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[ She tenses with an odd combination of relief and a twisting heat that coils in her belly the second his fingers press inside of her. He finds that easy rhythm, and Gamora's hips arch into it as she lets herself lean against his chest.

Her eyes slip shut to enjoy the sensations, teeth dragging across her bottom lip as her head falls back onto his shoulder. She can't keep still, doesn't want to as long as she doesn't displace Peter, and— ]

Just keep—

[ Oh, words are difficult now.

She moves one hand to settle over Peter's on her breast, guiding his fingers to pinch her nipple with a little more force, earning another short gasp. ]

You don't— have to be so gentle.

[ There, at least that was a full sentence.

She likes gentle, of course, likes that he treats her with kindness and a sort of reverence that still startles her, but she also won't break or lash out if he takes a few more liberties with her. ]

Edited (this was an important edit) 2018-01-12 17:44 (UTC)

[ He hums quietly – a surprisingly muted response, at least to himself, considering the way heat surges through him as she guides his touch, as she grinds and moves and falls against him.

Peter knows well enough that Gamora isn't delicate by any means, even if she might look it to someone who doesn't know her or her reputation. He knows she can take a lot more physical punishment than he ever could and would bounce back faster, besides. Still, he can't help being careful, a little hesitant, because he doesn't know how much of this is new to her, still, how much is strange or unfamiliar ground.

But she at least seems to know what she wants, and he pinches her nipple again with the same force she had applied earlier. He does it again, this time with a quick little twist, before he returns to massaging her, his touch firmer and more sure.

And still he pumps in and out of her with his fingers, feeling the way her slick walls clench around him, and he exhales sharply against her neck when that sharp sense of desire strikes through him. His fingers curl slightly, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over her clit. ]

Yes—

[ The gasped word escapes her before she can stop it. She squirms again with the pinches, that little twist, and she trembles in his arms without an ounce of self-consciousness.

And if she thought she was enjoying his fingers before, oh, it’s even better as they curl inside of her, that pressure over her clit making her buck suddenly into the attention. ]

Peter—

[ His name is on loop in her mind, even if she only barely manages to whimper it now as her fingers knot and pull again at his hair. She tugs firmly, unwittingly, writhing with the stimulation coming from so many different directions, and she loves every ounce of it.

If he stops, she’s definitely going to murder him. ]

[ God, Gamora is so hot. That thought spins in his own head with perfect clarity, and as she gasps, driving herself into his hand, he lets out a quiet groan against her shoulder. He hisses as her grip tightens in his hair, rocking himself against her back.

But he keeps most of his attention on her, on how she responds, and he thrusts his fingers in and out, with a little more purpose, a little faster, a little harder. His thumb presses against her clit in time with each thrust, and he pinches at her nipple again, twisting it the same way he had before. ]

God, you sound so good. You're so hot like this.

[ He breathes it against her skin, slick with the shower's water, and he noses at the line of her jaw. ]

Come for me.

[ Every part of this seems to heighten the experience – the quality of Peter’s voice, the press of his chest to her shoulders, cock rocking along the dip in her tailbone, his fingers plunging into her over and over and over. Just the right spot, just the right pressure, just the right everything.

It’s harder for her to control the sounds slipping out on each breath, but the difference is that she isn’t trying to contain herself or muffle what’s tumbling past her lips – because part of her wants Peter to know what he’s done to her. This isn’t the time or place to be removed, and as much as she never wants to give herself away—

She doesn’t mind if Peter is the one to see it.

She’s so close, too, only driven higher by Peter’s words vibrating against her skin, ringing in her ears, and something tight and hot just coils in her belly, lightning rocketing up her spine in licks of sparks. So close, so close, so close—

And she comes with his name flying unbidden from her lips in a cry as she arches sharply against him one last time, water hitting her breasts and her stomach and her neck, and she doesn’t even notice, doesn’t care, as pleasure and heat ripple through her. She should probably be more mindful of how she’s pulling at his hair, how her nails drag up his hip, leaving more than plentiful marks in their wake. The sensations keep going, and she keeps bucking into him a few seconds longer, until finally she’s limp and boneless in his arms.

She’s going to need a second. ]

[ He can feel the way he drives her closer and closer to the edge with how she pulls at him, the way she drags her nails along his leg and hip. His own breathing becomes heavier and heavier as she moans and sobs, as she squirms against him, as her walls clench around his fingers.

And then she comes, his name on her lips, and he he works her through it, biting down on her shoulder, rocking against her in turn. He sucks in a sharp breath when her nails leave trails on his skin, when her grip yanks at his hair, but he doesn't bother stopping her. (Later, he'll examine the scratch marks and think to himself, Fucking awesome.)

And when it's over, when she leans back against him, spent and exhausted, he kisses at her temple, at her cheek, slipping out his fingers and rubbing small, gentle circles on her hip. ]

[ Gamora's grip finally eases on him until she's simply cupping the nape of his neck, her other hand finding his forearm to rest lightly over his own. Her body is thrumming with warmth in the aftermath of her orgasm, an easy, breathless smile on her lips, and she turns her head to nose gently at his jaw, wherever she can reach.

She may not be one for verbal praise, but her entire posture is practically singing with how amazing that felt, how wonderful she still feels. But soft, almost mumbled, ]

... Perfect.

[ (She's not unaware of Peter still pressing against her back, but she's basking for a few extra moments.) ]

Edited 2018-01-14 19:11 (UTC)

[ Oh.

That makes him grin – smug and infuriating at any other time, probably. It's probably for the best she can't quite see the full force of it, but she'll certainly hear it when he says, ]

Thanks. I try my best.

[ Though even when he tries to imbue his voice with a light, irreverent sort of humor, there's still a certain breathlessness to it, a dark little shadow that betrays a little of the need still pulsing through his veins.

But, hey, he can wait, especially considering Gamora is might as well be broadcasting her satisfaction over a loudspeaker. Totally worth it. ]

[ It probably has something to do with the endorphins still bouncing around in her system, but she just rolls her eyes at Peter instead of actually admonishing him.

... Or she's distracted enough by the quality of his voice, that breathy edge of need, to care too much about how smug he may or may not be.

She licks her lips, finally turning in his arms to let the water sluice over her back and shoulders. Rather than keep any measure of distance between them, she presses herself flush against Peter's chest, her breasts against skin, his cock sliding tantalizingly over her stomach. ]

And how should I return the favor?

[ It helps that she knows there's no obligation, she knows she doesn't have to, but damn, she wants to.

Her fingers drift up his throat, thumb tracing the hinge of his jaw to his ear as she watches him with her own measure of darkness. Amazing as that may have felt, it didn't necessarily quench her own libido. ]

What do you want?

[ Unconsciously, he lets out a small, dismayed noise as she pulls away, though he quiets soon enough as she presses against him, his cock caught between them where it curves toward his own stomach. A noise gets punched out of him, and his hands come to rest on her hips. His eyes go half-lidded as he ruts against her. ]

Whatever you want.

[ And that's not an answer, but seriously, whatever is good enough for him, at this point. A part of him thinks he could probably come like this, grinding himself against her stomach. Hell, she could leave him to his own devices, if she really wanted. Water drips down his face, falling in rivulets down their bodies, and his skin feels overheated, stretched too thin and made oversensitive. ]

Mm, that was not what I asked.

[ She slides her hand higher to brush over his face, wiping away water and pushing wet curls back from his forehead. ]

I asked what you want.

[ She likes seeing him like this, though – eyes glazed over, want and need thrumming through every inch of him – and she can practically hear his heart slamming against his ribs with every hitch in his breath. Those little noises that seem just beyond his control are exhilarating, if only because it feels like a glimpse of how freely she could coax responses from him, if she tried.

The hand not on his face traces his shoulder, over his chest – mapping out scars and muscles alike – to trail lower and lower along his stomach. ]

[ He falls quiet for a moment, appreciating the way her fingers briefly card through his hair, the way her touch lingers as it trails down and down and down. He's lost in it for a second, as though trying to predict where she might trail, but he comes back to himself soon enough. ]

Just— anything.

[ Panted out, the sound of his voice nearly lost in the white noise of the water hitting the tile.

But he doubts Gamora's going to accept that answer, and he makes a quick decision: ]

Your hand.

[ Because that seems the most expedient, if he's honest. And blowjobs in the shower sound great, up until your knees are met with unyielding tile and water is getting into your nose and someone slips and bangs their head—

Let's not discuss how much personal experience Peter has on that front. ]

[ This is probably the most practical option for them now. The shower isn't an ideal location for much, because the potential to slip and fall doing almost anything curbs some enthusiasm. But jerking him off? She can do that.

Her fingertips rub slow circles over his stomach, relishing the way his muscles leap and tense, and she slides lower still, to finally wrap her hand around him. All those little mental notes she made of what wrung the best responses out of him, she puts to good use now, stroking along his cock to squeeze and twist, sweeping her thumb over the head. The pace is much less teasing this time, purposeful because he's been so generous, so diligent with her, and she wants to return the favor. ]

Is this what you need?

[ Leaning closer to breathe against his skin, trailing kisses and nips wherever she can reach to taunt him, tease him. ]

[ it feels like it takes ages as her hand wanders downward, as she explores the plane of his stomach, as he tenses and twitches with her touch. But when she finally wraps her hand around him, he lets out a groan, relieved and wanting all at once. He worries, for a brief second, that she’s going to just tease him again, that she’s going to herd him slowly toward that edge until he’s sobbing and begging for it, but—

Thank god, he thinks with that first solid stroke, and his moan this time is a touch louder, trailing off into a low, heated curse. He buries his face against his shoulder, panting against her as he holds her close – one hand tensing over the small of her back with each stroke or twist, the other tangling into her hair at the nape of her neck, plastered against her skin with the water of the shower.

She asks him a question, and for a second, he can only answer with a small, pleased sound and a nod, tilting his head to one side to give her more space to maneuver. Eventually he finds his voice, or at least some of it, and he rasps out, ]

God, yeah. Yes. Just— just like this.

[ She lets him cling to her, hold her close, flush against him, and she can practically hear the hammering of his heartbeat, latching onto every ragged gasp and moan.

"Just like this," she can do.

She drags her teeth along his throat, higher to murmur against the shell of his ear. ]

One day, I'm going to make you beg for me.

[ And that's so much a promise as it might be a threat.

Her wrist twists on another upward stroke, pausing at the tip to trace over sensitive skin over and over in a slow circle. ]

I want you undone.

[ Undone and needy and pleading.

If he lets her, if he trusts her enough to see him that way. ]

[ His breath catches with each drag of her teeth, each press of her lips, each twist of her wrist, and as she whispers against his ear, he—

Okay. That’s. That’s a good fucking promise, apparently, because he lets out a sound that’s very nearly a whine, and he thrusts into her hand desperately, almost frantically. And when the tempo changes, when her hand pauses at the tip of his cock, he stops breathing entirely, hips rocking to urge her back into the same rhythm.

Yeah, he wants to say, definitely on board with that, but coherent thought has escaped him, now. He thinks his voice might have spilled from him at some point, spiraling down the drain with the rest of the water, and all he’s left with is this – the feeling of her hand, her body, her lips and teeth and tongue and breath on him. His grip tightens in her hair, as much to keep her in place as a way to anchor himself.

All he can really manage is another strained, needy noise, and a quick nod. Yep. Yeah. Sounds fucking awesome. ]

[ ... How is it that he sounds even better like this?

A growl rumbles against his ear, approval as much as it is want. The message is broadcast loud and clear, even if he can't find his voice, can't summon up the words he needs to agree with her. He'll look so good under her hand, pleading and squirming and driven closer and closer to the edge until she wants to grant him that release.

Of course, today, she does want to let him come, wants to make him come, which is why she falls into rhythm again. Not too fast, not too slow, but steady and unfaltering. ]

For now, I want you to come for me.

[ Purred into his ear, accompanied by another nip. ]

[ He thinks a swear escapes him on a low moan as she finally picks up again, though he can’t be sure, focused as he is on the rhythm of her hand on him, steady and sure. Her words are almost lost on him, but when they click in place, it’s as much a relief as it is a spur, pushing him forward. He makes a strained sound at the back of his throat – probably something meant to stand in place of Yep, I definitely want that, too – following her rhythm with each rock of his hips.

He kisses her, bruising and impassioned, every ounce of need pushed into it. He licks into her mouth, bites at her lips – inelegant, admittedly, but Peter seems to think it’s effective. His hand curls possessively over the line of her jaw, fingers tangled in her hair. That dark coil of desire and want twists low in his stomach, bounds through his veins, pulses in his ears – deafening over the hiss of the water hitting the tile. After a while, he pulls back to bury his face against her neck. He goes quiet as that edge looms closer and closer, save for the ragged drag of each inhale and exhale. ]

Fuck— [ Low and heated after a few seconds of silence, shoved out on a rasp. ] Fuck, Gamora, I’m close, I’m—

[ He breathes out a few more swears, a few more oaths – most of it incoherent and nonsensical – though he hardly realizes he’s spoken. He quickly loses the rhythm, bucking into her hand faster and faster, chasing his release. It slams into him all at once with a force that nearly bowls him over. He comes with a shout, with Gamora’s name on his lips. His grip on her tightens, and his entire body tenses as he thrusts into her grip.

It feels like an eternity; it feels like an instant. The spray of the shower washes away his spend, and that wave falls away from him, leaves him loose and trembling against her. ]

[ Lips and teeth and tongue – she kisses Peter with every ounce of herself that she has. Because that's what it is: a piece of herself that she's sharing with him, wholeheartedly and genuinely. No one else has seen her like this, truly; no one has been on the receiving end of Gamora's passion and want that wasn't purely performative. This, with Peter? None of it is for show. She wants all of him, and she wants him to have her.

... Maybe not all of her, yet. Maybe that's still too overwhelming, but—

She wants him still to have her.

It's so hot experiencing him like this, and she loves every hitch in his breathing, every curse and tense of his muscles, his fingers on her skin as he loses control. So close—

And he comes crying her name, and she loves it.

She feels him pulsing in her grip, cum splashing over her fingers and her wrist, only to mingle with the water, leaving their skin with barely a trace left behind. She doesn't keep stroking him, doesn't want to overwhelm him or cause any undue pain with however oversensitive he might be, and instead, she winds her arms around his back, holding him close and letting him shiver through the aftermath.

Her lips brush slowly over his shoulder, turning to nuzzle at his soaked hair. ]

I suppose now we can actually shower.

[ For a long, irrational moment, Peter thinks he might actually melt into a puddle and wander his way down the drain along with everything else, that only Gamora’s arms around him manage to keep him together. It’s a dumb thought, though, and Peter smiles privately with it against her neck.

Eventually, when he feels a little more like himself, he straightens a little. The spray from the shower falls against his crown, forcing his bangs into a point against his forehead. He shoves his hair away from his face, huffing out a laugh. ]

Oh, right. [ And his voice is a little raspy, still not fully recovered but wandering closer. ] That thing we came in here to do.

Yeah, I guess we can do that.

Yes, that thing.

[ An absent little smile is still on her lips as she runs her palms affectionately down his back, not trying to pull away just yet. ]

Do you think you can stand on your own without falling over?

[ She's certain he can, but that doesn't stop her from giving him grief. ]

[ He snorts out a derisive noise. ]

Shut up.

[ Though there's not even a bit of heat behind the words. For a second or two, it seems like standing might actually be a tall order, but eventually he reluctantly pulls himself away from where he'd practically plastered himself against her front.

He spreads his hands, fingers splayed. Then, without inflection, ]

Tah-dah.

Congratulations.

[ Dry as her tone may be, it's belayed by the smile that hasn't disappeared as she draws her arms away, reaching instead for the soap to hand it over. ]

Just get rid of whatever dirt you brought home, and then we can eat.

[ He takes the soap from her, face scrunching up with distaste as he makes some nonsensical, mocking sound – something that says, "oooh, I'm Gamora and I never let Peter catch a break, ooooh."

Mature to the last, Quill. ]

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