[ If Rocket wants to test his skills and satisfy his curiosity further, Peter has a few ideas about where he can dig his fingers into the next time they have sex.
He knows that Rocket is a quick study and that a hands-on approach to things, especially when it comes to fucking, makes the lessons stick. Peter regrets a little just how fast Rocket learned how to metaphorically slam his hand down on all the buttons inside of his head that make him all hot and bothered, hitting every single one. But it's a small regret. Feeling this good is worth the occasional whine and pathetic sound that escapes his lips every time a particularly well-aimed bite happens. His back and neck must be already covered in red marks and hickeys; he sort of loves it.
It's a relief to know he's not the only one affected. Rocket's hard cock pressings against him and the way the guy moans when he grabs at his hair are proof enough. That whine Rocket let on might be one of Peter's favorite sounds from now on. He wished she could turn around properly and kiss the daylight out of him, but that will have to wait. He also wants to grab Rocket and pull him close, finally feel the heat of him pressed inside, but lets the other man guide things at his own pace.
Rocket's reassurance eases something in his chest too, making Peter's burning urgency relent. He feels anchored by the hand gripping his hips. Safe. And fuck, oh fuck, if it isn't rewarding when Rocket lines himself up and pushes into him.
His knees shift on the bed to spread his legs wider and make it easier for Rocket to slide all the way in, and he's so slow and careful that Peter thinks he might die before Rocket bottoms out. He appreciates the other man not simply slamming into him because the burn and stretch of his cock are already making Peter lightheaded. Moving any faster might have ended things too quickly for both of them before the real fun started. He allows himself to smile in between panted breaths when he feels Rocket's forehead pressed to his back. ]
Y...aah, yeah. Holy shit. [ Peter couldn't agree more, giving one slow roll of his hips back against the firm body behind him. One of his hands settles on top of Rocket's, whose nails are now leaving crescent moon-shaped marks on his hipbone, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. They take a few seconds to just breathe and get used to the sensations, while they both breathe deeply and try not to come all at once. ]
You feel incredible already. You can, ah, gods ... [ He shudders, squeezing his muscles around Rocket before he can find his voice again. Rocket's hips are pressed against his ass, and Peter makes a content noise in the back of his throat that is completely involuntary. His thumb rubs small circles over the pulse in Rocket's wrist. ] You can fuck me once you're ready. You won't hurt me, don't worry. You can't hurt me.
[His grip on Peter's hips is going to leave bruises behind. There's a pang of unease in some deeply buried part of him at that thought, but it's hard to hold onto it in the face of how overwhelmed his senses are. The warm, reassuring hand sliding over his own helps too, steadying and grounding him. He takes in another slow, shaky breath and makes an effort to pull himself together.
Even this far gone he still wants to protest that you can't hurt me, some incredulous voice deep in his skull whispering you can't possibly think that's true. He knows Peter knows the kind of damage he's capable of doing even unarmed. He can't wrap his head around how fucking much Peter trusts him. Peter's in a vulnerable position right now; it would be so, so easy to hurt him.Â
But fuck, he doesn't want to. He wants desperately to deserve the kind of trust he's been given.
The sound that's torn from his throat as as he gives the first shallow, exploratory roll of his hips is a broken, ragged thing. He doesn't have much leverage in his current position, but even unable to do much more than grind up into Peter, the motion is more than enough to have sparks going off behind his eyes. He relaxes his grip just enough to wrap his arms around Peter's waist, nuzzling into the nape of his neck with a low, heartfelt groan]
C'mon [His voice is low and rough, thick with desire, as he rocks his hips encouragingly] You gonna make me do all the work here?
[ If Peter cared about cruises and rough sex, he wouldn't have dated for more than four years someone who could fold him in half and who was once known as the deadliest woman in the galaxy. Much like Rocket, Gamora, too, had been worried about hurting Peter. They figured things out and found a balance, and he's sure the same will happen with his new lover. There are very few situations where Peter would be more at someone's mercy than he is now, but he knows that, just as he knows Rocket won't cause him pain on purpose.
A few messy curls dangle in front of his forehead when he looks over his shoulder, and Peter manages to catch his breath long enough to say: ]
Oh, you want me to show you how it's done? [ He's smiling, looking smug at the implications of what Rocket might just have gotten himself into. ] Very well.
[ He wants to make this good, needs to make this as good for Rocket as the other man's made him feel already, and luckily sex is as natural to Peter as building things is to Rocket. He suspected once or twice that it might have something to do with his celestial heritage, but that's not in his mind right now.
He lifts his hips and ground down on Rocket, slow going at first, arching backward to take him deeper, adjusting to the stretch from his thick cock. He rocks back and forth, working on a rhythm, and eventually moving faster. Peter's dick is throbbing, pre-come sliding down the shaft, but he's now keeping his hands on Rocket's legs for balance as he rides him. He's not speaking anymore, but he's also not quiet, letting out little whimpers, small gasps, and breathless moans. A groan bursts from his mouth, and he bows his head forward, clenching down around the cock inside him when the angle makes it brush against his sweet-spot. ]
[If he'd thought he was losing his fucking mind before, it's nothing beside how it feels to have Peter riding him like he can't get enough, like getting to take his dick is the best thing that's ever fucking happened to him. The noises he's making are fucking addictive, and Rocket can feel answering moans and curses and filth falling carelessly from his own lips. His hands are roaming greedily over Peter's skin, fingers digging in here and there to feel the flex of solid muscle. It's a heady feeling, having all that strength and power under his hands, focused on nothing but bringing them both as much pleasure as possible.
It feels incredible, too much and not enough all at once, and fuck he can't take not having the leverage to move any more. With one last parting bite to Peter's shoulder he lets himself fall back onto the mattress. His hands find Peter's hips again, gripping hard over the tender spots of those nascent bruises; he shifts to plant his feet and brace his shoulders against the mattress and finally, finally get enough purchase to actually thrust. His hips snap up, hard, and he gasps out a choked-off profanity at how fucking good it feels. It's animal instinct to repeat the motion, chasing that spike of pleasure, and he quickly finds a rhythm with the way Peter's riding him. He can feel the strain in his muscles, a rapidly building burn from the position, but it's more than fucking worth it.
The air is full of the obscenely slick sounds of flesh on flesh, underscored by rhythmic gasps and moans and the creaking of the mattress, and it only makes it hotter]
Oh, fuck, Peter— [It's a desperate, breathless moan, voice thick around the other man's name as though it's the filthiest swearword he knows and none of the others are up to the task] Fuck, c'mon, you feel so fucking good...
[ The sting of the bite goes right to Peter’s groin, heat settling in his lower stomach, and the hands gripping at him or caressing him just right are making him keen. Eyes fluttering shut and mouth hanging open, he runs a hand through his own hair, gripping at it while murmuring a litany of fuckfuckufuck under his breath like it's some sort of prayer. He hadn't had this much attention and care, and a good railing, from a partner in so long that he had forgotten how alive it makes him feel too.
He's so used to fighting, to nursing his injuries, to the lingering pain that's both physical and emotional that having a moment to just let go of all that and enjoy what feels good is like a gift. He no longer doubts whether Rocket is truly enjoying himself and feels comfortable with what they're doing. The way they would be at risk of breaking the bed if it weren't bolted to the metal floor is proof enough.
Even though the fingers holding his hips should have been an indication, he's entirely unprepared by Rocket's eagerness once he gets enough leverage. His hands grip him to pull him downward as Rocket moves his hips in a hard thrust upward that has Peter wailing and seeing stars, the sudden pressure making his eyes snap open. ]
Ahh, oh gods, don't stop, don't... [ He hopes his voice isn't really as wrecked as he sounds to his own ears, but Peter's not fully counting on it. His thighs tremble for a few moments; pleasure vibrates through him with every rough snap, building up to a quick crescendo, and Peter knows he's not going to last. Not when Rocket is like this, sounding like this, and especially not when the new angle makes it so his cock is pushing just right against Peter's prostate with every roll of his hips. ]
Rocket!, I'm...! [ The sentence breaks with a desperate cry, and Peter moans deep in his throat, throwing his head back and falling apart at the seams. His eyes screw shut with half-formed tears as he comes, body trembling and then going tense, his muscles clenching around Rocket still buried inside him. ]
[There's a brief pang of regret that he can't see Peter's face, that he doesn't get to watch the expressions that match those shameless, needy sounds. He'll just have to make sure he gets to next time. And fuck, it's a little startling in a way he does not have the spare brainpower to examine right now to realize that he really does believe there's going to be a next time.
He keeps up the relentless pace, responding to those desperate pleas. The building burn in his muscles only puts a sharper edge on the pleasure, a satisfying ache like the one left behind after a hard-won fight. They're both close enough now that the rhythm is starting to falter, their movements going erratic with urgency. He tightens his grip and from somewhere finds the purchase to put a little more power behind his thrusts, the mindless litany of filth and praise falling from his lips turning increasingly incoherent]
You feel so fucking good, fuck— c'mon, c'mon gorgeous, I wanna feel you come for me—
[The noise he makes as Peter goes suddenly tight around him is sharp and desperate and as much surprised as anything else, the feeling overwhelming his senses, and he slams home once, twice before his hips are stuttering helplessly with a broken keening noise as he follows him over the edge.
He melts back into the mattress, panting; another thin, high sound catches on his lips as the aftershocks ripple through him. His thumb strokes slowly over Peter's hip, distractedly gentle, as he tries to remember how to fucking breathe] Fuck.
[ It's all so much, and if the way Rocket's moving hadn't already pulled him over the edge, the 'gorgeous' comment would have done it. Peter lets out another groan followed by a small mewl when Rocket soon comes, and he can feel the man's cock twitching inside him, filling him with wet warmth.
Peter slumps forward to rest his hands on the mattress, in between Rocket's legs, so as not to put all his weight on him. He needs a few moments for his brain to reboot after the mind-blowing orgasm, his body still shaking with the aftershocks and panting heavily. The tension leaves his body, and he can feel the way every muscle goes slack, tiredness seeing over him like a warm blanket. He probably looks as fucked out as he feels.
He feels sore in all the best ways and not yet ready to speak; it seems like too much work at the moment. He has to move off Rocket reluctantly, and Peter does so slowly, legs a bit unstable as he foregoes Rocket's lap to rest against the man's side. At last he can finally take a good look at him again, and Peter's smiles at the way Rocket doesn't look all that much better than he does, blissed out as they both are.
His green eyes go soft, and Peter presses his face into a warm, bare shoulder, feeling the world settle just a bit. He can feel the new bruises and bites sting lightly with every movement he makes, but he feels pleased, doesn't regret the way he earned every one of them. He likes to have a reminder of this night that will last for a few days. One of his hands roams over Rocket's bicep, and he shifts a leg to press it next to his partner's. Not possessive or desperate like it was earlier when the two of them were going at it, but a softer feeling. Just to remind him that Peter is here for him, anchoring him down, and to remind himself that he can have this too. Something gentle after the roughness. ]
[There's an instinct in him, far too deeply ingrained not to try and come to the fore, to immediately make an effort to try and shake off this sleepy lassitude; to be ready for whatever comes next. He pushes it away. The moment still feels like something so fucking rare and fragile, and he's not about to ruin it by engaging his brain in any way. Normally he doesn't do well with having to be still, but right now, he can't imagine wanting to be anywhere other than exactly where he is.
He makes a vague noise of dissatisfaction at the movement, but is quickly mollified by the renewed closeness as Peter settles in against him, both of them melting into a lazily satisfied tangle of limbs. He turns his face to nuzzle into Peter's hair, fingertips tracing out abstract, meaningless patterns on his skin. He feels...empty, but not in a bad way. Calm. As though some constant itching clamor at the back of his skull has finally gone briefly, blessedly silent.
As he catches his breath, the wandering of his hands becomes more purposeful, lightly checking over the various bites and bruises he can reach in a manner not dissimilar from how he would when patching someone up after a fight; satisfying himself that no harm has been done. It's not hard to believe that all is well when he has Peter relaxed and comfortable against him, but some restless part of him needs to be sure]
[ Peter feels too relaxed and cozy next to Rocket to worry too much about anything else but is enjoying this moment no matter how long it lasts. He's not sure what to expect or if Rocket would like to leave rather than spend the night here, but he's trying not to over-analyze things. It's not his style. He's not going to push him away, quite the opposite, enjoying the way their bodies fit so well together and the peace of mind it brings. He closes his eyes and makes a soft sound, like a big, content cat, when Rocket nuzzles him and fingers run over his still somewhat sensitive skin. He shudders a little and then lets out a small giggling sound when Rocket's hands start to wander. ]
That tickles. [ He knows Rocket well enough, and he's been patched up by him often enough, that he could tell what his friend was doing. He's not going to call him out on it.
Instead, he reaches a hand around to grab the edge of the bed-sheet and half throw it over them before they start getting cold. Once done, his hand doesn't stay still but seeks out Rocket's, so he can entangle their fingers together. Peter brings it up to his lips to kiss the man's knuckles in a reassuring gesture, his eyes still closed, long eyelashes fanning over pink kissed cheeks. Maybe it's easier for Rocket if he doesn't have to look at him in the eye. ]
Stop thinking too much. It's time to sleep. [ His hold Is loose after that, and if Rocket wants to pull away, he can, and Peter won't judge him for it. ] Don't hog the blanket, and in the morning I might show you again what my mouth can do.
[ If Rocket decides to stay, that's it. This is Peter's roundabout way to tell him he's welcome to do so. ]
Edited (sorry, fixed a couple of things) 2024-11-24 15:08 (UTC)
[There is a part of him that does wonder for a fleeting moment if he should pull away, head back to his own bunk, but it's only a passing thought. It's hardly as though they've never spent a night with one of them using the other for a pillow, passed out drunk in a shitty motel room after a night of shore leave, or huddling for warmth when they've wildly underestimated the weather on some backwater planet. It's...easy, to be here like this. Comfortable. Almost familiar]
Not thinkin' don't come so naturally to all of us [There's no bite to it, given that he's absolutely melted in against Peter, soft and relaxed and floating on the hazy edge of sleep. He curls in closer, settling into a more comfortable sprawl, and — lulled by senses filled with the presence of someone he trusts completely — lets himself drift off]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He knows that Rocket is a quick study and that a hands-on approach to things, especially when it comes to fucking, makes the lessons stick. Peter regrets a little just how fast Rocket learned how to metaphorically slam his hand down on all the buttons inside of his head that make him all hot and bothered, hitting every single one. But it's a small regret. Feeling this good is worth the occasional whine and pathetic sound that escapes his lips every time a particularly well-aimed bite happens. His back and neck must be already covered in red marks and hickeys; he sort of loves it.
It's a relief to know he's not the only one affected. Rocket's hard cock pressings against him and the way the guy moans when he grabs at his hair are proof enough. That whine Rocket let on might be one of Peter's favorite sounds from now on. He wished she could turn around properly and kiss the daylight out of him, but that will have to wait. He also wants to grab Rocket and pull him close, finally feel the heat of him pressed inside, but lets the other man guide things at his own pace.
Rocket's reassurance eases something in his chest too, making Peter's burning urgency relent. He feels anchored by the hand gripping his hips. Safe. And fuck, oh fuck, if it isn't rewarding when Rocket lines himself up and pushes into him.
His knees shift on the bed to spread his legs wider and make it easier for Rocket to slide all the way in, and he's so slow and careful that Peter thinks he might die before Rocket bottoms out. He appreciates the other man not simply slamming into him because the burn and stretch of his cock are already making Peter lightheaded. Moving any faster might have ended things too quickly for both of them before the real fun started. He allows himself to smile in between panted breaths when he feels Rocket's forehead pressed to his back. ]
Y...aah, yeah. Holy shit. [ Peter couldn't agree more, giving one slow roll of his hips back against the firm body behind him. One of his hands settles on top of Rocket's, whose nails are now leaving crescent moon-shaped marks on his hipbone, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. They take a few seconds to just breathe and get used to the sensations, while they both breathe deeply and try not to come all at once. ]
You feel incredible already. You can, ah, gods ... [ He shudders, squeezing his muscles around Rocket before he can find his voice again. Rocket's hips are pressed against his ass, and Peter makes a content noise in the back of his throat that is completely involuntary. His thumb rubs small circles over the pulse in Rocket's wrist. ] You can fuck me once you're ready. You won't hurt me, don't worry. You can't hurt me.
no subject
Even this far gone he still wants to protest that you can't hurt me, some incredulous voice deep in his skull whispering you can't possibly think that's true. He knows Peter knows the kind of damage he's capable of doing even unarmed. He can't wrap his head around how fucking much Peter trusts him. Peter's in a vulnerable position right now; it would be so, so easy to hurt him.Â
But fuck, he doesn't want to. He wants desperately to deserve the kind of trust he's been given.
The sound that's torn from his throat as as he gives the first shallow, exploratory roll of his hips is a broken, ragged thing. He doesn't have much leverage in his current position, but even unable to do much more than grind up into Peter, the motion is more than enough to have sparks going off behind his eyes. He relaxes his grip just enough to wrap his arms around Peter's waist, nuzzling into the nape of his neck with a low, heartfelt groan]
C'mon [His voice is low and rough, thick with desire, as he rocks his hips encouragingly] You gonna make me do all the work here?
no subject
A few messy curls dangle in front of his forehead when he looks over his shoulder, and Peter manages to catch his breath long enough to say: ]
Oh, you want me to show you how it's done? [ He's smiling, looking smug at the implications of what Rocket might just have gotten himself into. ] Very well.
[ He wants to make this good, needs to make this as good for Rocket as the other man's made him feel already, and luckily sex is as natural to Peter as building things is to Rocket. He suspected once or twice that it might have something to do with his celestial heritage, but that's not in his mind right now.
He lifts his hips and ground down on Rocket, slow going at first, arching backward to take him deeper, adjusting to the stretch from his thick cock. He rocks back and forth, working on a rhythm, and eventually moving faster. Peter's dick is throbbing, pre-come sliding down the shaft, but he's now keeping his hands on Rocket's legs for balance as he rides him. He's not speaking anymore, but he's also not quiet, letting out little whimpers, small gasps, and breathless moans. A groan bursts from his mouth, and he bows his head forward, clenching down around the cock inside him when the angle makes it brush against his sweet-spot. ]
no subject
It feels incredible, too much and not enough all at once, and fuck he can't take not having the leverage to move any more. With one last parting bite to Peter's shoulder he lets himself fall back onto the mattress. His hands find Peter's hips again, gripping hard over the tender spots of those nascent bruises; he shifts to plant his feet and brace his shoulders against the mattress and finally, finally get enough purchase to actually thrust. His hips snap up, hard, and he gasps out a choked-off profanity at how fucking good it feels. It's animal instinct to repeat the motion, chasing that spike of pleasure, and he quickly finds a rhythm with the way Peter's riding him. He can feel the strain in his muscles, a rapidly building burn from the position, but it's more than fucking worth it.
The air is full of the obscenely slick sounds of flesh on flesh, underscored by rhythmic gasps and moans and the creaking of the mattress, and it only makes it hotter]
Oh, fuck, Peter— [It's a desperate, breathless moan, voice thick around the other man's name as though it's the filthiest swearword he knows and none of the others are up to the task] Fuck, c'mon, you feel so fucking good...
no subject
He's so used to fighting, to nursing his injuries, to the lingering pain that's both physical and emotional that having a moment to just let go of all that and enjoy what feels good is like a gift. He no longer doubts whether Rocket is truly enjoying himself and feels comfortable with what they're doing. The way they would be at risk of breaking the bed if it weren't bolted to the metal floor is proof enough.
Even though the fingers holding his hips should have been an indication, he's entirely unprepared by Rocket's eagerness once he gets enough leverage. His hands grip him to pull him downward as Rocket moves his hips in a hard thrust upward that has Peter wailing and seeing stars, the sudden pressure making his eyes snap open. ]
Ahh, oh gods, don't stop, don't... [ He hopes his voice isn't really as wrecked as he sounds to his own ears, but Peter's not fully counting on it. His thighs tremble for a few moments; pleasure vibrates through him with every rough snap, building up to a quick crescendo, and Peter knows he's not going to last. Not when Rocket is like this, sounding like this, and especially not when the new angle makes it so his cock is pushing just right against Peter's prostate with every roll of his hips. ]
Rocket!, I'm...! [ The sentence breaks with a desperate cry, and Peter moans deep in his throat, throwing his head back and falling apart at the seams. His eyes screw shut with half-formed tears as he comes, body trembling and then going tense, his muscles clenching around Rocket still buried inside him. ]
no subject
He keeps up the relentless pace, responding to those desperate pleas. The building burn in his muscles only puts a sharper edge on the pleasure, a satisfying ache like the one left behind after a hard-won fight. They're both close enough now that the rhythm is starting to falter, their movements going erratic with urgency. He tightens his grip and from somewhere finds the purchase to put a little more power behind his thrusts, the mindless litany of filth and praise falling from his lips turning increasingly incoherent]
You feel so fucking good, fuck— c'mon, c'mon gorgeous, I wanna feel you come for me—
[The noise he makes as Peter goes suddenly tight around him is sharp and desperate and as much surprised as anything else, the feeling overwhelming his senses, and he slams home once, twice before his hips are stuttering helplessly with a broken keening noise as he follows him over the edge.
He melts back into the mattress, panting; another thin, high sound catches on his lips as the aftershocks ripple through him. His thumb strokes slowly over Peter's hip, distractedly gentle, as he tries to remember how to fucking breathe] Fuck.
no subject
Peter slumps forward to rest his hands on the mattress, in between Rocket's legs, so as not to put all his weight on him. He needs a few moments for his brain to reboot after the mind-blowing orgasm, his body still shaking with the aftershocks and panting heavily. The tension leaves his body, and he can feel the way every muscle goes slack, tiredness seeing over him like a warm blanket. He probably looks as fucked out as he feels.
He feels sore in all the best ways and not yet ready to speak; it seems like too much work at the moment. He has to move off Rocket reluctantly, and Peter does so slowly, legs a bit unstable as he foregoes Rocket's lap to rest against the man's side. At last he can finally take a good look at him again, and Peter's smiles at the way Rocket doesn't look all that much better than he does, blissed out as they both are.
His green eyes go soft, and Peter presses his face into a warm, bare shoulder, feeling the world settle just a bit. He can feel the new bruises and bites sting lightly with every movement he makes, but he feels pleased, doesn't regret the way he earned every one of them. He likes to have a reminder of this night that will last for a few days. One of his hands roams over Rocket's bicep, and he shifts a leg to press it next to his partner's. Not possessive or desperate like it was earlier when the two of them were going at it, but a softer feeling. Just to remind him that Peter is here for him, anchoring him down, and to remind himself that he can have this too. Something gentle after the roughness. ]
no subject
He makes a vague noise of dissatisfaction at the movement, but is quickly mollified by the renewed closeness as Peter settles in against him, both of them melting into a lazily satisfied tangle of limbs. He turns his face to nuzzle into Peter's hair, fingertips tracing out abstract, meaningless patterns on his skin. He feels...empty, but not in a bad way. Calm. As though some constant itching clamor at the back of his skull has finally gone briefly, blessedly silent.
As he catches his breath, the wandering of his hands becomes more purposeful, lightly checking over the various bites and bruises he can reach in a manner not dissimilar from how he would when patching someone up after a fight; satisfying himself that no harm has been done. It's not hard to believe that all is well when he has Peter relaxed and comfortable against him, but some restless part of him needs to be sure]
no subject
That tickles. [ He knows Rocket well enough, and he's been patched up by him often enough, that he could tell what his friend was doing. He's not going to call him out on it.
Instead, he reaches a hand around to grab the edge of the bed-sheet and half throw it over them before they start getting cold. Once done, his hand doesn't stay still but seeks out Rocket's, so he can entangle their fingers together. Peter brings it up to his lips to kiss the man's knuckles in a reassuring gesture, his eyes still closed, long eyelashes fanning over pink kissed cheeks. Maybe it's easier for Rocket if he doesn't have to look at him in the eye. ]
Stop thinking too much. It's time to sleep. [ His hold Is loose after that, and if Rocket wants to pull away, he can, and Peter won't judge him for it. ] Don't hog the blanket, and in the morning I might show you again what my mouth can do.
[ If Rocket decides to stay, that's it. This is Peter's roundabout way to tell him he's welcome to do so. ]
no subject
Not thinkin' don't come so naturally to all of us [There's no bite to it, given that he's absolutely melted in against Peter, soft and relaxed and floating on the hazy edge of sleep. He curls in closer, settling into a more comfortable sprawl, and — lulled by senses filled with the presence of someone he trusts completely — lets himself drift off]