearly as eloquent as his originally response, but, hey, at least he's managing actual words. ] Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely.

[ Amusement dances in her eyes, and she moves with the rock of Peter's hips, barely letting him slip out of her for a proper thrust. ]

Then make it happen.

[ Like it's as simple as that.

She finally straightens up, unfurling like a coiled vine to stretch above him. Her back bows, her hair falling over her shoulders, her breasts on proper display. She finally lifts her hips for a long, prolonged slide as she draws herself up to the tip of his cock, then slides her pussy down the length of him all over again. ]

[ He casts her a flat look for a second, something that says, Oh, sure, let me get right on that—

But she sits up, and the movement punches the breath from him. The sight of her captures her attention for a long while – the cascade of her curls over her shoulders, the curve of her breasts above him. He braces his hands on her thighs, smooths them up to grip her hips. She lifts, nearly drawing away from him entirely (and for a heart-stopping second, he's afraid she plans to do just that), but she lowers herself again, slow and deliberate and torturous.

He lets out a low sound, lifting up his knees a little to dig his heels into the mattress, and he matches her rhythm as she fucks herself on his cock. His grip tightens on her hips with every downward slide – not to force her down any faster, though a large part of him demands he do just that, but as an outlet for the feeling of need tearing through him. ]

[ But she loves his hands.

No matter where he touches her, where he puts them: she's so enthralled by the contact of skin, his standing out stark and pale against green. She finds a rhythm with Peter, moving with all the grace in the world; she fucks herself with the same ease that she dances. She sets her palm on one of his knees, leaning back comfortably and using the leverage to keep her torturously slow pace. ]

Tell me what you want.

[ That phrase they bounce between them is so easy, practically a purr on her voice. ]

[ You, he wants to say, but the words are stopped up in his throat, trapped by the breathless sound he makes with that next downward slide. All I want is you.

He pants as she squeezes around his dick, struggling for words – god, she feels amazing. It's all he can think, but that's not a particularly helpful answer to her question, is it? And if he doesn't come up with something quick, he might actually die with how she's teasing him.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he looks up at her with half-lidded eyes, almost like he's in something of a trance. ]

I— wanna watch you come.

[ Because, yeah, coming himself is pretty good, but watching Gamora in the throes of her climax is way fucking better. ]

[ Her eyes flash with approval, a look that says, "Good choice." ]

You want to watch?

[ And she slides her free hand between her thighs, finding her clit with her fingertips. She knows how she likes to be touched at this point, what she has to do specifically to get off – the right pressure, the perfect spot. But instead of continuing to fuck herself, she stills in Peter's lap, keeping her eyes trained on his face as she rubs firmly over her clit.

She keeps squeezing and fluttering around his cock – less intentionally, more because her orgasm is sneaking up on her. ]

[ If he weren't already so flushed, he might darken more with the way she looks at him, there and gone in a blink.

As it is, his gaze slides down from her face to her hand, to the fingertips rolling over her clit. He nods in response to her question, the motion a little absent as he watches, as he feels the way she tightens and relaxes around him. His hands smooth down her thighs, trail back up to skim along her sides, up further to to cup and massage her breasts. ]

I like looking.

[ And even if the words are breathless, they're wry, too, accompanied by a small smirk. ]

You're beautiful.

[ He tells her that a lot – that she's beautiful. It's not new, and she already feels confident in her looks. But it's the way he says it, how much he means it, that makes her turn a slightly darker green, her cheeks lighting up as she pants with the pleasure swirling between her legs, building higher and hotter as she keeps up the relentless pressure on her clit. ]

You're easy to please.

[ Her voice trails off on a gasp, a shuddering moan, and she slides her fingers down a little lower to trace where his cock is still buried inside of her. Slick coats her folds, smearing across her fingers, and she draws them back up, redoubles her efforts on her clit.

Her trembling is more pronounced. She has to abandon the hand on his knee to lean forward and brace on his chest to keep herself upright, pressing into the hands on her breasts as that rhythmic pulsing picks up the pace. She's so absurdly close, and that need-need-need to come isn't easing off. ]

I am not.

[ ... well, okay, Gamora may not be entirely off the mark, but there is a caveat, at least:

He's easy to please when Gamora is involved.

She's close and getting closer, and the way she tightens around him makes his own need difficult to ignore – difficult, but not impossible. Because she's fucking gorgeous above him with the way her mouth falling slightly open as she gasps, with the way her cheeks darken. His hands continue their work, massaging and feeling, his thumbs teasing at her nipples.

He keeps rocking up into her, those same little shallow thrusts as before, mostly involuntary. He feels his pulse pounding in his ears, his heart slamming against his ribs in a way he knows she can feel with her hand against his sternum.

He can feel how close she's getting to that edge, feeling the familiar flutter of her walls against his cock, hears the familiar, ragged pattern of her breathing. ]

Come for me, Gamora.

[ And this time, as his thumbs brush over her nipples, he follows it up with a rough pinch. ]

[ She's right there, her fingers moving faster, getting to the point where she doesn't think she could stop herself, even if she wanted to. Her pussy tightens, tightens, tightens again—

And it's too much.

Peter's voice and the sudden pinch of his fingers – a spark of that pleasure-pain that drives her crazy – throws her over the edge so fast it almost catches her by surprise. Her cry is a shout as she clamps down on his cock, a rush of her own come dripping around Peter as she helplessly bucks in his lap, her pussy locked in intense fluctuations of pressure with every wave of orgasm. She can never hold back her reactions when she comes, and this is no different as she shakes above him, mouth hanging open as moans and short whimpers fall past swollen lips.

(From the way she'd dug her teeth into them, from how intensely they'd kissed before.)

It takes her a few seconds (that feel like an eternity) to drop down off of that high, and she goes utterly boneless, panting as her elbow shakes with the effort to keep herself propped up. She doesn't slide off of his cock yet; if anything, she seems practically glued to him with the way she still holds onto his hips with her knees as the last of her climax keeps her flexing around him. ]

Peter—

[ Words are always so hard for her right after, but her voice is raw with emotion and awe and that mind-numbing pleasure. ]

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