[None of them have led the kind of lives where a scrap of softness is a thing you get to take for granted. Even here and now, safe on the ship they've made a home of with someone he's come to trust completely, in some ways it still feels alien. It still feels new and strange to let someone this close, to have someone put their hands on his skin for the sole purpose of giving pleasure. Maybe it's always going to feel that way.
Maybe that's not such a bad thing. He doesn't know that he wants to take it for granted.
He snorts, shaking his head at the litany of increasingly ridiculous endearments, and gives a slow smirk as Peter crawls back up the bed to once again bracket him in against the mattress. A fresh thrill of heat shivers through him, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he retorts] I was gonna see about returning the favor, but you're kinda giving me second thoughts here...
[ It's exactly because they didn't have easy and happy lives that it makes it all the more necessary to show each other some appreciation. It comes from a place of trust and genuine affection, despite any rocky start, and Peter is grateful every day that they all found a place to call their own, a family.
Tonight he considers himself even more lucky than usual, sharing his bed with a lover he knows won't deceive him or hurt him on purpose. He might be a jackass on occasion, but that's part of Rocket's appeal. ]
Tsk, my terran charms are wasted on you. [ Peter scoffs, making an exaggerated pout for a split second and sounding not at all upset. One of his hands plays with Rocket's hair, fingers carding through the strands. ] Still, let me convince you some more.
[ He presses their bodies close, chest to chest, but still holds most of his own weight on his forearms. Peter finally breaks the last inches of distance between them and kisses him heated and deep, giving a slow roll of his hips in the process. ]
[The movement is slow and telegraphed enough that he could easily have put a stop to it if he'd wanted to, but still, part of him is nonetheless braced to have to suppress an instinctive spike of fight-or-flight when Peter settles in on top of him, pressing him into the mattress. He doesn't quite know what to do with the way it never comes. It doesn't feel like being held down or restrained. Instead it feels like a harness clipping into place; like the weight of a gun at his hip, noticeable only by the cessation of the sense of nakedness its absence had caused. He feels...anchored. Safe.
He leans readily into the kiss, a low moan lost between their lips for the heat and hunger in it. He can feel how desperately fucking hard Peter is; still being trapped in his pants has to fucking hurt by this point. It's kind of hot, knowing that it's all for him.
He gives a mock-thoughtful hum against Peter's lips as they break for air] Hmm, lemme think it over—
[In his current position he doesn't have the most useful leverage. But he hasn't missed that Peter's full weight isn't on him, and that's all the opening he needs. He hooks a leg around the back of Peter's knee and braces a hand against his shoulder, and in one fluid motion pushes and twists and flips them. Peter's back hits the mattress, and suddenly Rocket's grinning down at him, all dark eyes and predatory intent as he slips a hand between them to palm Peter's dick through his pants]
[ Peter would have moved away the moment Rocket seemed uncomfortable, or if he made it clear he needed some space. The last thing he wants is to overwhelm him, and Peter has made aware many (many, truly) times in the past that he can be a bit much.
He's glad that Rocket doesn't push him away, though, that maybe it's another big show of trust. Back in the day, Gamora also had some issues with unexpected touches or Peter clinging to her too much that they had to work on. He's a sucker for cuddling but, with time, he also learned to give her the space she needed and find a middle ground. Peter would be Rocket's weighed blanket any time he wants or simply stay close without touching if that's what works best for him.
He moans into the kiss in response to Rocket's willingness and the sounds the other man is making, and it's so thoroughly distracted that when Rocket flips them over, Peter lets out a startled yelp. His surprised face quickly melts into one of pure delight, and he looks up at Rocket looming over him with a smile of his own. ]
I didn't know you had it in you. [ If Peter means the strength or Rocket being this feisty, it's up in the air. He means both, so any interpretation works. The grin Rocket is giving him goes straight to his dick, and the hungry gaze makes Peter visibly shiver with anticipation. The heat of his unfulfilled pleasure is still burning low in his belly, and the feeling gets sharper when Rocket gets his hands on him, prompting Peter to throw back his head with a broken moan escaping his lips. ]
Fuck, ah... [ His hands twitch on each side of him, but he doesn't dare to reach out and touch Rocket right now, lest he stop doing whatever he has planned. He can do something else, though, and that's running his mouth in a way his friend might like. ] Rocket...Please.
Edited (I forgot a word oops.) 2024-11-10 02:23 (UTC)
[He gives a soft huff of a laugh, a wry fondness in the smile that curves his lips. After all this time, neither the fact that he's disproportionately strong for his size nor his inability to back down from anything that looks like a challenge can possibly come as a surprise to Peter. He's never put anything less than a hundred percent into something once he's decided he's doing it, and this is no different.
His gaze is intent on Peter, attention wholly focused on him, cataloguing every detail of the shivers and moans provoked by subtle changes in the movement of his hand. A glint that probably would be worrying to anyone with functional self-preservation instincts comes into his eyes at that breathless please, at the way his name sounds ragged and greedy on Peter's lips. Fuck, he wants more of it. He wants to see where this takes them.
He leans down to lick a slow, deliberate stripe up the length of the scar that bisects Peter's collarbone, tasting fresh sweat, palm still working in a steady rhythm against the bulge in his pants. His teeth graze over the hollow of Peter's throat as he unzips his pants with a deft hand, reaching inside to free his straining cock. It's hot and desperately hard, jumping eagerly in his grip as he wraps his hand around the shaft and lifts his head to watch Peter's face as he slowly starts to stroke]
[ Peter smiles a toothy grin up at him after that reaction. He knows that Rocket's looks are deceiving, and he's seen the man fight plenty; it's only that he hadn't considered Rocket using his strength in bed, and hell if the thought doesn't make Peter's blood run hotter. One day he needs to try to convince Rocket to check if he can hold him up with Peter's legs wrapped around his waist.
He probably should be a bit worried about the intense look that Rocket's offering him, but self-preservation has never been Peter's forte, and the whole situation only makes him want the other man more. He doesn't know what to do with his hands now, so one arm wraps around Rocket's shoulders to pull him even closer, grabbing onto him with some desperation when a tongue slides up the scar by his neck.
Every drag of Rocket's fingers against his heated skin sparks up his spine. They should probably get rid of his pants, the damn things really are in the way, but he doesn't want to do anything that implies losing that hand wrapped around his cock. Peter has to try to focus and take some deep breaths for a second, or things are going to end too fast for his liking. Almost unconsciously, his hips roll up into the contact, seeking more friction, cursing and groaning under his breath. A chocked-out moan goes past his lips even though he bites down on his bottom lip to try and stifle it. ]
[A shudder runs through him at the urgent way Peter grabs onto him, at the naked desperation in the grip on his shoulders. He grins against the side of Peter's neck and scrapes his teeth over the tender, stubble-dusted skin there, chasing that sense of need.
Something about that stifled moan cuts straight through him, a pulse of heat and want shivering over his skin and a twitch of renewed interest from his dick] C'mon, don't hold out on me [It's a low, rough-voiced murmur, punctuated with a light but pointed squeeze of his hand. His eyes are still intent on Peter's as he cantinues stroking his dick] I wanna hear you.
[ Peter whimpers at the brush of teeth against his flesh and knows that Rocket might give him shit for it later, but he can't help himself now. A new wave of pleasure crashes into him, making his stomach tense up and his back arch with it.
It has something to do with Rocket's voice and not just the way he so deliciously works on him, stroking him just right; it's the rough voice and the command. Apparently, Peter doesn't like to be told what to do unless it happens in bed. Rocket's hands are callused, unsurprisingly, and that only adds to the sensation, making Peter shudder hard after a particularly well-aimed stroke. His thighs press against Rocket's, trembling a little, and there's that desperate want that makes Peter wish they were even closer. ]
Oh, fuck me...[ He breathes out between a few more unsteady moans, this time louder, not trying to be quiet anymore. He's pretty sure his cheeks are flushed a deep red and his eyes watery. ]
[Fuck me. Peter's voice is absolutely wrecked, and it's probably just a turn of phrase, but the thought still hits him like a punch in the stomach. Fuck that's a hot mental image] Maybe next time [Part of him's distantly shocked at how steady his voice is, as though just the idea alone hasn't entirely shorted out every rational thought in his head. He swallows hard and gives a broad, teasing grin] If, y'know. If you ask nice.
[He settles his weight in more comfortably against Peter, half draped over him, and picks up the pace of the purposeful movements of his hand. There's something intoxicating about the flush burning over Peter's skin, about hearing those moans and knowing they're for him. He gives a low, breathless curse of his own, rocking his hips lazily against Peter's thigh and watching him with dark, hungry eyes as he strokes his cock] Fuck that's hot. Fuck, c'mon—
[ Peter's brain almost overloads at that, his thoughts going from Hell, yes, and I can ask real niiiice, you'll see to You can't just promise shit like that and not deliver. He groans, not voicing any of these thoughts because his throat feels suddenly very dry. He has to take a moment to appreciate being here, to look at Rocket’s infuriatingly handsome face and devilish grin, and knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he's in too deep again. Oh, well. ]
N-next time? The night's young. [ Peter's lips quirk up, his green eyes bright. The tone is tensing but still gentle, aware of who they are and what all this means. ] Don't tell me you clock out after one round. I expect better.
[ That's a surprisingly long sentence coming from Peter, considering how most of the blood from his brain has left the premises. He hopes Rocket doesn't expect more teasing or coherent answers, especially after leaning more of his weight on him in a way that makes Peter's toes curl. Rocket tightens the grip on his cock, fast and fucking perfect, and Peter practically wails.
He clutches Rocket's shoulder like he's holding onto a lifeline, hitches one of his legs up for leverage, and locks it behind Rocket's thigh when the other man starts grinding against him. It's only a few seconds later that he's crying out, coming right after Rocket prompts him to. Peter shakes and gasps for air, burying his face in the crook of his neck, feeling like he's falling apart but comforted by the fact that Rocket's there to catch him and center him.
He shivers through an aftershock and lets himself relax, going boneless on the mattress, messy curls falling over his forehead. He's no longer grabbing at Rocket as if he's afraid he will disappear, but also not letting go of him just yet. ]
[That's a hell of a lot more words than he was expecting, and they're mostly coherent and in an order that makes sense and everything. Clearly he's not trying hard enough here. Coherence is more than he expects from Peter at the best of times, never mind with a hand on his dick and the kind of tremors running through him that strongly suggest he's half an inch from losing it. He's gotta up his game. And if he focuses on that thought— well, it's a simpler one than acknowledging that he has no idea what he's getting himself into here.
If he was ever gonna learn his lesson about letting his mouth run until it's talked him into something he doesn't know how to back down from, it would've happened long before now. He'll figure it out when he gets there. He always does.
For now, it's hard not to feel like he's got the upper hand when he's got Peter falling apart under him; shamelessly needy, making sounds that are going to be burned into his brain for the rest of his fucking life. His own dick's definitely starting to get interested in the proceedings again as he keeps working his grip in the same relentless rhythm, chasing every cry and moan like his life depends on it. Peter's a good-looking guy. He'd never particularly planned to do anything about that fact until roughly twenty minutes ago, but he's not blind. And fuck, he's never been as gorgeous as he is in this moment, every muscle taut and a look of desperate rapture on his face, arching up and crying out as he comes.
In the still, breathless moments that follow, he turns his face to rest his cheek against Peter's hair, all lazy satisfaction and a not-quite-familiar sense of fondness. He still feels almost drunk on it. Even if he doesn't quite know what to do with the way Peter's holding on to him like he doesn't want to let go, like maybe there's something in the closeness beyond just savoring the afterglow, it's...good. It feels like the way Peter had smiled at him, way back when, the first time he'd unthinkingly referred to the Milano as home.
He eases his hand free and lifts his head to inspect the wetness spilled over his fingers with an air of mild curiosity. And then, with a smirk, he holds Peter's eyes as he slowly and deliberately licks them clean]
[ Proof that not even good sex can make Peter shut up for good. Or not completely. Rocket can still be proud of all the embarrassing noises he got out of him and the many more he might get in the future. Whatever they end up doing, if Rocket's up for it, Peter will welcome it. Even give pointers if the other needs them, but he doesn't think Rocket's pride would appreciate it. Right now he's still lost in the afterglow and enjoying the last remains of his high, but his hold eases from a grip to him running his hands up and down Rocket's back in a caress.
After Rocket rests his cheek against him, Peter closes his eyes. It takes him a few seconds to figure out what the fuzzy feeling in his chest means. He's happy. Not simply blissed out because the sex is great, he feels genuinely happy for the first time in a long while. It feels so good to be pressed close to someone, to share their warmth and be playful.  He lets out a soft whine and opens his eyes again when Rocket moves, a bit sensitive still, only to end up staring. One day you're going to be the death of me, Peter doesn't say it out loud because he doesn't want to jinx them, but he sure thinks about it as he watches Rocket lick his fingers. ]
Holy hell, that's sexy. [ He admits, because he's not made out of stone, and he's too full of endorphins to lie. Not one to hold back either, Peter runs a hand up Rocket's side chest, gently fondling it and then flicking his thumb over a nipple to check his reaction. ]
Getting back in the game already, hm? I'm going to need five minutes, and I really want to get rid of the damn pants first, please, but I also don't feel like moving just yet. I kinda like you on top, to be honest.
[They've always had a way of getting under each others' skin, turning things into a challenge that absolutely did not need to be. It's mostly playful these days, and they've both learned some lessons about when to ease off, but there's still a certain competitiveness there. He's got this feeling like things are going to escalate now they've found a whole new way of driving each other crazy. Fuck, they are not going to be able to be chill about this.
It definitely doesn't feel like something that's going to be a one-and-done. Not when Peter's hands are still warm and familiar against his skin, making him gasp and shudder with just a touch. He wants more; wants to dig his fingers in and map out every corner of this until he knows exactly how to take Peter apart like a misbehaving engine and put him back together so he sings under his hands.
He moans softly at that teasing touch, eyes drifting shut and lips parting as he leans into it] That's handy [It comes out slightly breathless, but he doesn't let that take the edge off his smirk] 'Cause I could get used to having you under me.
[He rocks his hips lazily, looking down at Peter with dark, lidded eyes, and slowly leans in until they're close enough for their noses to brush, his arm braced on the bunk above Peter's head] Got some big ideas about round two, huh?
[ With the uprising they had, and how difficult it was at the beginning for all the Guardians to simply admit how they felt about the others, challenges and fights were inevitable. Peter's glad they move past that, but that Rocket still gives as good as he gets. Life is never dull when they banter, and he also needs a partner who won't take his bullshit.Â
And yes, Peter now has a whole new arsenal at his disposal to get under Rocket's skin and, with some luck, into his pants. Now he knows the flirting won't be unwelcome, so he will dash it out freely and pamper the other often unless Rocket tells him to stop.
The situation looks promising so far, with Rocket responding so beautifully to touches and Peter memorizing what places are safe for his hands to wander to. He's getting addicted very quickly to making Rocket shudder and mutter under his breath; the raspy way his voice turns to, it's very attractive. Â
There's no urgency now in their movements, which allows Peter to appreciate even more the feel of Rocket under his hand, and he keeps letting his fingers caress and brush over places he knows will feel good. His other hand sneaks up his partner's spine and then buries itself in the brown hair, playing with the strands. ]
Is that so? Maybe we're onto something then. [ He wants to wipe that cocky smirk off the man's face, preferably with his own mouth, and he's all too delighted when the other leans closer. Peter nuzzles the tip of his nose against Rocket's, then tilts his chin up until their lips brush. ]
You know me; I'm the best at plans. I've got a few great suggestions to share with you. Let me tell you the first one.
[ The hand playing with his hair comes to snake around the back of Rocket's neck, urging him forward, so Peter can lay a kiss on his lips. It's deceptively soft, and it doesn't take long until Peter deepens it, nipping at Rocket's bottom lip and pressing his tongue against the sting. ]
[The urgency of what came before had been incredible, but there's a different kind of intensity to this; a promise he doesn't know what to do with in the way Peter touches him like they have all the time in the world to make the most of it.
It'd been a long, hard road, learning how to be part of a team. How to accept people caring about him, and to admit to himself that he cared about them too. It was worth it, in the end, even if it still feels like a thin veneer on a yawning chasm some days. But this is new even beside all of that. Being someone's focus like this is something he has no point of reference for at all. Just feeling around the edges of it is already overwhelming.
There's some automatic retort on his lips about the typical quality of Peter's plans, but whatever it would have been it's lost in the kiss, overtaken by an almost subvocal moan. He doesn't know if he loves how enthusiastically Peter's taken to having an exciting new way to shut him up, but given that he plans to use to same tactic extensively himself, possibly he doesn't get to complain.
And the perks are undeniable. A sound that's almost a growl is pulled from him at that sting of teeth, and he kisses back harder, sinking his fingers back into Peter's hair and tugging]
Yeah, okay. That one was one of your better plans [Smirk] Granted, it's a low bar...
[ Peter might have had a well-deserved reputation for being kind of a hoe in the past, but once he decides to be with someone, to make them feel good and enjoy their company, he doesn't do a half-assed job. He's going to both tease Rocket to no end and pamper him at the first opportunity when they're in private, until it gets into the man's thick head that he too is deserving of softer touches.
After losing Gamora twice, Peter hasn't exactly been looking to get his heart broken again and didn't think anyone would ever want him in that same way anyway. He's too broken and ruined for anybody to make an effort to deal with all that baggage. So this thing with Rocket comes as a very pleasant surprise and also makes him feel more vulnerable than Peter can let on.
Rocket has already seen him at his worst, and he's still here. He knows about Peter's many fuckups and flaws and still saved his life countless times in the past as if it were worth something. It's a little too much to think about, even if Peter masks it well. Hiding his insecurities behind jokes and easy touches comes easy, and he does want to touch Rocket and kiss him senseless, so that's a plus.
The hair tugging prompts Peter to moan against Rocket's mouth, the sound muffled by the harsh kissing, but impossible to miss. Oh that's unfair, playing with one of Peter's weaknesses. ]
Asshole. [ It's all he says after the kiss and the sassiness, but his voice doesn't carry any real anger, and Peter's face is flushed because of the kissing. He lightly pokes at Rocket's side in vengeance and to check if the guy's ticklish. He had never had the chance to test it without risking losing a finger, but maybe after the mind-blowing orgasms, Rocket's in a good enough mood that he won't mind too much. Or perhaps he will bite him again. Peter thinks that's not a bad outcome.
He squirms a little under him eventually, letting out a low sigh when he ends up grinding up against Rocket in the process. This position feels nice, but it would feel nicer if they were both totally naked. ]
Move a little, will you? So I can get rid of the damn pants. Besides, don't you want to take a good look at all the goods?
[Getting into a full-blown capital-R Relationship isn't a thing he's ever been looking for, really. He still doesn't know if it's something he even wants, never mind the much bigger and more uncomfortable question of whether or not he's got enough pieces left for real people shit of that magnitude. Mostly the idea of letting someone in that close kind of makes his skin crawl. He's never understood why so many people go out actively seeking it, like there's some kind of person-shaped hole at their side that they're desperately trying to fill with anyone they come across who looks like they could be made to fit.
But for all that the idea doesn't really appeal in the abstract, this is about as close as he's ever gotten, and now he's here...he doesn't hate it. The uneasy tension he's always associated with trying to open up a little is absent. And whatever happens next, Peter's part of his crew. Nothing's going to change that. They've fucking bled for each other; if this doesn't work, sure things might be weird for a while, but they've been through too much together to let it fuck them up]
Yep [The agreement is immediate, cheerful, and utterly unrepentant. Hey, he's never claimed to not be an asshole. At this stage he can only assume Peter's into it.
He gives another low growl at the teasing jab and, predictably, does indeed immediately bite. He raises his eyebrows at the nudge to move] You're the one who wanted to savor the afterglow or whatever [But he does obligingly roll off of Peter, sprawling out on the mattress with a catlike stretch and a satisfied groan]
Go on then [He reaches down to stroke his dick lazily, eyes sweeping hungrily over the outline of the promised goods] Gimme a show.
[ Peter's fine with going wherever this takes them; no pressure needed. It's new for him still, in a while, because this is Rocket and every person is different. There is a person-shaped hole in the form of Gamora in Peter's chest, but he's learned to mend it in other ways, so it hurts less as time goes by.Â
He's not expecting Rocket —or anyone, for what matters— to fill it. It would be unfair to everyone involved. That's Peter's cross to bear, but it doesn't mean there isn't space for others. They're family, they're crew; no matter what the future has in store for them, nothing's going to change that.
He has to laugh at Rocket's remorseless answer, shaking his head. Yeah, okay, he might find it more attractive than annoying these days. Exciting even.
They say the first step is admitting it. Says the self-proclaimed asshole (but one that's not 100% a dick). A squeak escapes Peter's lips at the expected bite that followed his prodding, but otherwise, he doesn't complain. It's a very manly squeak, mind you, Peter will say so, no matter what Rocket might have heard. When no brutality against his fingers happens, Peter takes it as a good sign. ]
I did. [ Also no shame in the admission; it's been good. Peter very pointedly does not mention that Rocket seemed to enjoy it too. ] I just happen to also not want to overheat. And I can't sit on your lap like this.
[ He huffs at Rocket after the man rolls over, but then Peter raises his eyebrows and gives him a look a moment later. Eyyy, he's also getting quite the show right now, not missing the way Rocket's hand sneaked down between his legs. Damn, but his cock is pretty. Not something Peter goes around thinking about on the regular about dicks that are not his own, Â but fuck it. Rocket's a handsome bastard. It's also not something he'd say out loud because otherwise the Rocket's ego would not fill into the bedroom, but the appreciation in Peter's eyes might be hard to miss.
Peter's eyes narrow, and the corner of his lips curls up into a mischievous grin. He doesn't move immediately, first running his hand through the messy curls, arching his back, and stretching on the bed, his chest rising as he does so. With a content sigh, he finally sits up on the mattress, leaning in, shoulder slightly curved inwards to give Rocket a good view of his backside for a few seconds. There's frankly a lot to see.
Peters' fingers hook around the edge of his trousers, and since they're already open and the underwear down, it only takes him a smooth movement and another shift of his hips to pull everything down and off of him. He tosses the clothes to the floor without looking; toned legs now on display, long and muscular and perfect to be wrapped around a certain someone's waist, if you asked Peter. He shifts on the bed, lying down on his side and closer enough to Rocket that he can sneak one said thighs in between the other man's leg. Peter' eyes flick down to Rocket's crotch, then back up to his face, the smirk still in place. ]
[They've seen each other naked plenty over the years— including on the day they fucking met, getting hosed down for processing in the Kyln. The whole crew's well used to living their lives in each others' space, and no-one really bats an eyelid at shit like communal showers or someone not feeling the need to lock themselves away in their bunk to get changed. They've patched up each other's hurts plenty too, got intimately familiar with more than a few scars back when they were fresh and bleeding; it's not like anyone's hiding any surprises under their clothes, is what he's getting at here. He already knows exactly what he's going to see when Peter's finished stripping off.
But that doesn't stop it from feeling new, especially when Peter's embracing that challenge to make a show of it. From the way Peter's eyes linger on him too, he feels like maybe he's not the only one thinking along similar lines, but it's hard to spare much brainpower for considering the kind of picture he must make himself when he's too busy greedily taking in every detail; the muscles in Peter's back flexing with the motion, the curve of his ass, a hipbone trailing temptingly down towards his waistband. His eyes are intent as they sweep over the skin newly bared to him, shamelessly appreciative]
You know I always got time for you, babe [Layered with sarcasm, of course, but it can't really cut too deep when he's readily pressing into the contact. He releases his grip on his cock in favor of grinding against the warm weight of Peter's thigh where it's draped over him. One hand settles at Peter's hip, pulling him in closer. He winds the other back into Peter's hair — he hadn't missed the positive response that tugging on it had got before — and pulls back slowly but firmly, encouraging Peter to bare the line of his throat for him to run his tongue along, tasting the salt of fresh sweat]
Nice show [He says, impishly, and sinks his teeth in]
[ Peter likes to think that the intent behind the action makes a hell lot of a difference. Yes, they've seen each other plenty of times in different states of undress, and it's fine; there is technically nothing out of the ordinary to be found here. But it's like seeing someone at the beach wearing a skimpy bikini, versus spending time with them in the privacy of the bedroom with only their underwear. Or, in this case, without it.
He's got permission to ogle and appreciate Rocket, a damn if he isn't going to do just that to his heart's content. It's also rewarding to get that attention in return, and coming from Rocket it makes it all the sweeter. There had been some comments about Peter's body and his weight thrown around either from Drax or Rocket himself in the past that left his pride and self-esteem a little bruised, not like he would ever admit it.
No matter how much dripping derision Rocket manages to put on that single word, it can't stop Peter from beaming even more at Rocket, clearly elated at witnessing an endearment leaving the man's lip. Frankly, it is because Rocket says it with the same contempt a professional cook would say the word 'cockroach' that it makes it endearing in its own way.
Peter lifts his thigh slightly to give Rocket more to grind against and moves closer at the first tug to his hair as if he can't get enough of Rocket. He gets the message quickly, and he's really starting to enjoy the way they manage to communicate in bed without words with the same efficiency they can do while in the middle of battle. ]
We have just started-ah. [ He grabs onto Rocket's bicep at the first pleasant sting of teeth on his neck, shuddering. His eyes go half-lidded, and he tilts his head back to offer more of the column of his throat. ] I should have known; you'd always been a biter.
[ It comes out as a pleased hum rather than a complaint. Peter runs a hand up the curve of Rocket's muscular arms, and then it trails to the center of the chest, careful to avoid brushing against the metal in his collarbone or any heavy scarring. A warm palm slides down the breastbone, then presses against Rocket's pecs, fingers rubbing and gently pinching Rocket's pink nipples, then squeezing harder. ]
So...what,...what we talked about before. You're still interested?
[He makes a muffled noise of agreement against Peter's throat as he traces over the reddened marks he's left behind with the flat of his tongue, feeling the roughness of stubble and the thrum of the pulse beating hard just under the skin. There's something viscerally satisfying about seeing those marks livid against Peter's skin, knowing he's going to be carrying them around for a little while. A tangible reminder that this actually fucking happened.
The hands on him feel fucking incredible, drawing out rolling waves of pleasure from places he wouldn't have said until right this second that he particularly gave a shit about being touched. A quiet, almost surprised sound of approval falls from his lips as those wandering fingers tease over his nipples, his hips rocking more urgently into the muscular thigh slung across his leg. He presses his face into the crook of Peter's neck, moaning softly. He doesn't know every touch can have him greedy for more like this, like nothing else fucking matters.
He goes still at the question though, the haze of want receding slightly. He doesn't need to ask what Peter means; there's no point playing coy.
The fact that he's hesitated at all already isn't great. Never show weakness is a lesson he learned early and hard, and even after finding people he trusts to cover him, it's one he's never been able to fully let go of. It would be so fucking easy to just roll with it, slam up some old familiar walls of bravado and just see where it, but...fuck, he doesn't want to. After everything he figures a scrap of honesty is the least he owes Peter. He licks suddenly dry lips and takes a steadying breath]
Interested, yeah, but I uh... [He hasn't lifted his head from where it's still tucked in with his forehead resting against the side of Peter's neck] I'm not gonna lie to you man, it's...kinda new ground. I— [ — maybe don't have the best associations with the whole concept, he doesn't say. — feel kind of weird about it and I don't know if I wanna think too hard about why, he doesn't say. ] —y'know, I know I talk a good game, but I don't actually wanna hurt you for real.
[ Not even the high collar of their new uniform might cover those red marks Rocket's leaving on him, and that will no doubt raise some questions, but Peter can't bring himself to give a fuck. There's a pleased thrill that runs up his spine at the knowledge that Rocket wants him enough to mark him, and that he doesn't care who knows. A high-pitched moan goes past his lips, even though Peter tries to keep the embarrassing whimpers to a minimum. He arches up into the contact, seeking more of the warmth of Rocket's mouth, and gets lost in the sensations, eager and pleased at the attention. He really gets sex-stupid when the other man is involved, Kriff.
Peter tries his best to reciprocate in a way that will keep drawing those soft noises out of his lover; he thinks they're quickly becoming his favorite thing to listen to after his mother's playlist. He also makes a mental note to get his mouth and teeth on Rocket's chest, not just his hands, once there's a chance.
When he stiffens, Peter only hums at him and listens. Waits. He's always known that Rocket cares, that he's more considerate and kind than it might look at first sight —pride and self-preservation and all that— but it's sweet to see that side of him come to the surface. Even if he's still hiding his face. Peter won't call him out on it. ]
That's all right. It was just an idea. We don't have to try at all, or it doesn't have to be tonight.
[ There's no disappointment in Peter's voice, and he keeps up with his touches, sometimes dragging his nails over one of Rocket's nipples to both distract him and keep him grounded. There's a promise in his words of more nights like this to happen in their future.
Any other time he might have played, goaded Rocket into giving whatever shenanigans they were doing a try, or outright dared him to. It's different now, and honesty should be answered in kind. He tilts his head to the side to nuzzle Rocket's hair and then speaks in a low voice. ]
If hurting me is your concern, then you don't have to worry. It doesn't have to be painful. And even if we fumble things at the beginning, it's not the end of the world.
[ Not to mention that Peter's threshold for pain is pretty high. Growing up with Ravagers and as the only human in this sector of the galaxy would do that to you. It wasn't pleasant, and he also has a fair share of unfortunate stories involving bed partners who couldn't understand that Terrans were not as sturdy as Xandarians. Still, he knows Rocket would never cause him pain on purpose. He feels safe with him. ]
It gets easier with practice, like disabling a bomb. You just need to be careful with the delicate bits and don't do things too harshly or too fast. [ Not his best metaphor, and if Peter had to compare himself to a weapon, he would choose a blaster, but he hopes Rocket gets the idea. ] Still, it's not something we ever need to do.
[ Since Rocket might still need some time, Peter doesn't lean back and pull him into a kiss, even though he really wants to do just that. Instead, the hand on his chest travels down his abs, a finger draws circles around his belly button, and then drags down his happy trail. It's all good; they're all good; no need to get nervous, see? ]
I'll only kick you out of bed if you snore. Sorry, man, I need my beauty sleep. [ He hopes that Rocket can feel the smile in his voice. ]
[He relaxes in against Peter again at that easy acceptance, at the way the hands moving over his skin never pause, even as some part of him still wants to bristle at any implication that he needs any kind of gentle handling. He knows full well it's fucking stupid, but there's no helping the instinct, and it stings worse when it's true. At least after all this time he's learned how to not give in to it. A few years ago he might have done something real dumb at this juncture.
He doesn't know if he could really fit words around why this sits so fucking weirdly with him. But if he's honest with himself about it...well. The Kyln was number twenty-three on his long and increasingly impressive list of prison breaks. He'll happily brag about that, share stories of some of the wilder ones, but to bust out of a prison, first you gotta be in there. The first few efforts hadn't been nearly as practiced. They'd taken some time to come together, and in the meantime he'd had to figure out real fast how to survive on the inside. It makes him feel uneasy now in a way he hadn't had the context for then, looking back and realising how fucking young he must have been, that first time. Young, and small, and pretty, and no wonder he'd looked like an easy target to the kind of scum who go looking for that sort of thing.
'Course they'd learned pretty quick that the key word missing from that description was feral. He's left plenty of bodies behind him in his time, and those particular ones he's never going to feel a shred of fucking remorse about. He's intimately familiar from his time at the lab with what it feels like to be a thing in someone else's eyes, a resource they're only interested in for whatever they could get out of him, and even if the end goal had been different...he'd been pretty fucking determined to do whatever he had to to never have to feel like that again. At the time he'd been too invested in his own survival to have much sympathy to spare for anyone who couldn't kill to make their point. You fight back if you can and you suffer if you can't; that was just the way of the fucking universe back then.Â
He resolved a long time ago to go down fighting if that was what it took not to be the guy who gets fucked over like that, but...he doesn't wanna be the other guy either. It's been a long, hard road to learning how to be better, to look past his own survival and give a shit about other people, and even now it doesn't come especially naturally. He doesn't want to be the kind of person who'd hurt someone they're supposed to care about for their own gratification. He's not in the habit of prettying up a hard truth, and he knows fine well he hasn't never taken way too much satisfaction in ending a fight more brutally than it'd started, or in shooting someone who'd done a questionable amount to earn it. Even if objectively he knows that there's no reason for Peter to ask for anything he doesn't want, on some level it still feels like risking crossing a line he doesn't know if he can come back from. He doesn't know if he wants to find out if he really would back it off if he was told to.
He doesn't know how he explains any of that; especially not when he is, frankly, still so horny his higher brain functions are on full autopilot. But he knows that he trusts Peter. Whatever comes next, it's going to be okay]
Yeah. Yeah, it's all good [He leans encouragingly into those touches, giving what reassurance he can with the closeness that he still wants to be here. A bomb might not be the right metaphor for Peter, but damned if disarming one isn't the right one for him, one that genuinely does make him feel on more solid ground with the whole concept. He regularly works with explosives that would turn him and everything else in a mile radius into a fine mist if mishandled; he knows he's more than capable of a delicate touch where it's needed. He lifts his head to catch Peter's lips in a kiss, soft and lingering, and makes his decision]
I mean, we can give it a shot, right? No reason we can't just bail if it ain't workin' out.
[ Some instinctual things about themselves are difficult to fight against, and traumas and triggers developed can't be helped. Peter has a few of them too. Anybody justifying their heinous acts with a 'they left me no option', the same excuse Ego, Thanos, and the High Evolutionary once used, makes Peter go into a blind rage. He can no longer listen to his mom's favorite ssong, Brandy ,without feeling like he's about to cry or to start breaking things. And he gets twitchy around telepaths and people who can control minds, Mantis excluded.
You can fight these instincts; you can learn to cope with them, but they don't always go away fully. If he knew what Rocket was thinking about or worried about, he would understand. He might not have been in as many prisons as the other man, but the Kyln wasn't his first one either. He had to deal with people overstepping boundaries and walking all over his personal space in the past plenty of times all his life. Hell, if he hadn't been for Groot and Rocket's intervention, his stay at the Kyln would have escalated into something deeply unpleasant. He was lucky.
But they don't talk about the things they don't talk about, and Peter doesn't know where Rocket's mind has gone for a moment; he's just happy when he feels him relax under his caresses. He doles out caresses and heavier touches, squeezing where it will feel good and lightly teasing when that might earn him another shudder or a groan from his lover.
The moment Rocket lifts his head, Peter gives him the kind of smile that only promises good things to come. He's a bit surprised about how soft the following kiss is but makes an approving little noise and nuzzles Rocket a little once it's over. ]
Yeah. Lots of other things we can do if that ends up not being our thing. I could give you a long list. A few involve my thighs. One or two might be illegal on a few planets.
[ That last part is a joke. Possibly. Who can tell for sure when Peter looks that at smug? One of those muscular thighs lifts some more, pressing up against Rocket's cock, and then he shifts on the bed to roll on his back properly and drag Rocket closer and on top of him. He had liked that before, and it seemed like the position might help Rocket feel less trapped. His hand fists Rocket's hair, and this time it's him to give a tug to get him to offer more of the column of his neck, so Peter can pepper it with kisses. He starts by sucking a mark on his own, then alternates between sucking, kissing, and nipping at it. ]
[It's weird now to think back on a time when Peter was just another bounty, and his only particular investment in keeping the guy more or less in one piece was that the notice had specified wanted alive. Would they still have stepped in, that day in the Kyln, if there hadn't been that motivation? Maybe. He's got no illusions about giving much of a shit himself, but Groot always was better than him when it came to that kind of thing, and he knows he would have backed Groot's play no matter what.
Whatever might have happened in some other world, here and now — with Peter's arms around him, a lazy heat still burning between them — he's glad it didn't go down like that. Fuck, he's glad that all the shit they've been through, somehow it still ended with them here. There's no point wishing things were different. All you can do is make the most of what you've still got left]
I like illegal [His grin is mischievous] Illegal sounds fun.
[He definitely likes Peter's thighs as well, especially when they're rubbing up against him like that, the pressure so fucking good but so tantalisingly not enough. He goes easily with the motion as Peter rolls them. A full-body shiver runs through him at the feel of Peter's hands sinking into his hair, and he leans encouragingly into the touch, readily baring his throat to that hot, eager mouth. Another rough, muttered curse falls from his lips for the sting of that mark being put on his skin, drawing him deeper into the kind of hazy heat that makes thinking too hard real difficult.
He braces his forearm against the mattress to keep his balance, and slides his free hand over Peter's skin, following the planes of muscle and the familiar lines of old scars. His hips are still rocking lazily, shamelessly rutting into the warm press of their bodies; at this angle his cock is trapped in between their stomachs, and he has the distant thought that he could probably get off just like this, grinding greedily against Peter as the hot mouth working against his throat sends fresh waves of lust shuddering through him.
But fuck, for all his misgivings, he's still him and that means curious to a fault. He wants to know what more ends up looking like. He pulls away just enough to meet Peter's gaze, a spark in his eyes not a million miles away from the look he gets in the moment it becomes clear that a job's about to tip over into a firefight]
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Maybe that's not such a bad thing. He doesn't know that he wants to take it for granted.
He snorts, shaking his head at the litany of increasingly ridiculous endearments, and gives a slow smirk as Peter crawls back up the bed to once again bracket him in against the mattress. A fresh thrill of heat shivers through him, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he retorts] I was gonna see about returning the favor, but you're kinda giving me second thoughts here...
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Tonight he considers himself even more lucky than usual, sharing his bed with a lover he knows won't deceive him or hurt him on purpose. He might be a jackass on occasion, but that's part of Rocket's appeal. ]
Tsk, my terran charms are wasted on you. [ Peter scoffs, making an exaggerated pout for a split second and sounding not at all upset. One of his hands plays with Rocket's hair, fingers carding through the strands. ] Still, let me convince you some more.
[ He presses their bodies close, chest to chest, but still holds most of his own weight on his forearms. Peter finally breaks the last inches of distance between them and kisses him heated and deep, giving a slow roll of his hips in the process. ]
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He leans readily into the kiss, a low moan lost between their lips for the heat and hunger in it. He can feel how desperately fucking hard Peter is; still being trapped in his pants has to fucking hurt by this point. It's kind of hot, knowing that it's all for him.
He gives a mock-thoughtful hum against Peter's lips as they break for air] Hmm, lemme think it over—
[In his current position he doesn't have the most useful leverage. But he hasn't missed that Peter's full weight isn't on him, and that's all the opening he needs. He hooks a leg around the back of Peter's knee and braces a hand against his shoulder, and in one fluid motion pushes and twists and flips them. Peter's back hits the mattress, and suddenly Rocket's grinning down at him, all dark eyes and predatory intent as he slips a hand between them to palm Peter's dick through his pants]
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He's glad that Rocket doesn't push him away, though, that maybe it's another big show of trust. Back in the day, Gamora also had some issues with unexpected touches or Peter clinging to her too much that they had to work on. He's a sucker for cuddling but, with time, he also learned to give her the space she needed and find a middle ground. Peter would be Rocket's weighed blanket any time he wants or simply stay close without touching if that's what works best for him.
He moans into the kiss in response to Rocket's willingness and the sounds the other man is making, and it's so thoroughly distracted that when Rocket flips them over, Peter lets out a startled yelp. His surprised face quickly melts into one of pure delight, and he looks up at Rocket looming over him with a smile of his own. ]
I didn't know you had it in you. [ If Peter means the strength or Rocket being this feisty, it's up in the air. He means both, so any interpretation works. The grin Rocket is giving him goes straight to his dick, and the hungry gaze makes Peter visibly shiver with anticipation. The heat of his unfulfilled pleasure is still burning low in his belly, and the feeling gets sharper when Rocket gets his hands on him, prompting Peter to throw back his head with a broken moan escaping his lips. ]
Fuck, ah... [ His hands twitch on each side of him, but he doesn't dare to reach out and touch Rocket right now, lest he stop doing whatever he has planned. He can do something else, though, and that's running his mouth in a way his friend might like. ] Rocket...Please.
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His gaze is intent on Peter, attention wholly focused on him, cataloguing every detail of the shivers and moans provoked by subtle changes in the movement of his hand. A glint that probably would be worrying to anyone with functional self-preservation instincts comes into his eyes at that breathless please, at the way his name sounds ragged and greedy on Peter's lips. Fuck, he wants more of it. He wants to see where this takes them.
He leans down to lick a slow, deliberate stripe up the length of the scar that bisects Peter's collarbone, tasting fresh sweat, palm still working in a steady rhythm against the bulge in his pants. His teeth graze over the hollow of Peter's throat as he unzips his pants with a deft hand, reaching inside to free his straining cock. It's hot and desperately hard, jumping eagerly in his grip as he wraps his hand around the shaft and lifts his head to watch Peter's face as he slowly starts to stroke]
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He probably should be a bit worried about the intense look that Rocket's offering him, but self-preservation has never been Peter's forte, and the whole situation only makes him want the other man more. He doesn't know what to do with his hands now, so one arm wraps around Rocket's shoulders to pull him even closer, grabbing onto him with some desperation when a tongue slides up the scar by his neck.
Every drag of Rocket's fingers against his heated skin sparks up his spine. They should probably get rid of his pants, the damn things really are in the way, but he doesn't want to do anything that implies losing that hand wrapped around his cock. Peter has to try to focus and take some deep breaths for a second, or things are going to end too fast for his liking. Almost unconsciously, his hips roll up into the contact, seeking more friction, cursing and groaning under his breath. A chocked-out moan goes past his lips even though he bites down on his bottom lip to try and stifle it. ]
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Something about that stifled moan cuts straight through him, a pulse of heat and want shivering over his skin and a twitch of renewed interest from his dick] C'mon, don't hold out on me [It's a low, rough-voiced murmur, punctuated with a light but pointed squeeze of his hand. His eyes are still intent on Peter's as he cantinues stroking his dick] I wanna hear you.
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It has something to do with Rocket's voice and not just the way he so deliciously works on him, stroking him just right; it's the rough voice and the command. Apparently, Peter doesn't like to be told what to do unless it happens in bed. Rocket's hands are callused, unsurprisingly, and that only adds to the sensation, making Peter shudder hard after a particularly well-aimed stroke. His thighs press against Rocket's, trembling a little, and there's that desperate want that makes Peter wish they were even closer. ]
Oh, fuck me...[ He breathes out between a few more unsteady moans, this time louder, not trying to be quiet anymore. He's pretty sure his cheeks are flushed a deep red and his eyes watery. ]
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[He settles his weight in more comfortably against Peter, half draped over him, and picks up the pace of the purposeful movements of his hand. There's something intoxicating about the flush burning over Peter's skin, about hearing those moans and knowing they're for him. He gives a low, breathless curse of his own, rocking his hips lazily against Peter's thigh and watching him with dark, hungry eyes as he strokes his cock] Fuck that's hot. Fuck, c'mon—
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N-next time? The night's young. [ Peter's lips quirk up, his green eyes bright. The tone is tensing but still gentle, aware of who they are and what all this means. ] Don't tell me you clock out after one round. I expect better.
[ That's a surprisingly long sentence coming from Peter, considering how most of the blood from his brain has left the premises. He hopes Rocket doesn't expect more teasing or coherent answers, especially after leaning more of his weight on him in a way that makes Peter's toes curl. Rocket tightens the grip on his cock, fast and fucking perfect, and Peter practically wails.
He clutches Rocket's shoulder like he's holding onto a lifeline, hitches one of his legs up for leverage, and locks it behind Rocket's thigh when the other man starts grinding against him. It's only a few seconds later that he's crying out, coming right after Rocket prompts him to. Peter shakes and gasps for air, burying his face in the crook of his neck, feeling like he's falling apart but comforted by the fact that Rocket's there to catch him and center him.
He shivers through an aftershock and lets himself relax, going boneless on the mattress, messy curls falling over his forehead. He's no longer grabbing at Rocket as if he's afraid he will disappear, but also not letting go of him just yet. ]
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If he was ever gonna learn his lesson about letting his mouth run until it's talked him into something he doesn't know how to back down from, it would've happened long before now. He'll figure it out when he gets there. He always does.
For now, it's hard not to feel like he's got the upper hand when he's got Peter falling apart under him; shamelessly needy, making sounds that are going to be burned into his brain for the rest of his fucking life. His own dick's definitely starting to get interested in the proceedings again as he keeps working his grip in the same relentless rhythm, chasing every cry and moan like his life depends on it. Peter's a good-looking guy. He'd never particularly planned to do anything about that fact until roughly twenty minutes ago, but he's not blind. And fuck, he's never been as gorgeous as he is in this moment, every muscle taut and a look of desperate rapture on his face, arching up and crying out as he comes.
In the still, breathless moments that follow, he turns his face to rest his cheek against Peter's hair, all lazy satisfaction and a not-quite-familiar sense of fondness. He still feels almost drunk on it. Even if he doesn't quite know what to do with the way Peter's holding on to him like he doesn't want to let go, like maybe there's something in the closeness beyond just savoring the afterglow, it's...good. It feels like the way Peter had smiled at him, way back when, the first time he'd unthinkingly referred to the Milano as home.
He eases his hand free and lifts his head to inspect the wetness spilled over his fingers with an air of mild curiosity. And then, with a smirk, he holds Peter's eyes as he slowly and deliberately licks them clean]
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After Rocket rests his cheek against him, Peter closes his eyes. It takes him a few seconds to figure out what the fuzzy feeling in his chest means. He's happy. Not simply blissed out because the sex is great, he feels genuinely happy for the first time in a long while. It feels so good to be pressed close to someone, to share their warmth and be playful.Â
Â
He lets out a soft whine and opens his eyes again when Rocket moves, a bit sensitive still, only to end up staring. One day you're going to be the death of me, Peter doesn't say it out loud because he doesn't want to jinx them, but he sure thinks about it as he watches Rocket lick his fingers. ]
Holy hell, that's sexy. [ He admits, because he's not made out of stone, and he's too full of endorphins to lie. Not one to hold back either, Peter runs a hand up Rocket's side chest, gently fondling it and then flicking his thumb over a nipple to check his reaction. ]
Getting back in the game already, hm? I'm going to need five minutes, and I really want to get rid of the damn pants first, please, but I also don't feel like moving just yet. I kinda like you on top, to be honest.
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It definitely doesn't feel like something that's going to be a one-and-done. Not when Peter's hands are still warm and familiar against his skin, making him gasp and shudder with just a touch. He wants more; wants to dig his fingers in and map out every corner of this until he knows exactly how to take Peter apart like a misbehaving engine and put him back together so he sings under his hands.
He moans softly at that teasing touch, eyes drifting shut and lips parting as he leans into it] That's handy [It comes out slightly breathless, but he doesn't let that take the edge off his smirk] 'Cause I could get used to having you under me.
[He rocks his hips lazily, looking down at Peter with dark, lidded eyes, and slowly leans in until they're close enough for their noses to brush, his arm braced on the bunk above Peter's head] Got some big ideas about round two, huh?
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And yes, Peter now has a whole new arsenal at his disposal to get under Rocket's skin and, with some luck, into his pants. Now he knows the flirting won't be unwelcome, so he will dash it out freely and pamper the other often unless Rocket tells him to stop.
The situation looks promising so far, with Rocket responding so beautifully to touches and Peter memorizing what places are safe for his hands to wander to. He's getting addicted very quickly to making Rocket shudder and mutter under his breath; the raspy way his voice turns to, it's very attractive. Â
There's no urgency now in their movements, which allows Peter to appreciate even more the feel of Rocket under his hand, and he keeps letting his fingers caress and brush over places he knows will feel good. His other hand sneaks up his partner's spine and then buries itself in the brown hair, playing with the strands. ]
Is that so? Maybe we're onto something then. [ He wants to wipe that cocky smirk off the man's face, preferably with his own mouth, and he's all too delighted when the other leans closer. Peter nuzzles the tip of his nose against Rocket's, then tilts his chin up until their lips brush. ]
You know me; I'm the best at plans. I've got a few great suggestions to share with you. Let me tell you the first one.
[ The hand playing with his hair comes to snake around the back of Rocket's neck, urging him forward, so Peter can lay a kiss on his lips. It's deceptively soft, and it doesn't take long until Peter deepens it, nipping at Rocket's bottom lip and pressing his tongue against the sting. ]
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It'd been a long, hard road, learning how to be part of a team. How to accept people caring about him, and to admit to himself that he cared about them too. It was worth it, in the end, even if it still feels like a thin veneer on a yawning chasm some days. But this is new even beside all of that. Being someone's focus like this is something he has no point of reference for at all. Just feeling around the edges of it is already overwhelming.
There's some automatic retort on his lips about the typical quality of Peter's plans, but whatever it would have been it's lost in the kiss, overtaken by an almost subvocal moan. He doesn't know if he loves how enthusiastically Peter's taken to having an exciting new way to shut him up, but given that he plans to use to same tactic extensively himself, possibly he doesn't get to complain.
And the perks are undeniable. A sound that's almost a growl is pulled from him at that sting of teeth, and he kisses back harder, sinking his fingers back into Peter's hair and tugging]
Yeah, okay. That one was one of your better plans [Smirk] Granted, it's a low bar...
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After losing Gamora twice, Peter hasn't exactly been looking to get his heart broken again and didn't think anyone would ever want him in that same way anyway. He's too broken and ruined for anybody to make an effort to deal with all that baggage. So this thing with Rocket comes as a very pleasant surprise and also makes him feel more vulnerable than Peter can let on.
Rocket has already seen him at his worst, and he's still here. He knows about Peter's many fuckups and flaws and still saved his life countless times in the past as if it were worth something. It's a little too much to think about, even if Peter masks it well. Hiding his insecurities behind jokes and easy touches comes easy, and he does want to touch Rocket and kiss him senseless, so that's a plus.
The hair tugging prompts Peter to moan against Rocket's mouth, the sound muffled by the harsh kissing, but impossible to miss. Oh that's unfair, playing with one of Peter's weaknesses. ]
Asshole. [ It's all he says after the kiss and the sassiness, but his voice doesn't carry any real anger, and Peter's face is flushed because of the kissing. He lightly pokes at Rocket's side in vengeance and to check if the guy's ticklish. He had never had the chance to test it without risking losing a finger, but maybe after the mind-blowing orgasms, Rocket's in a good enough mood that he won't mind too much. Or perhaps he will bite him again. Peter thinks that's not a bad outcome.
He squirms a little under him eventually, letting out a low sigh when he ends up grinding up against Rocket in the process. This position feels nice, but it would feel nicer if they were both totally naked. ]
Move a little, will you? So I can get rid of the damn pants. Besides, don't you want to take a good look at all the goods?
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But for all that the idea doesn't really appeal in the abstract, this is about as close as he's ever gotten, and now he's here...he doesn't hate it. The uneasy tension he's always associated with trying to open up a little is absent. And whatever happens next, Peter's part of his crew. Nothing's going to change that. They've fucking bled for each other; if this doesn't work, sure things might be weird for a while, but they've been through too much together to let it fuck them up]
Yep [The agreement is immediate, cheerful, and utterly unrepentant. Hey, he's never claimed to not be an asshole. At this stage he can only assume Peter's into it.
He gives another low growl at the teasing jab and, predictably, does indeed immediately bite. He raises his eyebrows at the nudge to move] You're the one who wanted to savor the afterglow or whatever [But he does obligingly roll off of Peter, sprawling out on the mattress with a catlike stretch and a satisfied groan]
Go on then [He reaches down to stroke his dick lazily, eyes sweeping hungrily over the outline of the promised goods] Gimme a show.
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He's not expecting Rocket —or anyone, for what matters— to fill it. It would be unfair to everyone involved. That's Peter's cross to bear, but it doesn't mean there isn't space for others. They're family, they're crew; no matter what the future has in store for them, nothing's going to change that.
He has to laugh at Rocket's remorseless answer, shaking his head. Yeah, okay, he might find it more attractive than annoying these days. Exciting even.
They say the first step is admitting it. Says the self-proclaimed asshole (but one that's not 100% a dick). A squeak escapes Peter's lips at the expected bite that followed his prodding, but otherwise, he doesn't complain. It's a very manly squeak, mind you, Peter will say so, no matter what Rocket might have heard. When no brutality against his fingers happens, Peter takes it as a good sign. ]
I did. [ Also no shame in the admission; it's been good. Peter very pointedly does not mention that Rocket seemed to enjoy it too. ] I just happen to also not want to overheat. And I can't sit on your lap like this.
[ He huffs at Rocket after the man rolls over, but then Peter raises his eyebrows and gives him a look a moment later. Eyyy, he's also getting quite the show right now, not missing the way Rocket's hand sneaked down between his legs. Damn, but his cock is pretty. Not something Peter goes around thinking about on the regular about dicks that are not his own, Â but fuck it. Rocket's a handsome bastard. It's also not something he'd say out loud because otherwise the Rocket's ego would not fill into the bedroom, but the appreciation in Peter's eyes might be hard to miss.
Peter's eyes narrow, and the corner of his lips curls up into a mischievous grin. He doesn't move immediately, first running his hand through the messy curls, arching his back, and stretching on the bed, his chest rising as he does so. With a content sigh, he finally sits up on the mattress, leaning in, shoulder slightly curved inwards to give Rocket a good view of his backside for a few seconds. There's frankly a lot to see.
Peters' fingers hook around the edge of his trousers, and since they're already open and the underwear down, it only takes him a smooth movement and another shift of his hips to pull everything down and off of him. He tosses the clothes to the floor without looking; toned legs now on display, long and muscular and perfect to be wrapped around a certain someone's waist, if you asked Peter. He shifts on the bed, lying down on his side and closer enough to Rocket that he can sneak one said thighs in between the other man's leg. Peter' eyes flick down to Rocket's crotch, then back up to his face, the smirk still in place. ]
Did I interrupt you, babe?
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But that doesn't stop it from feeling new, especially when Peter's embracing that challenge to make a show of it. From the way Peter's eyes linger on him too, he feels like maybe he's not the only one thinking along similar lines, but it's hard to spare much brainpower for considering the kind of picture he must make himself when he's too busy greedily taking in every detail; the muscles in Peter's back flexing with the motion, the curve of his ass, a hipbone trailing temptingly down towards his waistband. His eyes are intent as they sweep over the skin newly bared to him, shamelessly appreciative]
You know I always got time for you, babe [Layered with sarcasm, of course, but it can't really cut too deep when he's readily pressing into the contact. He releases his grip on his cock in favor of grinding against the warm weight of Peter's thigh where it's draped over him. One hand settles at Peter's hip, pulling him in closer. He winds the other back into Peter's hair — he hadn't missed the positive response that tugging on it had got before — and pulls back slowly but firmly, encouraging Peter to bare the line of his throat for him to run his tongue along, tasting the salt of fresh sweat]
Nice show [He says, impishly, and sinks his teeth in]
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He's got permission to ogle and appreciate Rocket, a damn if he isn't going to do just that to his heart's content. It's also rewarding to get that attention in return, and coming from Rocket it makes it all the sweeter. There had been some comments about Peter's body and his weight thrown around either from Drax or Rocket himself in the past that left his pride and self-esteem a little bruised, not like he would ever admit it.
No matter how much dripping derision Rocket manages to put on that single word, it can't stop Peter from beaming even more at Rocket, clearly elated at witnessing an endearment leaving the man's lip. Frankly, it is because Rocket says it with the same contempt a professional cook would say the word 'cockroach' that it makes it endearing in its own way.
Peter lifts his thigh slightly to give Rocket more to grind against and moves closer at the first tug to his hair as if he can't get enough of Rocket. He gets the message quickly, and he's really starting to enjoy the way they manage to communicate in bed without words with the same efficiency they can do while in the middle of battle. ]
We have just started-ah. [ He grabs onto Rocket's bicep at the first pleasant sting of teeth on his neck, shuddering. His eyes go half-lidded, and he tilts his head back to offer more of the column of his throat. ] I should have known; you'd always been a biter.
[ It comes out as a pleased hum rather than a complaint. Peter runs a hand up the curve of Rocket's muscular arms, and then it trails to the center of the chest, careful to avoid brushing against the metal in his collarbone or any heavy scarring. A warm palm slides down the breastbone, then presses against Rocket's pecs, fingers rubbing and gently pinching Rocket's pink nipples, then squeezing harder. ]
So...what,...what we talked about before. You're still interested?
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The hands on him feel fucking incredible, drawing out rolling waves of pleasure from places he wouldn't have said until right this second that he particularly gave a shit about being touched. A quiet, almost surprised sound of approval falls from his lips as those wandering fingers tease over his nipples, his hips rocking more urgently into the muscular thigh slung across his leg. He presses his face into the crook of Peter's neck, moaning softly. He doesn't know every touch can have him greedy for more like this, like nothing else fucking matters.
He goes still at the question though, the haze of want receding slightly. He doesn't need to ask what Peter means; there's no point playing coy.
The fact that he's hesitated at all already isn't great. Never show weakness is a lesson he learned early and hard, and even after finding people he trusts to cover him, it's one he's never been able to fully let go of. It would be so fucking easy to just roll with it, slam up some old familiar walls of bravado and just see where it, but...fuck, he doesn't want to. After everything he figures a scrap of honesty is the least he owes Peter. He licks suddenly dry lips and takes a steadying breath]
Interested, yeah, but I uh... [He hasn't lifted his head from where it's still tucked in with his forehead resting against the side of Peter's neck] I'm not gonna lie to you man, it's...kinda new ground. I— [ — maybe don't have the best associations with the whole concept, he doesn't say. — feel kind of weird about it and I don't know if I wanna think too hard about why, he doesn't say. ] —y'know, I know I talk a good game, but I don't actually wanna hurt you for real.
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Peter tries his best to reciprocate in a way that will keep drawing those soft noises out of his lover; he thinks they're quickly becoming his favorite thing to listen to after his mother's playlist. He also makes a mental note to get his mouth and teeth on Rocket's chest, not just his hands, once there's a chance.
When he stiffens, Peter only hums at him and listens. Waits. He's always known that Rocket cares, that he's more considerate and kind than it might look at first sight —pride and self-preservation and all that— but it's sweet to see that side of him come to the surface. Even if he's still hiding his face. Peter won't call him out on it. ]
That's all right. It was just an idea. We don't have to try at all, or it doesn't have to be tonight.
[ There's no disappointment in Peter's voice, and he keeps up with his touches, sometimes dragging his nails over one of Rocket's nipples to both distract him and keep him grounded. There's a promise in his words of more nights like this to happen in their future.
Any other time he might have played, goaded Rocket into giving whatever shenanigans they were doing a try, or outright dared him to. It's different now, and honesty should be answered in kind. He tilts his head to the side to nuzzle Rocket's hair and then speaks in a low voice. ]
If hurting me is your concern, then you don't have to worry. It doesn't have to be painful. And even if we fumble things at the beginning, it's not the end of the world.
[ Not to mention that Peter's threshold for pain is pretty high. Growing up with Ravagers and as the only human in this sector of the galaxy would do that to you. It wasn't pleasant, and he also has a fair share of unfortunate stories involving bed partners who couldn't understand that Terrans were not as sturdy as Xandarians. Still, he knows Rocket would never cause him pain on purpose. He feels safe with him. ]
It gets easier with practice, like disabling a bomb. You just need to be careful with the delicate bits and don't do things too harshly or too fast. [ Not his best metaphor, and if Peter had to compare himself to a weapon, he would choose a blaster, but he hopes Rocket gets the idea. ] Still, it's not something we ever need to do.
[ Since Rocket might still need some time, Peter doesn't lean back and pull him into a kiss, even though he really wants to do just that. Instead, the hand on his chest travels down his abs, a finger draws circles around his belly button, and then drags down his happy trail. It's all good; they're all good; no need to get nervous, see? ]
I'll only kick you out of bed if you snore. Sorry, man, I need my beauty sleep. [ He hopes that Rocket can feel the smile in his voice. ]
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He doesn't know if he could really fit words around why this sits so fucking weirdly with him. But if he's honest with himself about it...well. The Kyln was number twenty-three on his long and increasingly impressive list of prison breaks. He'll happily brag about that, share stories of some of the wilder ones, but to bust out of a prison, first you gotta be in there. The first few efforts hadn't been nearly as practiced. They'd taken some time to come together, and in the meantime he'd had to figure out real fast how to survive on the inside. It makes him feel uneasy now in a way he hadn't had the context for then, looking back and realising how fucking young he must have been, that first time. Young, and small, and pretty, and no wonder he'd looked like an easy target to the kind of scum who go looking for that sort of thing.
'Course they'd learned pretty quick that the key word missing from that description was feral. He's left plenty of bodies behind him in his time, and those particular ones he's never going to feel a shred of fucking remorse about. He's intimately familiar from his time at the lab with what it feels like to be a thing in someone else's eyes, a resource they're only interested in for whatever they could get out of him, and even if the end goal had been different...he'd been pretty fucking determined to do whatever he had to to never have to feel like that again. At the time he'd been too invested in his own survival to have much sympathy to spare for anyone who couldn't kill to make their point. You fight back if you can and you suffer if you can't; that was just the way of the fucking universe back then.Â
He resolved a long time ago to go down fighting if that was what it took not to be the guy who gets fucked over like that, but...he doesn't wanna be the other guy either. It's been a long, hard road to learning how to be better, to look past his own survival and give a shit about other people, and even now it doesn't come especially naturally. He doesn't want to be the kind of person who'd hurt someone they're supposed to care about for their own gratification. He's not in the habit of prettying up a hard truth, and he knows fine well he hasn't never taken way too much satisfaction in ending a fight more brutally than it'd started, or in shooting someone who'd done a questionable amount to earn it. Even if objectively he knows that there's no reason for Peter to ask for anything he doesn't want, on some level it still feels like risking crossing a line he doesn't know if he can come back from. He doesn't know if he wants to find out if he really would back it off if he was told to.
He doesn't know how he explains any of that; especially not when he is, frankly, still so horny his higher brain functions are on full autopilot. But he knows that he trusts Peter. Whatever comes next, it's going to be okay]
Yeah. Yeah, it's all good [He leans encouragingly into those touches, giving what reassurance he can with the closeness that he still wants to be here. A bomb might not be the right metaphor for Peter, but damned if disarming one isn't the right one for him, one that genuinely does make him feel on more solid ground with the whole concept. He regularly works with explosives that would turn him and everything else in a mile radius into a fine mist if mishandled; he knows he's more than capable of a delicate touch where it's needed. He lifts his head to catch Peter's lips in a kiss, soft and lingering, and makes his decision]
I mean, we can give it a shot, right? No reason we can't just bail if it ain't workin' out.
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You can fight these instincts; you can learn to cope with them, but they don't always go away fully. If he knew what Rocket was thinking about or worried about, he would understand. He might not have been in as many prisons as the other man, but the Kyln wasn't his first one either. He had to deal with people overstepping boundaries and walking all over his personal space in the past plenty of times all his life. Hell, if he hadn't been for Groot and Rocket's intervention, his stay at the Kyln would have escalated into something deeply unpleasant. He was lucky.
But they don't talk about the things they don't talk about, and Peter doesn't know where Rocket's mind has gone for a moment; he's just happy when he feels him relax under his caresses. He doles out caresses and heavier touches, squeezing where it will feel good and lightly teasing when that might earn him another shudder or a groan from his lover.
The moment Rocket lifts his head, Peter gives him the kind of smile that only promises good things to come. He's a bit surprised about how soft the following kiss is but makes an approving little noise and nuzzles Rocket a little once it's over. ]
Yeah. Lots of other things we can do if that ends up not being our thing. I could give you a long list. A few involve my thighs. One or two might be illegal on a few planets.
[ That last part is a joke. Possibly. Who can tell for sure when Peter looks that at smug? One of those muscular thighs lifts some more, pressing up against Rocket's cock, and then he shifts on the bed to roll on his back properly and drag Rocket closer and on top of him. He had liked that before, and it seemed like the position might help Rocket feel less trapped. His hand fists Rocket's hair, and this time it's him to give a tug to get him to offer more of the column of his neck, so Peter can pepper it with kisses. He starts by sucking a mark on his own, then alternates between sucking, kissing, and nipping at it. ]
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Whatever might have happened in some other world, here and now — with Peter's arms around him, a lazy heat still burning between them — he's glad it didn't go down like that. Fuck, he's glad that all the shit they've been through, somehow it still ended with them here. There's no point wishing things were different. All you can do is make the most of what you've still got left]
I like illegal [His grin is mischievous] Illegal sounds fun.
[He definitely likes Peter's thighs as well, especially when they're rubbing up against him like that, the pressure so fucking good but so tantalisingly not enough. He goes easily with the motion as Peter rolls them. A full-body shiver runs through him at the feel of Peter's hands sinking into his hair, and he leans encouragingly into the touch, readily baring his throat to that hot, eager mouth. Another rough, muttered curse falls from his lips for the sting of that mark being put on his skin, drawing him deeper into the kind of hazy heat that makes thinking too hard real difficult.
He braces his forearm against the mattress to keep his balance, and slides his free hand over Peter's skin, following the planes of muscle and the familiar lines of old scars. His hips are still rocking lazily, shamelessly rutting into the warm press of their bodies; at this angle his cock is trapped in between their stomachs, and he has the distant thought that he could probably get off just like this, grinding greedily against Peter as the hot mouth working against his throat sends fresh waves of lust shuddering through him.
But fuck, for all his misgivings, he's still him and that means curious to a fault. He wants to know what more ends up looking like. He pulls away just enough to meet Peter's gaze, a spark in his eyes not a million miles away from the look he gets in the moment it becomes clear that a job's about to tip over into a firefight]
C'mon then. How we gonna do this?
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