riverview: ic contact;

[nostalgiabomb]

You've reached the voicemail of Star-Lord. Hit me with your best shot. Or— crap, wait, I should've quoted "Call Me" instead. Aw, dammit. Is it too late to— [ BEEP ] [ text | video | voice | action ] gif credit

USERNAME star.lord RESIDENCE community housing: floor 13, room 4 OCCUPATION perimeter guard: surveyor / salvage & repair specialist

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[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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. ]

[godslay]

[ 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.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[godslay]

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. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[godslay]

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.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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. ]